The Fine Print: As always, the great Dan Knauf and the folks at HBO own Carnivale and all its characters. However, it's beginning to look like they are never going to show us this scene, so I had to write it myself.

Author's Note: I took a little liberty with the description of Justin's tattoo.

The Things You Can See From a Doorway

By EllisBelle

As he dressed for the day, Justin Crowe caught a strange image in the mirror out of the corner of his eye. He mentally braced himself for the onslaught of another vision. They were coming more and more frequently now, each one more horrible and disturbing than the next. However, as he turned to fully face the glass, he saw that the image was not that of the figure he had come to know as the Usher or even that of the boy, his enemy, but of his own body now transformed by the massive tree tattoo. Two twin trunks intertwined, battling for dominance across his chest, their branches reaching out in twisted gnarls, like arthritic fingers. He studied his own reflection, lost in following the twisting maze of branches.

"Oh, sorry. I thought you were out . . ."

Her silence cut through the room, louder than any scream could have been.

Justin turned his head quickly to see Iris standing in his doorway, staring wide-eyed at the image on his back.

He looked back into the mirror, stared deeply into his own eyes, barely recognizing himself. Justin watched in the reflection as Iris slowly walked towards him with the vacant expression of a sleepwalker. He watched as she let the laundry she had been carrying fall forgotten onto the floor beside the bed. He watched her lips as they moved silently, tried to read them, but was truly afraid to know what she was saying. He closed his eyes unable to watch her any longer.

He hadn't told her about the tattoo, had avoided letting her see him undressed. As angry as she had been with him lately, that hadn't been hard to do. He'd let her go on believing whatever she wanted about his late night trips to town. Let her imagine scenarios and exchanges with other women. It had been easier to let that come between them than to admit to the terrible transformation he had undergone. Easier to face her locked door than the horror he might have found in her eyes.

Without opening his own eyes, he knew she was standing behind him now. He could hear her breath, irregular, loud against the oppressive silence in the room. Knew that she was trying to control it, to steady it, but was losing. Knew from experience that if he turned around and put his palm against her chest, he would feel it shuddering with emotion.

Like someone reaching towards a fire, Iris slowly moved her hand towards his back, her fingertips hovering over him, almost touching his skin, yet leaving the barest fraction of space between them.

Justin exhaled in relief when Iris finally touched him, when she rested her forehead against the back of his neck and he could feel her breath warm on his skin. One hand fell to his waist, her nails kneading into the inky, tangled roots surrounding him. Her other hand slowly roamed his back, her fingers tracing the trunks and branches cut into his skin. Her fingers cool against his still fevered flesh, Justin swallowed hard as he felt his body begin to respond to Iris's long-familiar hands.

"I've missed you."

Justin's words hung naked in the air, as he turned around to face his sister. Assaulted now by the new images on his chest, Iris stood silently in front of him. She couldn't or wouldn't look him in the eyes. He bent his face down towards hers, trying to draw her out. "Iris," he pleaded gently. She only shook her head in response. "Irina. Please look at me." When she still would not, he took her face in his hand, brushing his thumb over her cheek and snaking his fingers into her hair, to tilt her face until she was forced to meet his eyes. With his other hand on the small of her back, he brought her hips flush against his, making sure she could feel the effect she still had on him.

Despite Justin's efforts, Iris kept one hand between them, palm flat against his chest, distancing them and anchoring herself as she felt herself being drawn back into him. More than anything she wanted to just give in. Closing her eyes, she could almost pretend that things were the way they had always been. No fires and no martyrs. No talk of sacrifice and redemption.

How had this happened? Iris's mind raced over the last few months. How could she not have known? She looked again at the tattoo. Rubbed her hand roughly against it, trying to erase it. But its indelible mark still lay heavy and dark against her brother's skin. She looked at Justin again and did not recognize him—her own flesh. Until the moment she walked into his room this morning, she had known every inch of his skin as well as she knew her own. Now he stood before her a stranger.

"Alexsei, what have you done?"

Justin frowned, cut by her voice. She sounded as if her heart were breaking.

He grasped her by the shoulders, desperate to make her understand. "I'm finally becoming what I was destined to be."

As Iris continued to stare at him in dawning horror, Justin pulled her to him once again. "Oh, Iris," he whispered, his lips against her hair. "If you could only feel what this is like. This . . . this power."

Without warning, she twisted violently in his arms, but he regained his grip on her shoulders before she could escape.

"Who are you?" she cried. "I don't know you."

Justin's hands fell away from her shoulders. Their eyes locked, and for a brief moment, Justin saw himself reflected in Iris's eyes. She turned from him and fled from the room, as he stood stunned, watching her vanish into the hallway. He closed his eyes. He opened them again, black and empty—the monster she had seen.

"Irina!"

To Be Continued. . .