Then said Christian to the Man, What art thou? The Man answered, I am what I was not once.
+ The Pilgrims Progress
by John Bunyan

3. Revenant

Maureen shivered. Had the temperature dropped? She almost felt the need to rub her arms free of the goosepimples that had appeared with the clipped announcement of Susan's arrival. Her husband and Peter were facing one another grimly, looking as though they had just swallowed something horribly distasteful. Meg was frowning, her lips compressed into a thin line. Laughter from the other club patrons, alongside the clatter of cutlery, porcelain, and glass, fractured the sudden friable silence with sharp, staccato punches, glossing the atmosphere with a surreal patina.

"What is she doing here?" asked Edmund, low and annoyed.

"I really couldn't say," Peter replied softly. "Usually she avoids us like the plague."

Meg glanced at him sharply – a queer tone buried deeply in his voice had surfaced, just for a moment.

His younger brother apparently noticed the same thing, and his brown eyes narrowed. "Peter, you didn't…"

Peter held up his hands, palms out. "No, no – it wasn't me."

"Is poncy Blake with her?" Edmund asked snidely, "Or did she manage to shake him for an evening?"

The older man's glance flicked over to the opposite side of the room. "She's alone," he answered, rebuke lacing his tone, "and that was uncalled for, Ed."

"Her coming here was uncalled for," Edmund said. "What does she want?"

His brother shifted uncomfortably in his chair and shrugged. "Probably to lecture us both again on our poor…career choices," he said, "I don't know – I'm not a mind reader. She just might want to talk. We shouldn't shut her out – that doesn't do anyone any good."

Edmund snorted. "I don't want to see her, Pete. And as she generally doesn't want to see you or me, we're in agreement on something, she and I. A rare thing, that, these days."

Maureen placed a hand on her husband's arm and felt it quivering with tension. She squeezed comfortingly, though to little effect.

Peter sighed wearily, his gaze moving to the table where his sister was seated. Susan was placing an order with the attentive waiter, but she appeared uncomfortable and troubled – her beautiful face was pale beneath its usual mask of expertly applied make-up – and she resolutely kept her eyes from straying to the other side of the room.

"Should we greet her?" Maureen asked uncertainly. "I mean, it seems obvious she knows we're here. Wouldn't it at least be polite to say hello?"

Meg drummed her fingers on the side of her gin and tonic and pursed her lips. "Let her come to us," she finally said, flatly. "If she has something to say, she'll say it. If not, no loss on our side."

Peter gave his wife a slightly perturbed look, but didn't argue, and Edmund relaxed somewhat, his hands uncurling from the unconscious fists he'd made and his body sinking deeper into the chair. He covered Maureen's hand with his own for a brief moment and pressed it gently in thanks.

"So," he began casually, again stretching a bit, a tight grin creeping over his face, "How's life amidst crackling parchment and mouldering myth, Pete?"

Appearing not to have heard, his brother cast one last glance at their sister, who was now sitting with her hands clasped tightly together on the tabletop, her dark eyes determinedly focused on them, and then turned back to Edmund. "Repay evil with good, right?" he said, refusing to be redirected. With something of a challenge sparking in his blue eyes, he pushed back from the table and rose to his feet.

"Things haven't changed, you know," Edmund replied tautly, "and pearls do not come cheap."

"I have no choice but to try," Peter said quietly, and Maureen's heart ached at the sorrow coloring his face and tone. Edmund rarely spoke of Susan, but she knew they had been extremely close once, and the break between them had wounded her husband far deeper than he ever cared to discuss or even admit. Unsurprisingly, it seemed her brother-in-law bore the heavy burden of those wounds as well. Maureen doubted they would ever truly heal.

Frowning, Meg put out a hand. "Peter," she said, and her husband paused. Something passed between them, and Meg's face softened. "Be careful."

He nodded. "I won't be gone long," he said and began to make his way around the room.


She could feel him. She knew he was standing there, just behind her, hesitating at the last. Oh, yes, out of the very corner of her eye, she had seen him rise – who could ignore him? his presence commanded the room – and her heart almost doubled in its pounding rhythm as he crossed the club floor to her table.

She cursed herself for being so nervous and so discomfited. This was ridiculous. A woman shouldn't be so afraid to address a member of her own family, after all. Really, what had she to fear?

Everything…

Fiercely, she told her otherself to shut up. It was bad enough to be here in the first place; must she be subjected to more torment as well?

And then she heard the quick, indrawn breath, the prelude to speech. She could almost see the shoulders going back, the chin going up, an ancient gesture. Was she really so frightening?

"Susan."

In spite of her foreknowledge, she jumped. Forcing a smile no further than her lips, she pivoted slightly in her chair.

"Peter."

He inclined his head, his expression carefully detached. The eyes alert, aware, almost…hopeful?

The king in waiting. Will you answer?

She gritted her teeth and hardened her mind against that damned voice. "You are looking well," she said, all too conscious of the inanity of her greeting.

"Thank you," he replied.

"Please, have a seat." She waved a manicured hand towards the empty chair facing her.

"Again, my thanks," he answered and sat down.

Silence lay between them. Impasse.

Their eyes met.

"It's good to see you, Susan," he said softly, leaning forward. Genuine gladness filled his voice, and she winced at the ache in her middle.

"I'm sorry; I came to see Edmund," she responded, and she watched bewildered confusion enter his face.

"Edmund," he repeated, retreating once more to that steady neutrality. The feeler had been rejected. Had he really hoped for more?

"Yes," she said, knowing how odd it sounded. The brittle bitterness between her and Edmund had only hardened over time. Why would she deliberately seek him out?

He nodded, patient as usual, regardless of her low meanness. He would always be waiting thus, she supposed.

For her.

Her breath caught in her throat. The ache sharpened.

Is it really too late? Oh, God, help me…

And then, unbelievably and without notice, she slipped. "It's happening again, Peter."

A heartbeat. Two.

Perhaps it was the naked desperation in her tone. She had never been good at concealing her feelings. Not with them.

His gaze widened with sudden understanding, and relief nearly overwhelmed her.

"The same dreams?"

"Yes."

He leaned back in his chair, but she could see electric shock limning every line. His eyes, burning brilliance, bored into hers, and she met them bravely.

No longer alone…

"Come with me," he said abruptly, standing and almost holding out his hand to her. "We'll see what we can do."