PROLOGUE: FADING AWAY
Oregon coast, summer of 2015
The crash of the waves woke her up. Audrey cracked an eye open and rolled on her back with a groan. Her whole body was aching, from head to toes. Her brain was on fire, the pain almost blinding.
What the hell?
One moment she was on her surf board, one moment she was lying on a beach, quite not sure how she got there.
With another groan, she straightened up and checked her body, in search of any injury. She found nothing, no gash, no broken bone. But the pain was there, unforgiving. Hopefully, there was no internal bleeding, which wouldn't be a surprise given how the waves rolled her back to the shore, tearing her board away in process. Shaking her head, as if the movement would make the pain go away, she finally took in her surroundings. Nobody around. A lone seagull whirled around in the sunset, its angry cry getting more and more insistent with each swirl around her.
"Sorry about that, dude, but I'm not seagull food yet," she mumbled as she looked for her board and the rest of her gear she'd left on the beach-backpack, clothes, cellphone…
Nothing. No board. No stuff. Just an empty beach and an annoying bird.
"Great, just great," Audrey groaned.
It was bad enough that a rookie mistake made her fall off her board just as she was getting ready to enter a perfectly shaped tube-she'd waited for it half the afternoon only to pitifully black out and collapse-but realizing that an indelicate passer-by had stolen her things was even worse. "Asshole, whoever you are."
A last look around didn't change her situation in the least. No backpack, no board. And probably no more car, since the keys were in her bag.
"Fuck, fuck… FUCK!" Her cry of frustration was more a sob than anything. She couldn't take it anymore. Audrey collapsed to her knees, trying to gather herself, in vain.
What the hell was wrong with her lately? Sleeping around with a fellow orchestra member, letting her personal life poison her professional life so badly that her days with the philharmonic were obviously numbered. Ever since Marcus Daniels' ephemeral return to her life, everything had gone wrong. For months, she clung to the hope that, maybe, just maybe, Phil wasn't dead after all, undoing all the progress she'd made so far. Then, the reality hit her, hard. He wasn't coming back. She was losing it. Period. And now, here she was, stranded on a deserted beach, with no way to get back home but walk all night.
Her therapist would have a field day at tomorrow's session.
The thought made her snort humorlessly. She already could hear her insufferably patient voice. "Did you think about taking a break? Travel a bit? You sure can afford it, so why don't you take a sabbatical?"
As if.
The thing was… what would she do on a sabbatical if she couldn't share it with anyone? Travel around the world, like a student? What would she do with herself without music? Not that it really mattered since her right arm was a mess anyway, and no amount of physical therapy would help her to be ready in time for the start of the season. Forced time off was on the horizon and the perspective was… frightening.
Still wobbly on her legs, she managed to stand up again, in spite of another bout of dizziness. Exhaustion. That was what the therapist had said when a complete check up revealed nothing but the arthritis in her right shoulder. Honestly, she was sick of it, whatever it was. Even more so now that it probably cost her a surfboard, a car and, if she was unlucky enough, a home burglary.
"Shit."
Up above, the seagull was still whirling around, now joined by two of its companions, casting long, deformed shadows on the sand. One last time, she turned around, as if her stuff would magically reappear. Instead, she blinked against the lowering sun casting a copper light on the beach and noticed the remnants of a strip of do-not-cross police tape. She must have been a real mess earlier when she arrived not to have noticed the out-of-place sign. Shrugging at her own obliviousness, she climbed up to the road. With a bit of luck, she could find a ride back to Portland that wouldn't be driven by a total weirdo…
Alas.
The road was as deserted as the beach. No car in sight. No truck in sight. Nobody. Nothing. It was absurd. It wasn't very late. People should be driving around, going back to town, heading to Seattle or California or anywhere. This was the Oregon coast in the middle of a nice summer, a touristy area, not the damn Death Valley. Once more, she felt a wave of dizziness submerging her and she almost blacked out. When Audrey opened her eyes again, she noticed a pair of lights in the distance.
At long last.
She waved at the driver, hoping they would take pity on the woman clad in her surfing gear, praying she wasn't flagging down some kind of perv. It was a chance she had to take. She just couldn't spend the night here, and she couldn't walk all the way to Portland, either. As the car approached, she waved and called, but it didn't even slow down.
Asshole.
