Multiple Settings Revive That Dying Flame

[Epiphany]

Revive That Dying Flame​

Main Story · Voting and Discussion Thread · Interest Check​

Book 1: What's Left​

DAY 1: Monday
Central Library​

I'm awake.

Was I asleep? I don't remember sleeping. But I'm suddenly awake, like lightning, like a thrown light switch. One sharp breath in and my eyes are wide open.

...Where the hell am I?

I'm at the library. Why am I here? I don't remember coming here. I don't remember this particular reading area at Central Library either but there aren't a lot of other places I could be.

Central's kind of unique. It has this huge open floor plan with what feels like miles of walking space only partly filled up with thousands of books on shelves and more seating than anyone ever uses. There's no closed in feeling either, as all the walls are these tremendously tall glass panels broken up into diamond shapes with steel beams and steel diamond lattice. The effect's both surprisingly sunny for a library and surprisingly shaded depending on where you're sitting.

At the moment, I'm sitting in comfy stuffed chair that's set back in the center stacks where the serious research texts are. Lit by glass bulbs deeply ensconced in the ceiling, it's the closest you can get to cozy and secluded in a place with so much foot traffic. Which is to say, there's a guy curled up in another chair almost close enough to touch.

"Whoa there."

He looks up from his book and glances my way when I address him. Some guy, some college student probably judging by the untucked t-shirt, cargo shorts and his complete refusal to commit to either growing a proper beard or at least not looking scraggly.

"You okay?" he asks with a vague look on his face. Either that's a really good book or I didn't bother with makeup when I left the house today.

"Uh. Yeah. Is this Central?"

"...Yeah, it's Central. We're, like, on the sixth floor. You need me to call someone?"

"Huh?"

"Do you need me to call someone?"

"Why would I need you to call someone?"

He gave me a look and returned to studying whatever that was. A text book judging by the size of it. I guess I couldn't blame him for quitting out of the conversation. He had better things to do than straighten out some girl who couldn't be bothered to make sense.

I climb out of my chair and a book drops out of my lap to the floor. Bending down to retrieve it, I realize I can feel the press of my phone in my pocket. Which is weird since I kind of thought I'd had a skirt last time I checked. Sure enough, jeans. At least I had my phone.

The book turns out to be the Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall. Seriously? Who reads this stuff? Well, besides Carma. She's always liked old and melodramatic.

As I survey my surroundings, mostly obscured by tall shelves of books, I'm struck again by the fact that I don't feel tired. When I rub my eyes, I don't feel specks in them. My mouth's a little dry but not...you know, sticky and yucky like it is when you've conked out. I don't feel sweaty or cold. I don't feel like I've been asleep at all. I'm not stiff or sore. I feel fine. Great even. Rested.

I head out from the stacks, walking out into one of the broad public corridors. It's huge, oversized really, all part of Central's design with those huge diamond framed windows that make this place look spectacular during the day. Given it's dusk out there apparently, the effect leaves the library feeling like the last bastion of civilization in a world grown dark.

Where'd the day go?

I check my phone. At which point the floor drops out from underneath my reality. It's Monday. Monday evening.

It's supposed to be Friday. Friday, right? I was going to hit up that Sky High club over on Fifth avenue. I was going to meet...

Did I make it? Where have I been? For three days, where on earth have I been? I suppose it's possible someone drugged me, dosed me with something date rapey but...for three days? I don't feel hungry. Or thirsty. I don't even feel a need to pee. There's no way I went three days without any of those. So why can't I remember? How did I get here?

I freeze in the middle of the hallway, struck by my situation. Oh God, how long have I been here?

What is the choice?

Maybe I should ask that guy I startled.
I've got to find out the truth right now!

I should head home.
If I've really been missing for three days, Mama must be freaking out.

I should call my friends.
I mean, no messages? That's weird. Maybe they know what's going on.

Hospital or police! Hello? I have no memory for three days, maybe drugged and God knows what. I gotta get checked out.

​

 

[ViciousVip3R]

Great writing!

I think we have gotten all the information we can from the guy we just met, although we can still talk to him as a last result. For now, however, I prefer to pursue other avenues.

Heading home is a decent choice on it's own, but it doesn't really seem to offer any answers to our current predicament.

Calling emergency services seems too extreme. In all likelihood, they will ignore us for some more pressing matter. Although on second thought getting checked out by a doctor isn't too bad of an idea.

Calling our friends seems to be a good starting point. We were going to the club to meet someone, so maybe they will have a better idea of what happened. If anything, our friends should be able to tell us if we were really gone for three days.

 

[Epiphany]

Revive That Dying Flame​

Main Story · Voting and Discussion Thread · Interest Check​

Book 1: What's Left​

DAY 1: Monday
Central Library​

Before I get any more carried away, I should at least check in with some people. If I've really been missing three days, someone must have noticed by now.

Central Library's pretty busy, given it's early evening. I've been out of college for three years now but old reflexes die hard. I'm not going to be one of those inconsiderate asses that interrupts everyone's reading. Instead, I walk around the open causeway, find an escalator down and duck down a side hall that doesn't have books, seats or much in the way of people.

The sound of my shoes lightly tapping the stone-tile floors is another reminder of that weird irreality, that sensation that things had been different last I checked. I'd gone to that club in a skirt wearing heels. But these were my shoes. They're a pair of running sneakers I bought from Under Armour actually. Which suggests more things that don't make a lot of sense. Wherever I'd been since Friday, I'd clearly been home. Right? I mean, if someone drugged me and kidnapped me, they'd hardly have broken into my house to steal my shoes so I'd have something comfortable to wear.

Did I have amnesia? I press a palm to the back of my skull and don't feel the least bit sore. "You're Alley Santos, you're twenty five and you've made some pretty shitty decisions in the last year." Saying it aloud doesn't really give me any comfort, sadly. I still knew who I was but still had no clue what'd happened to me.

I crouch down next to a set of stairs, put my phone to my ear and check for messages.

"Allegra, my Mum called the other day and asked how you are. I told her you were fine but you'll call her, won't you? For her sake. I wouldn't ask but she's terribly fond of you, you know."

The voice mail sizzles in my ear, sizzling inside my head as I close my eyes. Carma's voice, that accent, still moved me in ways it shouldn't. She hadn't said goodbye but the voice mail plays on silently a few more seconds. I can picture her, standing in the kitchen of the new home she'd bought, standing in front of the window with its view of the garden she'd already planted out back. There's a whisper of her breathing over the ear speaker, a familiar hitch that tells me she had more to say and no way to say it.

Thank God she didn't say it. I don't know that I could bear to hear what lay between us.

Once the voice mail runs out, I frown as I realize there's nothing else. The last text I had was from Catherine, confirming she'd meet me at Sky High. Friday, 6:02pm. Nothing since, not from Jim or Chen, not from Mama or Izzie either.

...Nothing from work, either. I missed a day without notice. That should be a writeup at a minimum, to say nothing of attempting phone contact first. I have three projects I'm facilitating and all three have weekly touchpoint meetings every Monday. I'm supposed to record and track action items and dependencies. Did they get canceled or moved or something? Was there an onsite this week I'm not thinking of? There had to be some reason. Maybe Jim called in for me?

My thumb brings up my contact list as my eye catches my battery, showing a steady 67% charge. Huh. Given my usual battery life, it was probably unplugged from its charger around...noon? The plot thickens. In the meantime, who to call? I'd call home but I'll just freak out Mama if I do. Catherine's a no-go, we barely know each other. Thankfully, I have my crew.

Top of my contacts is Jim Tseng. My best friend, has been since childhood. He's my usual go-to for anything, though he's a little flaky due to the whole musician by night lifestyle. We text an average of twelve times a day. His lack of response is actually a bit concerning, suggesting he's probably been kidnapped. Or he's shacked up with a hottie.

Chen's my next most recent text buddy. She's his sister, a few years younger than us, but super nice and more reliable. Religious if that's your thing which, actually, isn't an issue for me since our families all go to the same church. She's still finishing up voice studies in college so we don't hang out quite as much as we used to. Though she'd probably be free right now.

Then there's Carmaline Beckett. I broke up our seven year relationship about...half a year ago? We're good now. That's probably bullshit but we managed to avoid losing our mutual circle of friends. I can rely on her, trust her. Hell, she'd be my top choice for anything. The only question is if I deserve her help.

At least there's Jackson. He's Jim's best friend next to me. They picked up each other freshman year of college and have been roommates ever since. Jackson's solid, reliable, big and tough. I've never had a good read on him to be honest. He smiles at my snark but doesn't laugh. We're not close but Jim's our bridge and if my best friend's kind of a flake, Jackson is his rock steady counterpart who almost certainly has nothing better to do than come get me.

...Especially since I've just now realized I have no idea where my car is. Goddamnit!

What should I do?

Give Jim a call.
Least reliable but we've been there for each other all our lives.

Give Chen a call.
She's definitely free and way too polite to ask questions I can't answer right now.

Give Carma a call.
She'd move the world for me. If only I'd been willing to do the same...

Give Jackson a call.
Totally reliable dude and the least likely to put me on the spot out of the whole group.

​

 

[Epiphany]

Revive That Dying Flame​

Main Story · Voting and Discussion Thread · Interest Check​

Book 1: What's Left​

DAY 1: Monday
Central Library​

Carma's words linger in my ear, in the back of my mind as I look at my phone's contact list. Makes it feel like she's already right there on the line.

