EVERYTHING IS, NOTHING IS
Legal BS: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended.
Four: Alice
Bella loved black. It made her feel safe, somehow, like she could disappear into the Northwestern winter mists. But tonight, she wouldn't be able to vanish. She didn't want to be invisible. Edward was coming, so Bella wore blue.
She straightened the fork next to her plate, sipped her water, aligned the garnet on her ring so it sat in the precise middle of her finger. The restaurant bustled around her—diners chatted, waiters hustled from one patron to the next.
Bella was trying not to chew her lip and muss her lipstick. Was this a mistake? It was a mistake. She should go.
"Am I late?" Edward asked, sliding into his chair. His brow was furrowed and he checked his watch. 8:02.
"No, no, it's fine." She smiled, a fey happiness alighting in her chest. Whenever Bella saw Edward, a sensation—a nudge, a tap—flittered about the edge of her awareness. Had she seen him somewhere before, sometime before they were introduced? No, she knew they hadn't, but…
"Thank you for meeting me," Edward said. The clinking of the other diners' cutlery settled into a soporific rhythm, tick tick tick.
Bella gazed at the white of his dress shirt. It was stark white, almost an institutional white. The tablecloth—rich, red linen when Edward sat down—was slowly leeched of color, a bone baked by a desert sun. The two fabrics bled together, sticking. Edward shifted, and the mass cracked. A fissure spread, then another, and another, until the entire eggshell upon which the Easter colors of the restaurant were painted, cracked. The pieces fell away; on this, a sliver of Bella's fingers, on that, a lock of her hair curling over her shoulder.
"You're welcome," Bella murmured, her voice coming as if from underwater.
"No!" Edward reached out to her, but grasped only air. The air grew heavy and smooth, almost pliable. Edward grasped it. It fell, sand through his fingers.
Bella's smile was the final piece to fade away.
.
.
.
I'm gripping the bedsheet, panting and terrified. I look at three things in rapid succession.
One. The drip containing my new compound is empty.
Two. Seventeen minutes have elapsed.
Three. Bella, in the next room, smiles.
I remove the apparatus from my body, ensuring no leads tangle or electrodes cross. I wind it up and place it in an electromagnetically shielded bag, which I put into my backpack.
I stand on shaky legs and walk to the bank of computers that overlook the observation window. Absent my input, the computer continues the restaurant simulation as programmed. Bella dines with a man who adores her; a man that is me, while I am not him.
The IV pole looms behind me, and I don't have to turn to look. I know.
More. I have to synthesize more.