The following truck didn't notice her, and neither the good dozen cars and vehicles she tried to stop. This was getting ridiculous. The sun was low and blinding, granted, but still. Another wave of dizziness made her sit down on the nearest rock. For a second, she was blind and deaf, engulfed by cold darkness, and fell to the ground. Coming back to her senses was a real struggle this time, and she just couldn't shake away the lingering feeling of oppression. Audrey blinked a few times and discovered a black SUV parked on the side of the road.
But nobody was inside.
She shook her head. She was still lying down. Maybe the driver was calling 911 for help. Audrey struggled to her feet one more time and staggered to the SUV. She needed to tell the driver she was alright. Not to bother with 911.
As she came closer, she recognized the logo, and ran, exhaustion and dizziness forgotten. The driver's side door was wide open.
Nobody.
Audrey wheeled around and climbed down to the beach, only to discover a very familiar silhouette crouching by the police tape. She called his name, but the evening wind might have been too strong for her voice to be heard. He didn't react, apparently absorbed in contemplation of the do-not-cross tape, until he violently punched the ground with his right fist, in an unfamiliar gesture of anger.
Of all the dreams she had of seeing Phil again, this one was definitely the strangest and sickest one. She needed to wake up, now.
Phil stood, nursing his hand and climbed up, back to the car. As he passed her, Audrey noticed the electric sparks that came out of the gloved hand. She waved at him and he kept on walking, his expression haggard, his eyes red with unshed tears. She called him, but he didn't turn back. She ran after him, but his only move was to answer his ringing cellphone.
"Coulson," she heard him answer with his usual professional tone. "Yeah, the hand's working fine, thank you Fitz."
She knew that name. Agent Simmons told her he was the one who created the weapon which got rid of Daniels for good.
"Still a bit fragile though, you'll have to work on it when I come back." This was a guilty understatement, so typical of Phil. Audrey couldn't believe that his interlocutor would let him get away that easily. "Nah, don't worry. Car's automatic. I'll be fine."
Just like that, the conversation was over. Motionless, powerless, voiceless, Audrey watched as Phil closed the SUV door and drove away.
This was a nightmare, and she couldn't wake up at all.
-/-
Portland, summer of 2015
Three days. It took Audrey three whole days to walk back home. Three days of true nightmare during which the hard truth settled in little by little, failure after failure, painful realization after painful realization.
She was nothing but a mere shadow amongst the living.
Nobody could see her. At some point, she almost thought it could work to her advantage when she slipped into a bus bound for Portland, unnoticed, like a shameless freeloader. Then the bus engine started, and she settled into her seat. The bus resumed its journey to the city, and she didn't. Instead, she felt the vehicle go through her body, seat after seat, passenger after passenger. They sure didn't notice her.
And she felt every one of them without even being able to touch them.
So she walked, for endless hours. She walked and never got tired. She kept on walking for three days straight, and she never felt the need to ever stop.
No hunger.
No need to sleep.
Nothing but sheer abandonment and boredom.
When she finally reached the outskirts of Portland in the first hours of the morning, Audrey felt relief. She followed a familiar path to her house, enjoying the early light in Mt Tabor Park where she jogged on a daily basis. Being there, at this hour, contemplating the sun rise from the hill, was normal. For a few minutes, she indulged herself, drowned herself into this semblance of normalcy.
Then more joggers arrived and she was more alone than ever. Nobody noticed this woman only clad in her surfing gear, with no shoes on, in the middle of the park. She resumed her walk to her house, heart in her throat, limbs trembling. Each step was a struggle, even if she wasn't physically exhausted.
Each step was a fight not to collapse into darkness.
Only the thought of home made her walk, lone figure in the middle of busy streets and oblivious passersby. Once back home, she could focus, figure her next move. Find a way to catch people's attention, communicate.
Call Tony. He was a genius, he could help her, for sure.
Call SHIELD.
Finally find the courage to call agent Simmons. The young woman had given her a number, just in case… Even when the bouts of sudden, overwhelming dizziness started, Audrey ignored the card she had buried under a stack of papers and bills. The dizziness would go away. She was just emotionally exhausted. She was still grieving Phil… She rationalized all kind of excuses not to make the call.
She couldn't shatter the illusion that Phil was alive, somewhere, hidden in the shadows, with a phone call that would only confirm the only and heartbreaking truth. Audrey snorted at the irony. She'd wasted so much time, wringing her hands while Phil wasn't dead after all.