Carma Beckett. Is she really my best choice? Just thinking about her name hurts a little and it shouldn't. We hadn't been together in months. I'd moved on. I'd hurt, processed the hurt and reached the end of the process. There shouldn't be a rework loop to this. But I was having the strangest night of my life and I trusted Carma more than anyone else to see me through the weird.

I set off down the stairs while I tap her name on my phone's screen, initiating the call. For a minute, I have only the soft sounds of a library to occupy me. Beneath the connecting tone over the phone's speaker are the hushed footfalls of my running shoes. The murmured whispers of library patrons talking to each other, in an environment with so little sound otherwise that it carried whispers well beyond the intimate circles of confidence.

My breath comes fast, despite a walk so mild it would never elevate my heart rate. No, my heart beat like a drum for other reasons.

"Allegra?"

That voice. The way she said my name. She was English, or British or whatever the difference was. And she alone never called me by my usual diminutive. Relief pours through me all of a sudden, white hot, like dripping wax on your back. Hurts like wax, too. I mean, hurts but in a good way.

"Carma!"

"If you were ringing for someone else's mobile, I must compliment you on your taste in names." That dry wit of hers makes me smile, like always.

"Carma, something...weird is going on. I need help."

"Right. Well. You wouldn't be calling if it weren't urgent. How can I help?"

"Can you...crap, I don't even know where my car is."

"Sorry?"

"I'm at the library. I'm..."

"Which?"

"What?" Her question doesn't make any sense to me.

"Which library? There's, what, a dozen or so?"

"Central. I think."

"You think? Must have been quite a party then. ...On a Monday. ...That ended in a library. Allegra, I'm torn between more amused quips and genuine concern." Carma's tone is light, playful and yet quietly, privately concerned in a way I wouldn't have noticed if not for years long familiarity. I'm worrying her.

"Carma, I can't remember the last three days. I don't remember coming to the library. I don't remember anything since last Friday."

"I'd ask if you were having me on but I know better. Stay right there. I'll come get you. Won't be long."

"I'm not interrupting anything am I?" The question flew off my lips before I could catch it back. It was none of my business. Breaking up with her made it none of my damn business.

"Well, I'd planned to finish another chapter of Little Dorrit, but I suppose I can put it off. Meet me on the steps, won't you?"

Carma's dry humor fits like an old blanket worn smooth by use and bearing a familiar scent. When she hangs up, that scent lingers on my skin, on my nerves, across my stomach and curling lower. We'd been lovers since Carmaline Beckett had spent a year with my family as an exchange student back in high school. For the last seven years, we'd shared a home, a life. Until some months ago. Almost half a year. I hadn't reacted this strongly in all that time, though, despite sharing the same circle of friends.

Well, reaction or not, I'm not going to linger here any longer. I have a ride to catch.

I push on the metal doors sealing Central off from the cold evening air. Naturally I don't have a coat, because that would be the sensible thing amnesia me should have brought with her to the library. I rub my arms for warmth but it's pure habit. As I stand in the cool wind of a cloudy night, I realize how little the cold bothers me. And it's cold, judging by the way the scarce pedestrian traffic bundled up, hands in pockets and coats buttoned up tight.

To kill time, I text Catherine to give me a text or call back whenever she's free. Then I shoot a message off to my parents to apologize for not checking in sooner, followed by a text to Jim, admonishing him for not checking in either.

"Allegra."

I hated being called Allegra. Always had from the time I was a kid. It's the allergy medication thing, you know? I had so many awful nicknames I learned to go by Alley early on. But damn, if the way Carma said it didn't make my knees wobble. Literally. I actually reach out my hand and catch the railing on the library stairs to steady myself. Alley Santos, confident bitch and all around ass kicker, and one 'Allegra' turns me upside down.

I take a breath. Take two even. Then I take another three and finally turn to face my kryptonite.

There she is, standing by her car, perfect as a painting. Carmaline Beckett, recently licensed mental health counselor and the most poised woman I'd ever met. She's a redhead, the freckly kind. Not the self-conscious freckly kind but the kind that wears their spots with honor. She's a little shorter than me, my Carma. I feel a suddenly savage ache blossom across my breastbone and spread down my arms as my body remembers how hers always fit against it, nestled with my chin cresting her temple. Those green eyes gleam like ghostlight, even as the skin around her eyelids crinkles upwards into a smile at the sight of me. We'd spent plenty of time together in the last six months. Comes from having the same friends, of sharing a life together for so long. But we hadn't been alone together since that fateful day.

"There you are then," she said. Why did she look like she hadn't seen me in years? Or maybe like she'd never seen me until now. Weirdest look on her face, either way.

"There I am."

"Won't you come in?"

She beckons to her car door with the sweep of one hand, like a magician in the act or a butler ushering esteemed nobility into the finest dining. It was new. For the past four years, she and I shared my car. Carma had picked up the blue compact just behind her after we broke up, right after she'd landed a job with a community health center. It's a trim, unremarkable car, much as Carma herself tries to be. But the curve of that smile, the subtly unique sway of that ass in that skirt, and the smolder in those green eyes as she flashes a gaze back at me are anything but unremarkable.

I slide into the passenger side, tucking my legs in before gently shutting the door. The seat sucks me in, pushed all the way back and tilted to recline. "I'm guessing you either had a fun night recently or Jackson was your last passenger."

"Allegra, what's this about?"

"I don't know."

"You woke up here, you said?"

"Yeah. About twenty, maybe thirty minutes ago now?"

"I didn't think you'd ever been here before."

"Once or twice, back in college. I'm not a regular, no. Hell, I doubt my library account's active anymore."

"And you've...no idea how you ended up there?"

"Not a clue."

"What's the last thing you do remember?"

I give it some thought as Carma starts the car and pulls away from the curb. Traffic's light at this hour at least. Well, for a given value of 'light'. Plenty of stops but not a lot of maneuvering or stop-and-go movement.

What was the last thing I remembered? Friday. Got up, went for a run, showered, went to work, did my weekly prep for the Monday status report meetings, filled out my time tracking logged hours and went home. Put on that awesome little black dress. Make up. Got in my car feeling sexy as hell. Called up Catherine to see if we were still on for Sky High and she cancelled. Oh, she cancelled! I hadn't met her there after all. So I went...early, I think. I think? I can't remember-

"I danced all night, got in the elevator and that's it."

"You danced and just...what, blacked out?"

"Yeah, I guess. I remember the elevator and it all goes black."

"Do you remember when?"

"I don't know. Late? I wasn't looking at my phone."

"And the next thing you remember is waking up just now."

"That's it."

"Three days and two nights and you've no idea at all."

"For a counselor, you could work on your listening skills." Yeah, probably shouldn't have said that. She made me mad, though! So now I'd made her mad, which was not exactly smart on my part given she was my ride.

"Do you want to go home?"

"That's a funny question."

"That's not an answer. And I didn't mean it like that." Carma blew out a breath that might have been frustration. Or it might have been something stronger, something she'd concealed and wouldn't let out for me to see and know how she really felt.

"Sorry Carma. You're doing me a favor and I can't seem to stop needling you for it. The truth is it's nothing to do with you. I'm freaked out over losing three days and having no damn clue at all why."

"I suppose that's obvious. Sorry. And thank you."

"...I said you're the one doing me the favor. What do you have to thank me for?"

We pulled up to a stop light and she looked at me, really looked. I couldn't read that face I knew better than my own. "For being honest with your feelings." Somehow, I don't think that's what she really meant to say but I couldn't for the life of me figure out what else it could be.

"And here I thought you'd say 'too little too late'," I said at last, realizing that the light had turned to green, that we'd started driving again and I still hadn't responded.

"Being honest is never too little or too late. At least for yourself. It doesn't change things but it doesn't have to. When you put down a burden, it doesn't matter if someone else accepts it and picks it up or not. Either way, you're not carrying it anymore."

"Deep stuff."

"...and here I'd expected you to make some follow up quip."

"Thought about it. Didn't come up with anything, though. Mostly I'm just..."

Tired? I wasn't. Headachy? No pain there either. My situation is a paradox. I have ample reason to worry but I can't help feeling great. I don't want to say that, though. Six months or so and I still feel weird admitting to feeling good about anything. Like, because I was the one who broke us up, because I'd broken her heart, I'd lost the right to show joy around her ever again. It's a rule, right? One I'd followed, out of respect. One I still felt. Still feel.

"Allegra, I meant what I asked earlier. Do you want to go home? Do you want me to take you to Jim's? Or Chen's? What do you want?" My eyes tighten at the obvious omission and, because she's psychic or whatever, she instantly knows why. "You know my house has a guest bedroom. You're very welcome to stay in it. I think you should, actually. Come home with me. I don't know what you've been through, Allegra, but you obviously need time to process it. I can give you that, a listening ear, a shower and change of clothes and a safe place for you to get some rest in peace."

It's tempting. I don't feel tired at all but I also don't feel like facing the city any more. Having a quiet place to hole up sounds perfect. The real question is: Where?

What should I do?

Go to Carma's.
She definitely has the most room!

Go to Jim's.
I half-live there anyway, even if all I can expect is a couch.

