Vargas

by Zarla

What if Johnny had not killed Edgar? How much of a difference does one person make?

22. Mirror

Edgar took a maximum of four steps out of the taco place with his good mood relatively intact.

"Hey!"

Edgar stopped, became intimately aware of the rain running down the nape of his neck, and turned to try and locate the source of the call. A female voice, something vaguely familiar...something twinged deep, in a way that Edgar knew somehow but hard to define.

Hmm...

A hand on his shoulder, and Edgar turned around to come face to face with Devi and, in the process, nearly poked his eye out on the spokes of her umbrella.

"Agh-"

"Ah, wait-"

Edgar raised a hand to his eye although it was unnecessary and took a few steps back. Devi raised her umbrella a little and angled it away to give them more space.

Now that he had a good look at it...

"That's an absolutely hideous umbrella."

Edgar had no idea what possessed him to say such a thing, regardless of its truth. He didn't know yellow even came in that shade. Scriabin made some kind of muffled snickering sound in his mind, and Devi met Edgar's eyes without smiling.

"You. I've been looking all over for you."

Edgar stared at her for a few seconds and again, against his better judgment, he shrugged and said in a rather confused tone, "...Why?"

"Because you know what's going on. You have something to do with what's happening, and I intend to find out the truth. We're going to talk and you're going to tell me everything you know."

A moment of relative silence, hissing rain and the occasional rush of a car passing by. They stared at one another, and Edgar heard something very soft in the back of his mind, a kind of mumbling.

What are you doing?

No real response.

"In that case, want to go someplace for coffee then?" Edgar took hold of his shoulders to emphasize their current situation. "Someplace warm, at least."

Devi stared at him suspiciously for a few minutes, then looked over his entire body.

Probably checking for weaponry. Scriabin sounded distracted. He was doing something rather engrossing, whatever it was.

"Fine. But I still want to know what's going on."

"Well really, so do I." Edgar smiled in a disarming way and kept his hands in his pockets. Devi didn't take her eyes off of him for a second as the two of them made their way to a nearby small café. Recently renovated and reopened, and something about that reminded Edgar of something, something very old, but he wasn't sure what it was. Probably unimportant. "I'm afraid I'm just as confused as you are..."

"You know who I am." A statement.

"Yeah, we met at the bookstore. You said your name was Devi."

"Mmhmm. And you're Edgar."

"Yeah..." Found a place to sit, as closed off as one could get considering. Badly lit in a way that seemed intentional, glass lamp covers streaked with dark paint in patterns that Edgar was sure were artistic, although it didn't seem that way to him. He guessed that maybe he wasn't the right kind of person to appreciate it. The café was filled with cigarette smoke and a scent that Edgar couldn't readily identify.

Cloves, Scriabin provided, and Edgar shrugged. Didn't matter either way. Really, there shouldn't have been anyone smoking in the café at all, but it seemed greater numbers won out against authority here.

They sat across from one another and Devi continued to stare at him intently, like she was pulling him apart with her eyes.

Lovely imagery, my boy. Just lovely.

Well, if she wouldn't say something first, then it was up to him.

"So...what do you want to know?" Edgar shed his sodden coat and set it to one side. The air was cold on his arms, but he at least felt a little drier this way. He could smell the distinct scent of wet clothing, not terribly offensive but still noticeable and Edgar shivered just slightly automatically, felt the hairs on his arms rise to try and trap heat. Devi kept her coat on, but then again, she had an umbrella. She was probably not quite as soaked as Edgar was. "I have to warn you, I don't know much about this myself-"

"When you walked into the bookstore, I got a splitting headache." Devi's tone was dead serious. Edgar let his smile fade, although he didn't think about doing it. The intensity of her stare was almost unnerving, but while Edgar couldn't look away, he didn't feel trapped. "Like someone closing a clamp on my head. This gradual squeezing pressure. It started small when you first came in, but when you came up to the counter, it got worse. A lot worse. It was definitely triggered by you, I'm sure of it. Now...something weird is happening to me." Tone distinctly guarded. "The important thing is that whatever it is that's going on, you made it worse. There's something about you, or you're connected to this somehow. Tell me how."