His whispered words, his light touch. They weren't an illusion. Phil was alive and well, but he couldn't see her.
Finally, she recognized the trees and streets of her neighborhood. A rueful smile formed on her lips as she walked past the Simpson's unkempt garden. Their neighbors next-door raised a petition against them last year, blaming a rodent invasion on the couple's lazy ways. Her smile widened even if her throat constricted when she turned around the last street corner. Years ago, the McCauley kid had run to her house, in tears, because the family cat couldn't climb down the Douglas-fir tree in their garden. She wasn't home, but Phil had decided to pay her a surprise visit. When she had driven home this day, unnerved by a less than satisfying rehearsal session, she was welcomed by the sight of her super-agent boyfriend struggling with a frightening and ferocious cat at the top of her neighbors' tree.
These were the good days, good days that she thought were gone for good. Once SHIELD would discover what was wrong with her, maybe they could go back to them, if Phil was willing.
She knew she was.
In spite of what she told people, she hadn't moved on one bit. She had become this woman, unable to empty drawers in her bedroom and her bathroom, unable to put away pictures and other memories, turning her place into a museum frozen in time.
And if Phil, for whatever reason, was unwilling, or unable to go back to these days, maybe she could find the strength to move on. At last.
She reached her front door, at last. For a second, she tried to find an imaginary handbag with imaginary keys. She contemplated the closed door, swallowing back the bile in her throat.
Cars and buses went through her. She should be able to walk through a wooden door, right?
The idea was unsettling, paralyzing even, more than the fear of finding her place burglarized by anyone who found her keys and car. She stood there, unable to take the final step home. Her limbs just refused to move, just like her brain refused to accept the evidence of her condition.
Then she heard the Bernstein kids running down the street to catch the bus, laughing. The idea of standing among people that didn't notice her was even more unbearable and she took the last step.
Home at last.
Walking voluntarily through the door wasn't really painful, but the effort was properly sickening.
One shouldn't force their way back home this way.
And no one should come home to their red-eyed parents, dressed in black, sitting in their living room. Edu, the conductor of the orchestra, her oldest and most faithful friend and confidant, was there, and so was his partner. Their two adopted boys sat with her parents, looking utterly lost, as if not understanding the situation.
Pepper literally strolled through her, followed by Tony. Both carried trails of steaming mugs.
"Thank you, Miss Potts. " Audrey's mother's voice was subdued, and broken. "For everything."
In his wheelchair, her father didn't utter a word, only nodded his gratitude. Tony was uncharacteristically silent as he let the boys get their hot chocolate. They loved the way Audrey made hot chocolate, and always bugged their dads for some impromptu visit to her house.
"Pepper, please… Audrey was a good friend, it's only natural."
The past tense was physically hurtful and Audrey ran from her own house, unable to hear more.
She ran down the street and around the corner, blind to the Douglas-fir tree and comforting nostalgia. She ran away, as fast as she could.
This couldn't be happening. What on earth was going on?
The headache was back with a vengeance, unforgiving, blinding. She had to stop on trembling legs, blinking furiously against the black veil that always threatened to engulf her these past few days. Only then she recognized the car parked in front of the McCauley's.
The same black SHIELD SUV.
The driver's window was rolled down. Phil was there. The stubble she noticed on his cheeks three days ago was now a growing beard. It was more salt and pepper than she remembered. His receding hairline had receded further. He looked properly exhausted, distraught.
But he was alive.
Audrey tried to kick and punch the car, in vain. She screamed at the top of her lungs. She reached for Phil, only to watch her fingers go through his face without him even flinching. She couldn't even feel his skin on her fingertips. He was hurting, and she couldn't soothe him. Is that what he felt last year? On the radio, she recognized the anchorman's voice.
This is All Classical Portland on 89.9 KQAC FM. The classical musical world grieves the untimely passing of the cellist Audrey Nathan two weeks ago. Member of the Portland philharmonic, admirer of Yo-Yo Ma, the South African musician, aged 38, was also known for her solo albums in which she explored a whole range of styles and sounds, from folk music to movie soundtracks and collaborations with the Finnish band Apocalyptica. This emission is a tribute to her talent and her memory …
Petrified, Audrey was utterly powerless as she watched Phil's countenance crumble as the first notes of her version of the Gael resounded in the car. She saw him biting back his sobs on his gloved hand, but she didn't hear him.
She heard nothing at all.
Then her vision blurred.
Then… darkness.