Go to Chen's.
Smaller place but more privacy with no questions asked.

Go home.
The six of us make for a crowded house but that's family for you.

​

 

[Epiphany]

Revive That Dying Flame​

Main Story · Voting and Discussion Thread · Interest Check​

Book 1: What's Left​

DAY 1: Monday
Carma's Home​

"Let's start with that shower first."

Unlike the movies, Carma doesn't take her eyes off the road to talk to me. She's always been smart, sensible, the ground to hold me up when I reach for the sky. So when she smiles at my implicit acceptance of her offer, I only see half of it because she's watching where she's going. Half of a Carma smile still raises goosebumps on my arms.

While we drive through unfamiliar streets on the west side of the city, I check my phone. Still no messages. No calls. Still. Much as I hate it, the time to check in has come. Papa goes to bed early but Mama's up late like the rest of us so I tap her contact and connect. And listen with growing impatience as it rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.

"...Mama, I don't know why you're not answering the phone when it's not even ten yet. Whatever. I'm out with-um, with my friends. I've been with them all weekend in case you wondered. ...Mama, call me back when you get this okay?"

It bothers me more than I'd admit to that no one has called, that Mama isn't picking up. If I was spooky or superstitious, I'd suspect something had happened to my family. Naturally, this would mean I'd scream at my driver to gun the engine and make best time to my house, where I'd find a note from the mad man who locked me up and drugged me all weekend, giving me a drop point and a demand or I'd never see my family alive. Then I go to the drop point, listen to his demands, and coolly pull a gun from the back of my jeans before I shoot him cold. My family would cry out with relief, Carma would drape herself over me in gratitude and the credits would roll.

Alternatively, I pull up an app on my phone and send a location request to Mama's cell. It tells me a second later that she's at home. A follow up request or two show the rest of my family's home too.

That bit of mental melodrama dealt with, I glance up and feel my eyes widen as I finally lay eyes on Carma's new digs.

It's a gorgeous craftsman-style house. You know, the kind well out of my price range. It looks like a one-story from the street but a drop in the backyard tells me there's a basement floor too. Carma taps a garage door opener and ushers us inside. Once parked, she opens her door and gestures with her right hand towards my own. "Ladies first?"

I snicker at her stealing my usual line with her. So I hop out and follow her in, acutely conscious that I'd never been here before. Up until some months ago, we'd lived together in my apartment. Since we split, around the time I couldn't afford that place on my own and moved back in with my family, Carma went her own way too. This kind of neighborhood, to say nothing of this kind of house, were well out of most people's price ranges. Certainly too nice for an entry level mental health counselor making whatever peanuts the government threw at the mental health system so politicians could say they cared.

Of course, Carmaline Beckett came from good stock in England. Which meant money as well as some long family history no one cared about. What mattered was that Carma had her four bedroom home.

And she'd just invited me in for the first time.

I feel weird as I cross the threshold. This isn't space I was entitled to. As I walk through a short entryway and follow her into the living room, I'm struck at how much her it all feels like. In our years together, we'd largely lived as the penniless college students we were, rotating through a new apartment every couple of years. Our furniture was cheap and though Carma kept it clean, there was no evidence of this kind of tastefulness. Maybe a decorator did all this? It'd make me feel a little better, though affording this place and a decorator definitely made me wonder why she'd held out on me all this time.

I aimed myself into a comfortably upholstered chair by a fireplace and eyed the matching white plush chairs with a matching couch. The coffee table was artsy, because of course it was, and sure enough Carma had left her copy of Dickens' Little Dorrit on top. Right then and there, I decided the grey, white and black decor suited my ex. All it took was me breaking up with her for Carma to finally make the plunge to being an adult. Was I next?

Meanwhile, Carma swings back into the kitchen to fetch us some drinks. "Have you heard from your Mum?" she asks from the other room.

"Left her a voicemail."

"Maria can't seem to give you a day without a call. It's been, what, three and she's not picking up?"

"I suspect a hostage taker kidnapped them."

"Or I'll give her a ring, shall I?"

As usual, Carma ignores my bullshit and comes back out from the kitchen bearing a small tea service. Of course, the tea is for her. I do drink the stuff, an acquired habit when living with a Brit my whole adult life, but she'd thoughtfully made me coffee instead.

I take one sniff at the coffee as Carma taps her headset, connecting the call.

A wave of nausea mixed with a bewildering blend of hunger suddenly twists my stomach. It hits so hard, so fast, I barely put the cup down without spilling. Carma almost drops her phone, concern drawn large across that gorgeously freckled face. I wave her off as I catch my breath. It's...unexpectedly easy. A few experimental breaths and the nausea is gone as quickly as it'd came.

"What the hell?"

"Maria? Oh hello, dear, how are you?"

Carma and I exchange astonished looks as my night takes a turn for the weirder. I could hear Mama talking my ex-girlfriend's ear off from here, over her wireless earphones. Carma had it right; my Mama couldn't go a day without talking my ear off. It'd been three days and she'd...had she ducked my call just now?

As usual, my ex struggles to get a word in edgewise over my irresistible maternal figure while I eye the coffee uncertainly. Mama seems determined to talk about irrelevancies, like Carma's new house and if she's seeing anyone new. After all this time, my ex-girlfriend is practically family to her.

I sniff the coffee. It's...strange. Coffeish but something seems off. Was Carma trying to poison me? Instead, I pour myself a cup of tea from her tea service. A restful lavender, Carma's favorite for late nights. The instant I put it to my lips, the nausea returns in full force. This time, it bends me in two and the tea cup falls from my suddenly numb fingers to clatter thankfully unbroken across the hardwood floor, spilling tea over the base of the fireplace.

Searing thirst and hunger sweep over me like a wildfire, arriving like a freight train and departing like an intercontinental flight. I'm dimly aware of Carma's hand on the small of my back. But I can't concentrate on anything except how agonizingly ravenous I am...and how sick the thought of food or drink makes me. It recedes slowly, by inches. At last the nausea flickers out like a snuffed candlewick, leaving me a sweaty, disheveled mess.

"To the right, dear, and on the left." Carma, gracious host that she is, points me to the bathroom without asking.

The bathroom is impossibly polished and clean, much like Carma herself. I can't keep a bathroom clean to save my life. For years, I coasted on Carma's relative indifference to having to clean up after me. Now, I'm almost afraid to touch anything and leave a fingerprint. Not that Carma's been mean about me being here. Quite the contrary.

At this point, any sane person would conclude that Carma is way better off without me.

It takes a few seconds to get hot water from the faucet, time I use to fetch a small hand towel and soak it before washing my face. Which leaves me with a small mystery. There's no makeup residue on the towel when I'm done with it. I was totally dolled up Friday night. While it strained the imagination to think there'd still be makeup on my face after three days, I didn't remember taking it off. I like makeup. i usually wore eyeliner at least, and a little foundation and, well, I like makeup. So whatever happened to me in the last three days, I probably wasn't awake for it. Or free.

This isn't a simple case where I bumped my head or something and just lost time. My clothes were different, no makeup. ....Were these even my clothes?

They weren't! I check the tag on my top. INC International Concepts? Not a brand I'd ever bought. Whose clothes was I wearing? I strip right in Carma's bathroom. My skin crawls as flashes of scenarios flicker through my head. Was I drugged? Raped? An uncomfortable minute later and I reluctantly shake my head. I can't be sure but I don't feel sore the way I'd expect to feel. I wasn't hurt either. No punctures, no restraint marks or anything. If someone had drugged me and kept me sedated for three days, who knows what they could have done to me. But how on earth had someone managed to plant my unconscious ass in the middle of the city's biggest library during public hours?

I turn on the shower. It'll destroy any forensic evidence, maybe, but I've got to get clean. And let's face it, this wasn't date rape. Whatever happened is a whole lot weirder than date rape. I scrub for a good 30 minutes and step out feeling fresh. Rejuvenated. I look myself over in the mirror.

Nothing. No marks. No soreness. Not even a trace of sore. No needle marks either. Anywhere. I can't find a scratch on me. My legs could use a shave but that's about it.

Hell with this. I should put on a bathrobe, find Carma and learn how things went with Mama.

Back in the living room, Carma sits cross-legged on the couch. That means she's uncomfortable.

"You look like you have good news."

"Well, I-Oi, you're having me on, aren't you?"

"What'd Mama say?"

"I don't quite know how I want to put this, Allegra."

"Rip off the bandaid is my usual approach."

A grim smile crosses the lush lips of my favorite redhead. "That it is. Right. Maria doesn't seem terribly aware that you've been absent. I could barely get her to mention you at all. She repeatedly changed the subject on me. When I told her you were here, she didn't seem to remember that I had. It was rather like short-term memory loss, only it's specific to you."

"...What?" What the hell. What kind of passive aggressive game is Mama playing with me?

"I don't think it's an act."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because most acts follow a standard pattern. There are cues one can notice, if you know what to listen for. I didn't hear any. Besides, I've known your Mum for...what, nearly ten years now? This isn't like her."

"What is it like?"

"I couldn't say. But something strange is happening with you, Allegra. We ought to bring you to a hospital."

I've been pacing about the living room floor, pausing in front of the fireplace or one of the ridiculously huge back windows. The suggestion of a hospital brings me to a full stop now, an echo of something I'd thought of doing before. "I'll think about it," I say instead.