Edgar rested an arm on the table, his head on his other hand. He made a thoughtful sound. "Interesting. So it's a kind of pressure for you, huh...for me, I just felt sick and dizzy." Smiled and it felt natural. "Doesn't quite compare, I don't think."

Edgar, you're... Scriabin sounded genuinely confused. You're...pleasant.

Edgar made an irritated noise in his mind, causing Scriabin to rush his words to cover it up.

Pleasant as in, the way you're interacting with another human being. You aren't shaking or stammering or rubbing the skin off your hands. Your voice is different too. It's warmer, in a way. You're acting very different.

Is that so? Edgar felt satisfied in an odd way that he had confused Scriabin like this, and he felt some kind of pride at the complimentary nature of Scriabin's comments. It's probably because I'm not nervous.

Don't think she'll kill you, eh?

Now that he brought it up, Edgar realized that he had no fear of Devi, no apprehension of any kind around her. It was a strange and unwarranted level of comfort, familiarity, that seemed misplaced for how little they knew of each other and the short period of time they had interacted. There was something here, some kind of buffer or common ground, that made Devi seem completely non-threatening, a real person rather than a potential enemy.

No wonder Scriabin would have been confused...Edgar hadn't felt comfortable around another person since...well, since he met Johnny.

That'd make anyone nervous over time. But no, I don't think she will. Might as well stay calm and think rationally, and be friendly. It pays to be polite, in the end.

My, that sounds familiar. Isn't that why you're here in the first place, and those two lovely gashes still grace your cheekbones?

Edgar decided to ignore Scriabin in favor of the conversation at hand. Devi had been waiting patiently for him to elaborate, or so he guessed was the motivation for her silence.

"I got dizzy when I got close to you...very dizzy. It was kind of like when..." Edgar wasn't sure if he wanted to bring up the Scriabin toy. He barely knew Devi, and it would be easy to scare her off if he started talking about action figures that had to be in the exact right position in his apartment, otherwise... "Like when something very important's out of place. Missing or moved. I felt off-balance, kind of sick and dizzy. No headache, but it was very unpleasant regardless."

"Did you know you were doing it?"

Her tone still somewhat serious, the general impression given by her voice and expression of two scientists working on a joint project.

"I didn't think I was doing anything." Edgar shrugged amiably, and Devi raised an eyebrow. "I didn't connect it to anything. I thought maybe it was just me."

"What, do you often feel dizzy and sick?" Devi asked with a smile and a skeptical look, and Edgar tilted his head. She seemed to be warming up to him...

"First time for everything right? It wouldn't be the first time things in my life took an abruptly weird turn..."

Devi looked at him for a moment, suspicion softened and he got the impression that she was grateful to him in some way. It was hard to identify other people's emotions, as he hadn't gotten a great deal of practice, but that was some kind of gratitude, he was sure...

Had to guess, extrapolate. He hadn't done this in a while. Weird things...maybe her life had also, recently, gotten very strange, and she was glad to know that she wasn't alone. Something like that.

"Yeah...me too." She looked down at the table. So he wasn't that far off. "But I know- knew it wasn't just me that did that. It wasn't just me, things are getting weird but they aren't that weird, thank God." Devi rested a hand against her forehead. Thin fingers with black nail polish, flaking and chipping. "I don't understand...why would you react that way to me? Have we ever met before? Do we have anything at all in common?"

What To Do When Your Spouse is Irredeemably Insane-

Shut up.

"Why is it that we do that, we have this...opposite attraction? You know, like magnets. I mean, you don't seem like a bad guy so far. Why do we have this weird..." Struggling for a more eloquent word. "I don't know, this weird..."

Edgar waited for a few seconds for her to find her word, then decided that he should probably continue. "We're here together right now...how do you feel?"