"Would you like to try anything to drink? Anything to eat?"

"Maybe later." My stomach didn't cramp at the thought but I remembered that sudden tearing nausea. No way in hell was I invoking that again.

"Then let me show you to my guest room."

I turned away from the back window and stared at her once more. "You're really okay with-"

"You're obviously upset and unsettled. Your family's behaving strangely. It's hideously late by this point. The sun will be up all too soon, I'm sure. You might as well stay somewhere safe and sort this tomorrow. Let's get you some pajamas, seeing as I don't have any of Jim's shirts handy for you to steal."

My eyes burn. Before I know it, the hot sting of unshed tears seal my eyelids shut. The feather-light brush of her hand along my shoulder is barely perceptible but no less welcome for that. A moment later, she stands alongside me and draws me against her shoulder, until my head rests on top of hers. I manage not to bawl like a baby, but only just. My ex-girlfriend just holds me, saying nothing and urging nothing, just giving me time to get myself together.

It takes a minute but at last I manage to swallow that sudden rush of emotion down. When I draw away, she yields the space until there's enough distance between us to be comfortable with each other.

"I'm for bed, Allegra. I'll have breakfast ready for you whenever you get up. In the meantime, keep the shades drawn and sleep in. I'll call into work for you, if you'd like."

I nod. She rises. And then she's gone in a wisp of skirt and the light perfumed scent of Rose de Grasse.

End Day 1
​

 

[Epiphany]

Revive That Dying Flame​

Main Story · Voting and Discussion Thread · Interest Check​

Book 1: What's Left​

DAY 2: Tuesday
Carma's House​

"Jesus!"

"Told you she'd be fine."

I wake with a gasp, my lungs suddenly tight. The acceleration of consciousness is like a goddamn space shuttle launch. Don't get me wrong, I'm a pretty light sleeper. Just ask Carma. But it'd never been like this.

There's no transition, no rising from the depths. No lingering shreds of dreams clinging like lily pads on a pond. I feel awesome. Ready to leap out of bed and run a marathon right now.

...Except I'm basically in pajamas borrowed from my ex-girlfriend, and she's standing over me with my best friend. I'm in the guest bedroom and it's barely light outside, judging by what little creeps through the drawn shades. They look like they've been up for a while. God, how early was it? Not dawn. Couldn't be.

"I'll fix you up with some coffee." Carma doesn't wait for my answer and ducks out of the room.

Leaving me with Jim. Jim Tseng's been my best friend all my life. We grew up next door to each other. We'd been in every class together. Survived new friends and ex-friends, puberty and hormones, and nothing had ever come between us. He's Chinese, if that matters. I mean ethnically. Hell, I'm Mexican. Both of our families came from somewhere else. Both of us had to learn two languages and live in two worlds. But both of us consider ourselves Americans at the end of the day.

"You just going to lie there staring at me, Legs, or are you getting your ass up?"

"Nice to see you too, Jim. What time is it, anyway?"

"Sun just went down. Careful or you'll end up with my schedule."

"...Are you serious?"

I fling the blankets aside and spring up to the window with its drawn shades. Pulling them aside, I peer out into the crimson-lit sky and the orange world it spread over. Street lights had just turned on. Had I seriously slept the whole day away?

"Hey Jim."

"Yeah?"

"It's Tuesday, right?"

"All day."

I check my phone and nod once. "No texts? No calls? I poof on a Friday night and it takes you four days to turn up?"

"It's, uh-"

"What, did you score or something?"

The embarrassed blush across his cheeks told me more than I'd suspected. I want to be irritated with him. Angry, even. I'd been kidnapped or whatever for days and he hadn't noticed. He's my best friend and he'd been oblivious. Except Jim isn't like that. Of the two of us, he was always the innocent one. The one who felt too strongly and too easily. The one always taken advantage of.

It'd been years since Jim had lost his head over a girl. Way back in our freshman year of college, he'd had a girlfriend named Libby who'd loved him for a year and promptly dumped him that summer. My Jim had never been the same since.

"So, is this someone I'm going to meet eventually?"

"Uh, I-"

"What's her name?"

"Alley-"

"Another Alley? I always knew you were secretly into me."

"What?"

"It's the pajamas, right?"

"Shut up, Legs."

"You can't resist the pajamas."

"God you drive me crazy sometimes."

"Just admit it's always been about me."

"You should say that around Carmaline. That's diagnosable."

Carma's voice drifts in from the hallway. "Narcissistic personality disorder. But honestly now, we all knew that ages ago."

The banter and Jim's easy smile relax me in a way I haven't been since I'd woken up at the library. As long as I had my friends, I didn't need anything else. Still no messages on my phone, though. My family seemed oblivious still for who knows what reason. No call from work either.

"Hey Carma? Did you call work?"

"Why don't you get dressed and come out and sit down and be civilized like the rest of us?"

Even as a distant, floating voice, Carma's cheerful bite raises a bit of a smile on my face. When we'd been together, comments like that came across a little passive-aggressively to me. Now, it just reminded me of what I didn't miss."

I raise an eyebrow at Jim, who takes the hint and flees without a word. Nicely enough, a set of my own clothes was laid out for me. Jeans, underwear, bra, and a t-shirt with the What's Left logo on it, one of Jim's 'gifts' to advertise his band. I find one of my black leather coats draped over a chair pushed into a desk and slip it on after putting myself together.

Back in my own wardrobe, feeling rested, I'm much better off than I'd been twenty-four hours ago.

Once I make my way out of the guest room, I see my gang waiting for me in the recreation room. For privacy, Carma put me up in her 'basement' which boasted a pretty sweet guest bedroom along with what passed for a game room. A wraparound couch in the middle of the room frames a stylish game table, currently set up with a Catan board that had obviously been in play for a while.

Carma had left a breakfast tray out for me, adorned with a bowl of cereal, a pitcher of milk, a plate with a small stack of rye toast and a glorious cup of delicious coffee. It lay there on a small antique wood table against the back wall beneath the TV, where Carma usually put the board games no one else wanted to play. That rye toast looks especially tantalizing. Carma herself claims a small corner of the couch and sits there, legs tucked beneath her, wearing a nice white blouse with a charcoal skirt. Lady-like as always. Of course, her legs tucked under her mean she has something important to say. Carma has a dozen ways she sits and they all mean something.

Between me and food stands Jim, though he's leaning against the rec room wall and therefore easy to get around. My best friend wears basically what I did; t-shirt and jeans though his are a bit shabbier than mine. Then again, a musician didn't make as much as a project coordinator. That's why he had a day job as some kind of customer service auditor gig.

Chen and Jackson are more of a surprise.

Chen is Jim's younger sister. Prim, proper, a devout Lutheran and aspiring opera star, she has all of the famous Tseng family Chinese reserve that Jim never managed. She's the only daughter in the Tseng family. That made her my adoptive kid sister.

At least that's what I've always said to myself. The truth is, she's gorgeous. I mean drop dead, flat out jaw droppingly gorgeous. She's also the nicest, most honest, most ethical member of our little gang. I'd kept away while dating Carma, for my girlfriend's sake. Now that I was single, I keep away for Jim's.

And then there's Jackson. Jim had spent the summer of his high school graduation living with some extended family and when he'd come back for our first year in college, he'd had Jackson in tow. He's a big man. I mean, like, he has eight inches on me and I'm not a short woman. Muscled too, with nice black hair and that smoldering unsmiling face that made straight chicks swoon. Jackson's a pretty phenomenal basketball player, or was in college. These days, he's the drummer in Jim's band, What's Left. When he isn't rocking out, Jackson pays the bills as a physical trainer.

Given my own fitness fetish, you'd expect we'd click better. Fact is, Jackson is aloof and a little downright unfriendly. Some days, I'm of the opinion that he's into Jim. Most days, I think he's just in the closet. Either way, he's terse, tough and hard to get to know.

They look like they're here for an intervention. No one's smiling. They're acting like someone died.

Maybe someone did.

How should I play this?

Time for serious talk.
Weird shit's happened and I need every ally I have.

Keep it light.
I don't take anything seriously and I'll freak them out if I do.

Get mad.
I'm the one who was kidnapped and they're looking at me like I'm the problem?

Blow them off.
I have a job and family to worry about, I don't have time for this.

​

 

[Epiphany]

Revive That Dying Flame​

Main Story · Voting and Discussion Thread · Interest Check​

Book 1: What's Left​

DAY 2: Tuesday
Carma's House​

"So, you look like you have something serious to say and no one's talking. You can be straight with me." Neither Jim and Carma rise to the implicit joke there, confirming my suspicions. Chen naturally doesn't pick up on it and Jackson, hell, who knows.

"Why don't you try eating something first, dear?" Carma gestures to the enviable rye toast. Judging by her expression, she has no expectation I'll actually eat it.

"...Oh, that's not creepy at all."

"I'm getting some water," said Jim as he pushed off from the wall and headed upstairs.

"May I have a glass too?" Chen asked.

"I don't know, may you?"

"...Jiang..."

"Call me Jim and you can have my glass."

Chen mutters Jim's preferred name and proceeds to sulk over the glass of water her brother puts in her hands. It's adorable. Their sibling antics also take my mind off Carma's invitation. With a reluctant sigh, I pick up a slice of the rye bread, toast them with my toast, and take a bite. I immediately regret it.

Tearing, wracking nausea overwhelms me. My God, I'm hungry. The need for something in me thunders through me, head to toe, in time with my pulse. It's all I can do not to curl up into a ball on the floor and leave scratches on Carma's lovely hardwood floor, so intense is the sickening craving. Then it's gone. The nausea and hunger are all gone as fast as they'd come.

"Whew. Yeah, I'm good. Thanks anyway."

"Allegra, you haven't had anything to eat or drink in at least twenty four hours," Carma said, looking concerned.

"...Really?" I think about it. "I hadn't noticed."

Jim stares at me. "Seriously?"

"Seriously, I'm not hungry or thirsty at all. I'm peachy keen."

"Peachy keen?" Jackson asked, finally looking up from the Catan board.

"Right as rain. Top shelf. First class for Carma."

Carma gives out a sigh of long suffering. "No one says first class."

"Which movie was it that had that girl's Mom say that?"

"No one local says first class."

"That's why I said it was for you!"

The rapid patter of nonsense drew Chen's attention once more and she smirked at me. "So who says peachy keen?"

"No one local," Jackson says, returning back to the board.

I can't help it. I snicker. That was actually pretty good for the tall boy, who usually opts out of our banter. Jim must be rubbing off on him at last. My amusement briefly lightens the mood too, which is very welcome. The crew is pretty laid back by nature. This is already the longest we've been serious about anything as a group since the first time Carma and I turned up at Jim's after we'd broken up.

"We could joke all evening," Jim says, talking loudly enough to interrupt anymore bantering. "Or we could, you know, address that something seriously wrong has happened."

And just like that, the seriousness returns. Jim isn't usually the mood crasher but he takes me seriously, takes things about me seriously. That's when I see fear in his eyes. Is he really that worried for me? A look around the room reveals much the same in everyone's expressions. In how they look at me, in how they don't look at me.

Someone told me once that you can tell how involved a person is in a conversation by where their feet are pointed. If they're pointed at you, they're into it. If they're pointing elsewhere, or towards someone else, that's where they want to go next. If the theory holds, no one in this room wants to talk to me. Or each other.

"Look, it's probably just a bug. I feel fine."

"You just contradicted yourself," Jim said, unsmiling.

"I don't feel hungry or thirsty, okay? I feel fine. Great even."

Chen shook her head, causing that gorgeous straight black hair to bounce around her ears. "So said several anorexic ballerinas in my old ballet classes."

"Seriously Chen, I'm great. I feel like I could go twenty rounds in a ring, run a marathon and then climb a mountain."

"Euphoria," Carma says.

I watch her a moment longer, waiting for her to say more but she doesn't. Instead, I shrug and say "Watch this." At that point, I flip onto my hands and land it, perfectly.

I'm athletic and I've done handstands before but I have to admit I'm pleased how that went off. Usually I'm not quite this coordinated until I've warmed up. And, you know, done it a few times for practice. Which only proves my health is plainly not the problem. I hold the handstand for a good thirty seconds while my friends watch me from upside down.

"You see? I'm totally fine." I drop out of my handstand and unbend right back into a standing position, like a slinky. Huh. Not even a headrush. Then I tug my t-shirt down which, thanks to the fact I tucked it in, doesn't need much adjustment. Yay for not flashing boobs.

"Legs, what happened to you?" Jim asks.

"Beats the hell out of me."

"Uh, guys, help me out?"

My best friends all exchange looks. Clearly they'd been talking about me before this little intervention. I just shrug and hop up on the table against the back wall. My butt manages to miss breakfast but I bump the unloved board games Carma never convinces anyone to play. She doesn't even glare at me. Ugh, so it's serious. Get the point already.

"I'm still not convinced," Chen says at last, looking at Jim. "I think you're being ridiculous."

"So do I," Jackson spoke up, leaning back into the couch slightly, with a slightly disagreeable look on his face.

"Carma agrees with me," Jim says back to them and both break eye contact. So does Carma, who has decided to cross her legs. So, we're back to my ex being uncomfortable again. "I'm just not sure how to prove it."

"Shame I'm not Christiany or I'd have the necessary accouterments," Carma says, with the faintest of smiles. "Perhaps Chen has a Bible on her?"

"Oh! On my phone, does that count?" The Chinese girl starts fishing around her pockets.

"...Does it?" Jim looks torn between amusement and bewilderment.

I put my hands on my hips. "What the hell are you guys talking about?"

"They think you're a vampire."

Leave it to Chen to be blunt and to the point when no one else will be. It is, of course, the nuttiest thing I'd heard all day. Maybe not all weekend, though. Vanishing for days, work not caring, Mama ducking my calls, everyone ducking my calls. Oh, and my inexplicable commitment to the world's best diet plan.

"If I were a vampire, wouldn't I lack a pulse?" I ask, glancing between them.

"What makes you think you have one?" Jim's quirked eyebrow is meant to look light but the naked fear in his eyes is way too serious.

"Why don't you check it?"

"We did," Carma said. "Earlier."

"...What?"

"Later. Remember last night? You ended up calling me...within thirty minutes or so of when you woke up last night?"

"Yeah, so?"

"You called me thirty minutes after sunset. Allegra, I went to wake you today so you'd eat something and I couldn't. I literally couldn't. I dumped water on you, then changed the sheets under you and you never stirred. Didn't you notice those aren't the pajamas you went to bed in?"

Holy shit she's right. I'm a light sleeper, always have been. Everytime Carma went on a trip, it took me about four days to get used to her being back in bed, waking me up every time she stirred. Someone opening the door to my room wakes me up. Changing my clothes on me? Impossible. Utterly impossible. Unless I was drugged. I don't feel drugged. I don't even feel the least bit tired and wouldn't I, if I'd been drugged?

"Jim and I both saw how you woke up, just now," Carma added, giving me a minute to digest all that. "You were motionless, still as stone, your breath imperceptible, unwakeable as Aurora. No pulse, Allegra. None. And then in a split second, you were utterly awake. Exactly when the sun set."

"I'm surprised you didn't call an ambulance. I mean, did you think I was dead?"

Carma cleared her throat. "We tried, dear, but-"

"In a minute," Jim said, his voice as sharp as a dismissive gesture of his hand. My Jim was never this serious, this shaken. "There's also the matter of your lack of appetite. Food and drink sickens you."

"From that, you jump to vampires? Vampires? You never struck me as a supernatural enthusiast. Hell, none of you do."

"Hold your breath," Jackson said, so suddenly I jumped a little on the table. One of the board games nearly toppled off and this time I did draw Carma's ire, though she didn't stir from her seat as I straightened it up.

"What?"

"Just hold your breath."

"Want me to fill a bathtub while I'm at it?"

Carma, Jim and Chen are all worried and not hiding it well. Jackson? He'd have my vote for the one of us least likely to give a shit about anything. The way he just met my eyes, looking serious, not being sulky or surly or even disinterested in me. Of course it's all ridiculous and so are all of them. But on the bright side, it's easy enough to settle the question. All I have to do is hold my breath.

Except I don't want to. I'm not in the mood for games, for stunts or tricks. And given how bizarre all of this was, I'm surprised to realize I don't really want to know. If I'm honest with myself, I'm scared they're right.

"You realize I don't have fangs, right?"

"C'mon, Legs," Jim says, sitting forward.

Carma sat forward as well. "Please?"

Reluctantly, I oblige. Most. Boring. Test. Ever. Seriously, I'm just staring at them, watching them stare at me. So I pull out my phone and tune them out. No texts, no emails, no voicemail, nada. Social media's still good, though.

"That's enough."

I glance up, only to find Chen gawking at me, Jackson frowning and Jim looking resigned. Carma just looks...sad.

"So I can hold my breath," I say, shrugging off the looks.

Chen's reply is to show me her phone. A stopwatch app is running. Six minutes have elapsed. Yeah, I've never held my breath longer than, jeez, thirty seconds or something? Shit.

"Shit."

Carma visibly gathers herself before me, takes a deep breath, breathes it out to dispel tension the way she does when confronting something she's anxious about. "Now comes the hard part. I know," she says quickly, holding up a hand to silence my immediate retort. "I need to tell you a number of things, dear. They're going to be hard but you need to listen to them all. I'm here for you. We're here for you. But you need to hear me out. Just stay calm, won't you?"

"When in the history of the world has telling someone to stay calm actually worked?"

"Four times that I can think of."

"Fine. Give me your best shot."

Defiance. I didn't really feel it but I projected it because no way was I letting some weekend surprise define me or how I react. Maybe it was a big deal, maybe it wasn't. I can't change what happened. I lack the power to travel through time. But I can always control how I react to what's happened.

Carma's words pour out at a steady pace and the facts emerge, whether I want them to or not.

• I don't have a job. There's no record of an Allegra Santos in their HR file. My cubicle's empty. My projects belong to that bitch Cassie Jones, not me.
• My family barely remembers me. They aren't missing me at all, even though my room still has my stuff in it.
• My car doesn't exist and neither do I. When Carma reported my car missing, the police and the DMV confirmed my license plate had never been issued. When she pressed about my license and registration, she found my license is unassigned in their system.
• My social security number is unassigned. No one ever received it.
• My whole life's been erased. In three days, I've become a goddamn ghost.
• And when I was asleep today, Jim checked my pulse and discovered I didn't have one. He called an ambulance. When they showed up, they barely looked at me, left to get something from their van and never came back. When Jim called emergency services again, they had no idea there'd already been an emergency call to Carma's house and the same distracted paramedics showed up and left the same way they'd left the first time.