She sighed. "Got the general bass drum headache, but it hasn't gotten as bad as it did that one time. That was the worst it's ever been."

Edgar wasn't sure if that time in the bookstore was the worst for him, but more importantly, at the moment he didn't feel sick or dizzy at all. He felt perfectly fine, and if Devi still had a headache...

"Hmm..."

"But yeah, whatever it is doesn't like you, for some reason."

"Whatever it is?" Edgar stared at her for a few more seconds, then his voice snapped back to internal.

Scriabin!

A short, brusque command and Scriabin bristled automatically, instinctual rebellion.

What? A mocking, sarcastic response.

What did you do to her?

If Edgar hadn't sounded so angry, perhaps the conversation wouldn't have followed his lead.

Oh, it's always my fault. Scriabin heaved an exaggerated sigh. If you remember correctly, I was the one telling you to get away from her. What did you do to her, boy?

There was something more insulting about just being called "boy" rather than the typical "my boy," whether Scriabin knew it or not, and Edgar found his mood and tone did not improve. Are you saying this is my fault? I didn't jump into her head and start doing a drum solo, okay? I think you know as well as I do that there's only one of us that could even possibly-

You think I could do that? Scriabin's voice growing louder, now equally as offended, and Edgar recognized Scriabin trying to dominate his attention, make all of his energy and effort focus on him. Block out the entire world until all he could hear was his voice...Scriabin trying to monopolize his attention while he was here, right here with someone else, didn't he realize the consequences? You think that I can just jump brains whenever I want? Shit, if I could do that, why the hell would I still be with you?

There was a deep insult in Scriabin's last sentence that hurt more than Edgar wanted it to, and Edgar found himself wanting to hurt Scriabin right back.

Oh, like you want to leave.

You think I wouldn't? You think I don't? Bright flash of fury from Scriabin that easily overpowered Edgar's own emotions and thoughts. He was surprised at the sudden rage that he had definitely not anticipated. Scriabin usually was much harder to provoke...apparently Edgar had found a particularly painful topic. You think I wouldn't leave this stupid shithole if I could? God, how fucking arrogant are you! Christ almighty, Edgar, this isn't a fucking Ritz hotel! Being with you, for lack of a better word, sucks. The minute I can get out of you, one way or another, I'm going to. If I had the chance, you'd never see me again. I'd never look back. Wouldn't you be sorry then, you dick.

He thought for a minute of backing down, then he looked at Devi, who stared at the table with a hand pressed to her head.

So, would you take that bit of red yarn in your hair with you?

A moment of silence, then Scriabin hissed at him, much like a cat would at a predator. It was long and strange, a response that Edgar hadn't been expecting and wasn't sure how to respond to.

Slow words finally, emphasized with loathing. Fuck. You.

"-gar? Edgar? Edgar, hey!" Fingers snapping, and Edgar brought himself back to the real world. He realized that she must have been repeating his name for the last few minutes.

"I'm sorry." Edgar shook his head. "I do that sometimes."

I'll show you. The way he said this made the threat very real. I'll fucking show you.

Edgar knew ignoring Scriabin would perhaps be the best way to handle their argument and definitely be the best way to piss Scriabin off further. And if Scriabin really was responsible for hurting Devi, or was somehow involved and just never told him...

Edgar shook his head again. "Um, I don't know how much I can explain about what's going on...maybe if we pool our knowledge we can figure it out from there. Um...when did this start happening to you? I mean, when was the first time you remembered ever feeling...off? Maybe it happened to us at the same time. It's a start."

Devi brushed a hand over her head, then ran it along one of her pigtails. She rubbed the end of it between two fingers, stared at the table. She had an expression of grim intent, and in a way Edgar felt slightly intimidated.

"I guess...it would have been after my date with Johnny."

"Johnny?" Edgar kept his face neutral as he began to connect pieces, try to form something from the strands.

After you met Johnny, you started feeling strange...after I met him, Scriabin started talking...something about him, something about him or his house or, or maybe the system that had a hold of him must have...done something. Done something to... Edgar blinked. Done something to us...