Huh. Every vampire film I've ever seen, becoming an undead bloodsucker is unquestionably the biggest shocking revelation there is. Hell, when someone vanishes for three days, that's the whole plot of plenty of films. So how come both of those problems just fade away?

I don't exist. I don't have a job, again, again I'm broke and this time I can't fix it. I can't fix this. I don't...Goddamnit, I could be deported if I don't have a social security number!

What do I do? What the hell do I do?

What the hell do I do?

Rise and overcome.
I have to keep my shit together and work the problem.

Collapse in Carma's arms.
I can't do this alone and, breakup or not, I need her

Get out of the house.
I can't breathe, and I don't need to apparently. I need some air. I have to get out of here!

Go back to bed.
Screw it, just give me a goddamn minute to myself to process what's happened.

​

 

[Epiphany]

Revive That Dying Flame​

Main Story · Voting and Discussion Thread · Interest Check​

Book 1: What's Left​

DAY 2: Tuesday
Carma's House​

Breathe, Alley. Crying or running's not going to make things any better. And at least my friends have stuck it out. I'm not without help, even if we are just a bunch of kids barely adults without a clue how to fix this.

I'm the center of our circle. Always have been. When Jim's family moved in next door back when we were in grade school, I was the one who showed him around the neighborhood, who played with him, who protected him from bullies. I'm the one who encouraged Chen to use that gorgeous singing voice for more than church hymns, to blossom from the shy introvert to the star of high school musicals, college choirs and now opera. Carma stayed with my family as an exchange student...and then stayed forever, making her life here instead of England, in large part because of me.

And then there's Jackson. Okay, he's Jim's, not mine. But even he's looking at me for direction, for what to do next. None of them have any idea. Or maybe they do but they need someone to make them share it, to validate it or them, to make them feel safe sharing something they'd otherwise be uncomfortable saying aloud.

"Okay, we're deep in the unknown. I don't have any choice in that but I don't have to drag you along with me." I take a breath and give them each a firm look. "I think someone took me this weekend. They wiped out my life, wiped out my memory of the weekend, and left me, uh, stranger than I already was. God only knows what'll happen to you guys if you get involved."

"Already am," Jim says at once. "Always have been."

"You're not alone, Alley," Chen adds. "We're stronger together."

"Good words." Carma's expression is composed but her cheeks are pink, her eyes bright with emotion. "I'm with you too."

Everyone turns to Jackson when he doesn't immediately leap in. I kind of like it. My best buds are acting like they're in a movie or a show, like declaring their undying support means that we're a team and a team can't be defeated or something. The tall man's dark eyes tell me he knows better. It's a dose of reality and one I'm grateful for. When he speaks, it's something thoughtful instead of purely emotional kneejerk "I'll support you!" sentiment.

"What happened to you may happen to others," he says at last, after weighing his words. "May have already happened. I'll help you, Alley. You need the help and I believe you have the…" his lips quirk into a faint smile. "The determination to carry an investigation through. And like Chen says, we're stronger together."

"I didn't know you cared," I quip.

"You're my friend."

That simple statement only seems simple. From anyone else, it'd seem like a lackluster declaration. But Jackson is famously taciturn. And very careful. We'd hung out for years but such a direct statement of friendship is rare for the big man. It makes me realize maybe we're on better terms than I thought we were.

"Okay. Well, I'm open to suggestions on what to do next. I don't have a job to go back to apparently."

"About that. We had some suggestions." Carma folds her hands in her lap and leans forward slightly. In Carma's sittingspeak, that means she's into the conversation and probably thinks her idea is best. Big surprise.

"Hit me up."

"I think you should go to a hospital. Get checked out by a doctor."

I grin at her before pointing out, "But I'm dead. Right? I didn't have a pulse? And no one knows I exist anymore?"

"Well, perhaps." Carma's swift admission tells me she doesn't think those things are very important. "A hospital can find out for sure and at least we'd know more than we know now. Besides, you haven't had anything to eat or drink in over twenty four hours. If you are a blood-sucking vampire, we should probably find you some blood to suck and a hospital's bound to have supplies."

"Har har."

"I'd be willing to go with you, keep you company."

I don't say anything, so she can't hear the tremor that would betray how I felt about that.

In the shuddering silence, Jim speaks up. "Well, that's a good way to go. But I've a different idea."

"Your Professor Seville, right?" Carma asks, sounding as if she already knows the answer

"I suspect Eliott can help, yeah."

I perk up at that. Ever since college, Jim had been tight with this codgy old tenured professor at our local university. They'd had classes together, with a lot of extracurricular mentoring. What they did, what they talked about were the closest things Jim had to secrets from me. If I hadn't been so wrapped up in Carma all those years, I'd probably have dragged it out of him by now.

This was the first time he'd offered to arrange a meeting. It made me wonder more than I already did about the nature of their relationship. And what was it about my situation that made Jim think Professor Seville could help? Was it the vampire part, the missing three days part, or the missing life part? I'm not sure how I felt about the man Professor Seville would have to be to actually help me with any of those.

"You really think he can help with this?" I say at last.

"I know he can."

"Uh huh. How about you, Jackson? What do you think I should do?"

Definitely time to change the subject. That and I like putting Jackson on the spot. He seems slightly surprised by it, a reaction that never fails to amuse me.

"Study," comes his swift answer.

"...Study what?"

"Vampires."

"You want me to read a little Bram Stoker with you?"

"Central Library has a large collection of books, common and obscure. Let's search them for answers."

"You really think reading some Anita Blake is going to help my situation?"

"There are old tales, folklore, stories from around the world. Something's happened to you, Alley. Possibly in that very library. Unless you can remember who did this to you, direct research will tell you more than a hospital's lab or an old professor can. With less risk too."

"Risk?" Chen asks, her beautiful features drawing into a concerned frown.

"The more people you tell a secret, the more likely the secret gets out."

Jackson's tone is that of an authority. Even more than Carma or Jim, he looks like he absolutely believes his course of action's the best one.

"...Fine," I concede, "Good point. Chen, you have an opinion?"

"I do."

She sits there so quietly, looking nervous. Looking radiant. Jim and Carma's personalities were so strong, to say nothing of mine, she and Jackson both tended to vanish beneath us. But there's poise in her reserve, and an earnestness about her I'd rarely seen before.

"I thought you might like to go to church."

"...Church? Are they even open?"

"There's a midnight service we could attend. Pastor Gilroy puts it on for third shift workers, truckers, people who want the affirmation of the congregation but are never around when everyone else is."

Jim's incredulous disbelief comes out of his mouth in a strangled laugh. He follows it up by saying "You really think prayer is going to solve this?"

"It worked for Paul. For Peter. For our own family, for that matter."

There's absolute conviction in Chen's voice. I have to admit, the sentiment's not wholly lost on me. Carma and Jackson are equally disinterested in religion and Jim's long been a lapsed Lutheran but church, faith, still means something to me. If nothing else, it might help me get some clarity, let go of my burdens enough to get a little peace and gain some objectivity.

And hey, if I really am a blood sucking vampire, I'll probably find out for sure if I'm barred from holy ground or whatever. If there's something supernatural in the world, why not something supernatural in heaven? Proof of the one doesn't necessarily mean the other but damn if this whole situation isn't making a relationship with God make a lot more sense.

"Yeah, well, church is great and all when you're trying to figure out what to do with your life, or be a better person. You actually think it can solve vampirism?" Yep, Jim's as much of a skeptic as I expected.

Carma tries for a conciliatory tone. "Religiosity has some correlation with certain positive outcomes."

"So does the placebo effect." Jackson's not buying it at all.

"Alley," Chen says, catching my eyes and holding them with her own. "Something supernatural has happened to you. Something inexplicable. Does it not follow that if one thing seems true..."

"No," said Jackson.

"I'm with the big guy," Jim added, nodding agreeably. "Besides, Eliot...er, Professor Seville's usually up at all hours. And unlike God, he typically talks back."

"I'm not religious myself, Chen," Carma says, smiling faintly at the younger girl. "And obviously I think Allegra is better off at a hospital. But she won't be worse off in church."

The four of them watch me. It's a little like being pitched to, with each courting my vote. And it's also a little like they're worried I'm going to run off if they don't keep an eye on me. I'm not sure if I should be flattered or afraid.

What should I do?

Hospital with Carma.
An objective medical examination's a good idea, especially if I'm going to get hungry...

The Professor with Jim.
He's been evasive about this this guy for years. Here's my chance to find out about him.

Research with Jackson.
Not sure what I'll find but it's straightforward, carries the least risk and it puts me back at the scene of the crime so to speak.

Church with Chen.
I don't know what to think. Maybe prayer can help, especially if this is something supernatural.

​

 

[Epiphany]

Revive That Dying Flame​

Main Story · Voting and Discussion Thread · Interest Check​

Book 1: What's Left​

DAY 2: Tuesday
Eliot's House​

"Yeah, let's check out the Professor."

"...Really?" Jim looks so surprised, bless him.

"Nah."

"What?"

"Jesus, Jim, have a little confidence. You say Eliot can help, fine, I believe you. Let's check the guy out, hear what he has to say. Besides, I'm dying to know why you think he can fix vampirism."

"I...don't know that. Not for sure. Just talk to him, Legs, you won't regret it."

There it is again. That look of secrecy. It's not a look I'm used to seeing on a guy I've known since grade school. Jim and I go way back. We have no secrets. Except this one. Now for the first time I was in the door, given a chance to poke at whatever Jim was hiding.

We're burning night sitting here so I make my goodbyes to the rest of the group and head out to Jim's car. A minute later and we're on the road. As we drive, I study my best friend. He looks serious. Out of our group, Jim's always been the least serious one. Even though his face is more familiar to me than my own, I can't really get a good read on it. For some reason, thoughts of cults or secret government projects spring to life before my mind's eye. Man, I need to get a life.

"So, what's the backstory?"

"Huh?" It's barely a sound from him and most of his attention remains on the road, where it should be.

"C'mon, I'm finally meeting the man. You still going to pull this mysterious shit with me?"

"Come on, Legs, it's not my mystery to tell."

"Remind me how you even met this guy."

"College, remember? Freshman year? I pulled a history class and he was teaching it." No change in expression. Jim wasn't giving me much to work with.

"You're not a History Major."

"It was Gen Ed, you know. Required."

"Exactly. One and done. How'd you guys get so buddy buddy that you still talk to the man all these years later?"

"We only graduated a few years ago, you know."

"And I'm not in touch with any of my professors. Why are you?"

"I can't keep in touch or something? Is this a rule now?"

"Jim, are you trying to piss me off?"

At this point, I feel that's a fair question. Like I said, Jim and I don't do secrets. And the few we have, mostly involving Carma, we don't play bullshit games of avoiding the question or asking questions back. I told him flat out that it wasn't his business.

...Kind of like he just told me it wasn't his mystery to tell. Well, aren't I a hypocritical bitch. Because I can't let that go. I don't even feel bad about pressing him. Because this situation is nine levels above any of the petty, relationship drama excuses that used to be the case for us. I vanished. I was probably undead. And my life was erased. What the hell was any of that to Professor Seville?

"Why are you on me about this?" Jim asks, finally glancing at me. Yeah, he's pissed. Fine by me.

"Because you've always had a bullshit reason or excuse, every time, for treating this guy like he's a dirty secret."

"He's not."

"We've been best friends our whole lives, Jim. We got through Libby together. But this? You don't talk about this. Nothing about Eliot or what you guys do or what he talks about, nothing. I've never even seen the guy."

"He's private."

"You know what? I've better things to do than beat my head against a brick wall."

"If me not talking about him really pisses you off, you'll be very happy soon."

"Uh huh."

"Trust me, Legs."

Bastard. He had to go for trust. Because the truth is, we have each other's backs. Best friends forever, always have been, always will be. It pisses me off that he can't, won't be straight with me. But at the end of the day, I know the worth of our relationship, our friendship. Some stodgy professor isn't worth any risk to that.

Thankfully, I don't have long to wait. We pull up outside this old fashioned Victorian with a color scheme that's questionable even by streetlight. It's that kind of oversized antique structure that ends up student housing, a bed and breakfast or one of those weird 'historic' homes with a placard and the date.

Yep, there's the placard.

We get out of the car and Jim leads the way along the sidewalk, heading up a short flight of stairs to the porch, which is one of those big wraparounds that goes halfway around the house. It's a cool night, judging by the way Jim draws his jacket around himself. Funny. I can't feel a thing. Just a faint wind stirring my hair, the sharp scent of grass cut in the last day or so, the faint road noise from traffic as people hurry about heading home from work or getting dinner.

Jim knocks politely before opening the door. Huh. He does that with me too, at least at my family's house, but it's not something I expected him to do with a professor no matter how chummy they were.

The interior is all light and airy, with a color scheme as questionable as the house. Some rooms are grey, some pink, some blue. Seriously? Hardwood floors are glossy and sleek, at least. It's stuffy. Not musty or anything, it actually smells like freshly made toast. Which probably means someone just made toast. But when I say stuffy, I mean it's stuffed full of antique furniture, crowded bookshelves absolutely everywhere, paintings all over the place. It's funny. In movies, these places always look cool. Up close? It looks like potential disaster. Oh, it's clean. There's probably a maid or someone who takes care of the place. But if someone dropped a match, this place would go up in seconds.

The floor creaks slightly as Jim leads the way down a foyer, taking a right into another room. He walks like he's been here before, no big surprise there. Me, I lag a little and take in the sights. Which is why Jim and the Professor are both waiting for me in the library when I finally catch up.

At least it looks like a library. Lots of antique tasteful things in too small a space. Books crowd the walls. A small circular sitting room with a single chair facing outwards suggests long hours spent reading here. The only clue that this was originally a living room lies from the two couches and several upholstered chairs set among all the bookshelves. There's a single small coffee table in the middle, too far away from any of the seats to actually be useful for anything more than decoratively supporting a tablecloth and a flower vase.

The man who owns the place fits right in.

Professor Eliot Seville's a distinguished looking gentleman in his 40s, maybe? Blonde, but starting to silver. His blue eyes are sharp by nature but soft with a surprisingly boyish smile on his face. He sits with one leg crossed over the other, still managing to look dignified in his suit. Nice suit too. Quality, the kind executives wear, complete with matching vest and a very rich silver-thread tie.

He's also wearing a hat. Same silver as his tie. One of those old bowlers, whatever they're called. I have no idea why a man wears a hat inside but hey, it's his house and he can do whatever he wants.

"Ah, marvelous. The legendary Allegra Santos at last. Charmed, my dear. So nice to finally have you over. Won't you have a seat?"

"He's a Brit? But of course he is." The accent's unmistakable.

"Sorry?"

"I dated a citizen of the United Kingdom for a long time."

"I see. Well. I'm not sure what to do with that fact so I'll simply confess my great pride in where I came from."

"Which naturally explains why you teach in an American institution."

The Professor peers at me, like I started speaking Spanish or something. "Right. Sorry. You're not Republican, are you?"

"What?"

"They're the ones who don't fancy immigrants, aren't they?"

"Illegal immigrants, sure. I'm not. And I don't have a problem with you working stateside. I don't even know you, Professor. If I seem a little irritated, it's been a long...day."

"Yes, so Jim tells me."

He leans back in his chair, looking decidedly intrigued. I don't like it. I'm not sure if I've taken an instant dislike to the man, yet. He's too weird not to leave a strong impression, good or bad, but I haven't made up my mind. What I don't like is the implication this man knows more than he's saying.

"Has he now." I don't quite make it a question.

"You've come up a few times," Jim says, finally speaking up from his position of relative silence thus far. "We don't usually talk about my friends, though."

"Begs the question."

"Does it? Which?" Eliot looks puzzled.

"What you do talk about."

Jim stammers something and the Professor waves him off. "Never mind that, Jim. Well, well, let's have a look at you, shall we?"

"Me?"

"Tell me what's the matter. Jim's filled me in a little already but I'd rather hear it from you directly."

"Uh, I went out to a club Friday night and next thing I know, it's Monday and I'm in the library."

"Really. Amnesia?"

"Amnesia, date rape drug, magical mind voodoo, who knows."

"I see. Any idea how you ended up there?"

"Not a one. I woke up in a study room with another student but he hadn't really noticed me before and he didn't seem to remember our conversation very well."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's weird. It's like, someone wiped my life out. Erased me from the internet. And from people, kinda. Even my family's having a hard time remembering me. No one seems to notice me unless I go out of my way to be noticed."

"Except for your friends."

Whoa. That was an interesting observation. That student at the library hadn't really noticed me. No one at the library had. No one in my life seemed to notice my absence, including my own family. Let's face it, I'm a loud person. I leave a loud impact as I go through life. Something more than just a government conspiracy to erase my social security card or whatever this is. My own Mama ducked my calls but answered Carma immediately.

The evidence suggested that...okay I didn't know what the evidence suggested. But that sharp-eyed Professor had made an excellent point. The only people not caught up in whatever this was were my circle of friends. I mean, they were losers who didn't text or call me all weekend. But they'd turned up, which is more than I can say for anyone else.

"Yeah," I said at last. "Except for my friends. Though I haven't a damn clue why."

"It'll come," Professor Seville said, waving a dismissive hand. "In the meantime, what else?"

"What else? Uh. I haven't had anything to eat or drink in a couple of days but I don't seem to want anything and I get sick when I try."

"Nausea?"

"Is there another kind of sick?"

"Er..."

"I'm still sane as far as I know. But there's other stuff."

"Of course there is."

"Has Jim told you his theory?"

"Why don't you tell me what you think's happened, or is happening to you?"

Man, I wish he hadn't asked that. Because, let's face it, who wants to say they're a vampire out loud? It's ridiculous. Thinking of it sounds ridiculous, much less saying it. Do I have another explanation, though?

"I'll tell you what I know, Professor. As long as the sun's out, I sleep like the dead. Like, apparently I have no pulse. Five days ago, I was a light sleeper. Now, I've had people pour water over me and change the sheets under me and nothing. But once the sun sets, I wake up all engines go."

"Hmmm?"

"You know that feeling you get when you wake up by inches? You know, you gradually realize you're awake. Your body notices the mattress you're lying on. You start to notice things like if you're hot or cold. If you're sore from being in the same position too long, that sort of thing. And your brain takes a minute to disengage from whatever you were dreaming about. You can still kinda see your dreams too. They're like blankets you haven't pulled off yet."

"Poetical, that is," Eliot Seville said, smiling approvingly.

"Two days in a row, since this happened to me, I've had none of that. I wake instantly. I don't mean action movie instantly, where the guy rolls out of bed with a pistol in his hand, blinking and trying to get his bearings while his reflexes basically run him on autopilot. I get drowsy around sunrise and the next thing I know, I'm 100% awake. It's like a shot of epinephrine. My heart's pounding, I'm breathing hard and I'm wide awake. I feel great. Carma calls it euphoria. Whatever you call it, I haven't had an ache, a pain, a sniffle, a headache, nothing since I woke up in the library yesterday. I don't get tired either."

"Hang on, back up a moment. You've had no symptoms of discomfort whatsoever?"

"Aside from nearly puking when I try to eat or drink anything, nope."

"Really! Fascinating. Go on then. Anything else?"

I roll my eyes, tired of recapping something I didn't really want to think about anyway. "I can hold my breath for six minutes."

"Any particular resistance to injury, do you think?"

Interesting question. I thought about it. Then, because I'm impulsive and I don't think things through, I stand up and kick a bookcase. Hard. Hard enough the whole thing wobbles, which I honestly didn't think I had in me.

"Looks like. Hey Slim Jim, give me a punch."

My best friend of twenty something years and the guy I trust to always have my back just walks up and punches me in the face. It's not a light punch. I mean, he hits me hard enough to rock my head back. I honestly didn't think he had it in him.

It didn't hurt. At all. It's like I bumped against something, a sense of pressure but no pain. Jim gives me a wide-eyed look, backs up, and then laughs. A nervous kind of 'oh shit what did I do' kind of laugh instead of a 'this is hilarious' kind of laugh. Which is why I don't punch him back.

"Didn't hurt," I say at last. "Huh."

"Okay, that's pretty cool," Jim says.

"Right? That was badass!"

"You took it like that was a nerf ball!"

"We should try a baseball bat next."

"Seriously? I'm in."

"I knew you've always wanted to beat me."

"In the mouth."

"Kinky."

"To finally shut you up for once."

"Tease."

"The more I learn about you, the more I feel bad for Carma."

"Hey!"

The stuffy British Professor takes that moment to remember he's a stuffy British Professor and promptly clears his throat. When I look at him, he's supremely uncomfortable with the conversation. It's all I can do not to burst out laughing at the look on his face. It's not really that funny. But Jim's not the only one with a nervous laugh. This is further evidence of something spooky going on with me, something more than missing a few days. And the more I poked at the mystery, the more I wondered if I was still alive. Still human.

"Right," Eliot says at last. "This is tremendously entertaining. It's flirting, isn't it?"

"How long have you been out of the game, Professor?" Jim asks, obviously amused by the look on his face.

"Jim, my boy, what makes you think I'm out of the game now?"

"Really."

"That's also entirely beside the point. We're here for our dear Allegra Santos, aren't we."

Seeing their flirting was over and the attention was back on me, I took a seat in one of those chairs and leaned back. "So, what's the diagnosis, Doc?"

"So you think you're a vampire?"

"Jim does. I'm just hard pressed to think of what else sleeps compulsively during the day, is otherwise inexhaustible and doesn't eat or drink."

"Well, besides a zombie perhaps."

"What?"

"What's that show you lot like watching?" the Professor asks, snapping his fingers as he tries to remember.

Jim sighs. "The Walking Dead."

"No, no, that's rubbish. Which one had the zombies in it?"

"That is the one with zombies in it."

"The non-rubbish one."

"They're all rubbish, Professor."

"Ah. Yes. Well."

Struggling mightily to keep this conversation from disintegrating further, I say "Let's go back to the part where you think I'm a zombie?"

"Inexhaustible, doesn't eat or drink."

"Didn't know they were nocturnal. And what about craving brains or whatever?"

"What about craving blood or whatever?"

I think about that. "Yeah, I'm not."

"Have you encountered any?"

"...No."

"Be a bit interesting if you did, don't you think?"

"If by interesting you mean-"

Jim was naturally unable to resist that opening. "Oh God, oh God, we're all going to die?"

"You first, Jim, since you're stealing my quote."

"It's a two part quote anyway!"

"I was going to adapt it!"

"It's also not your quote."

Once again, Professor Seville had a look on his face like he had to run a daycare and his toddlers were acting up. Which, come to think of it, probably wasn't that far off. "Are you two always like this?"

"Not always," Jim said, looking at Eliot but tilting his head towards me. "Usually she's louder."

"HEY!"

"Well, this is tremendously insightful," the Professor said. "While I ponder on it, I'm going to fetch some tea. Pour you a cup, shall I?"

I give him a wary look. "Are you being polite or is this a science experiment?"

"Both, if you'd like."

"Ugh. Sure."

"You too, Jim?"

"I'm good."

"Aren't you just. Watch some telly while I sort it then." The Professor turned on a screen nestled between bookcases on the wall and made his way out of the room.

I didn't know what to think. So far, Jim's mysterious professor was...well, still pretty mysterious. Amusing, amused, and surprisingly terse. Well, maybe not terse. He reminded me of a politician, in a way. I'd seen a few debates over the years. Politicians had this remarkable ability to answer a question without answering it. Eliot Seville asked questions and made quips but I'm not sure if he'd uttered a single fact I wasn't already aware of. Or any facts at all, come to think of it. It made me wonder what he was like when it was just Jim around.

"So, what do you think?" Jim asked, taking the seat opposite me.

"Eh."

My best friend chuckled as he tilted his head towards the TV, watching the same news broadcast I was. "He's an acquired taste."

"Not much to acquire so far. He's pretty tasteless."

"You're blind. This place is the epitome of class."

"Your future home's going to look like this someday?"

"Maybe."

There was a touch of wistfulness there. I looked at Jim in surprise. We'd been buddies forever but it's moments like this that make me realize friendship's never a done deal. There's always more to learn and discover, even in someone you've known all your life. Jim had been into music seriously for ten years now, since high school. He'd studied it throughout college. A lot went with music. Jim was into rock. Progressive metal, which to me sounds like someone blending regular rock 'n roll and film scores together. What's Left had a lot of local gigs. Maybe someday they'd hit it big. Tour bus, big mansion, the lifestyle you see in magazines.

A stuffy old house with a million books isn't where I ever saw Jim winding up. Knowing he was into this made me rethink a few things about him.

"I just mean your Professor's a great listener but short on specifics. He studies history, you said? Why do you think he knows about vampires?"

"...Alley, are you watching this?"

God, can he stay on topic and just answer one question? But then I tune into the screen and feel my irritation slip away, replaced with shock. It's a local interest piece, with a reporter interviewing some people in a line outside of a club. Some kind of charity event apparently.

What's shocking is that it's a live broadcast. With vampires. Well, what else could they be? To the left of the reporter, right in front of the club entrance, I see two men fighting it out. And I mean fighting, not a schoolyard brawl or even sparring like I did when kickboxing in classes. They mean to kill each other. And no one notices. None of the people walking by notice. No cars stop. No crowds form. No bouncers get involved. There's a goddamn news channel reporting live and no one's paying any attention. I know it because when the action half-rolls off camera, the camera doesn't follow.

"What the hell is going on there?" Jim asks.

"You can see it too?"

"What, the MMA fight? Everyone can-wait. Why is no one covering that?"

"So I'm not the only vampire you can see."

"...Shit, do you think that's what they are?"

"You have a better explanation for why two men can beat the shit out of each other and get no comment from the news?"

"Not so much."

"We should go."

"Huh?"

"Let's go!"

"And do what?"

"I don't know, help?"

"Help who?"

A woman flies right past the camera. A bystander probably, given she rolls for shit and rolls to her feet slowly, obviously in pain and obviously not in a hurry to get back up. That business skirt's plainly not something you plan to fight in, at least. And she's got the damndest expression on her face, like she tripped or something and isn't sure how it happened.

"I'll figure it out when I get there." Then I hear a gun go off. "Yeah, get your ass up, we're going right now."

"What about the Professor?"

"You really see him getting involved in that? Stop stalling. You have wheels and people look like they're going to get killed if I don't do something."

"Uh, what do you think you can do?"

"Kickboxing isn't street fighting, sure, but I'm better than nothing."

"Alley stop. Just stop, just for a minute. Think it through. You don't know what happened to you. You don't know who or what those men are. They could have kidnapped you."

"Then they have answers!"

"Or maybe they want you back. Or dead. Ever seen a vampire movie where finding other vampires was a good thing?"

"Jim…"

"I'll drive you if you really want to go, Legs, but I don't think you should go. Not until we know more than we do, which is absolutely nothing."

What should I do?

Go to the Club.
I have the only lead I may ever have. I'm going to take it!

Stay here.
I heard a gun. Maybe I'm in over my head.

​