"Yeah." Devi let the end of her pigtail fall back into place. A short pause and then she laughed without humor. "Let's just say it didn't end well."

You...maybe you're in the same boat as me. Maybe you're a lock too.

Scriabin grumbled in the back of Edgar's head, distant and annoyed. Edgar considered asking him whether what he wanted to do was a good idea, then found that he still felt somewhat irritated at his attitude. For all of the closeness that Scriabin wanted between the two of them, he didn't want it enough to be honest with him, even in dreams. Sure, he wanted it enough so that he expected Edgar to care, to know, to be honest, to apparently be telepathic and understand what he wanted all the time, but not enough to do the same in return.

Now that this had been brought to his attention, he wished he could say he was surprised that Scriabin had lied to him about Devi, or at the least hidden information about her from him. And of course, Edgar would never learn why he did this because Scriabin never revealed his motivation behind doing anything. Even with the dream they had just shared, their joint childhood, Edgar had to put together what he thought Scriabin really wanted from all the tangled metaphors and lies, and all he had that pointed to his conclusion being correct was that Scriabin hadn't yelled at him about it. After all they went through, everything he pulled from between and under words and tone and expressions and he still wasn't sure that was everything.

Scriabin never told him everything, anything, and frankly Edgar was getting tired of it.

He wished he had paid more attention when he had first met Devi, thought more about what had happened, as now he could only remember bits and pieces of what Scriabin had said, and how he felt. Scriabin told him not to talk to her...and if he remembered correctly, that was the first time Scriabin swore at him.

There were vital pieces missing here and Edgar had a feeling that some of those holes were Scriabin's fault. He looked at Devi, who was still staring intently down at the table. Maybe thinking about her options as well, he wasn't sure.

He still felt no fear around her, and if she really was in the same position that he was, he wanted to do everything he could to help her. Devi seemed like...well, it seemed too soon to say nice, exactly. But he did want to help, in some way or another, and it felt more specific than any other kind of general human altruism. He wasn't entirely familiar with it, but he didn't think there was anything wrong or strange about it.

She brushed her hand against her face again, black nails against skin gone quite pale, and he noticed the bags beneath her eyes. Looked like she didn't sleep much...

A perfect opportunity for Scriabin to jump in, but he remained stubbornly silent.

Frustration and anger. Scriabin was making him wait, but now he thought harder about exactly what he was waiting for. What he knew would come and why. Inevitable pain...punishment. He shouldn't have to anticipate, he shouldn't have to wait for the inevitable blow, he shouldn't expect it. God, he shouldn't expect, fear him as much as he did, this...

An unsettling thought struck, made him pause.

This authority figure...

With this strange ease around Devi, this desire to actually remain in her company for whatever reason, it became clear to Edgar that while he felt nervous around Johnny, he was increasingly becoming nervous around Scriabin as well. Easy to forget in the fantasy world of dreams, but now that he could think back on everything, try and keep everything in mind, he found that Scriabin was using his anger as a tool, using Edgar's fear of punishment to leverage him into doing things that he wanted...

The unsettling thought of their joint childhood being another kind of manipulation by Scriabin crossed his mind, and Edgar forced it away. He didn't want to believe that, not right now. Maybe in the future it would be more of an issue, but he wanted to believe that last night, for once, wasn't designed, created, to hurt him in the end. He wanted to trust Scriabin at least that much, to have at least that modicum of faith in him.

That did not mean he had any faith in him about anything else, particularly now about Devi, and the fact that Scriabin seemed to expect this new faith, this new trust, and had done little to earn it, just...

Edgar maybe wouldn't have felt so resentful if he couldn't catch the snippets of Scriabin's emotions towards him, all of which were negative.

If Scriabin wouldn't tell him everything...then Edgar was going to do something different.

"Listen...this isn't going to get us anywhere unless we're honest with each other." Edgar took a deep breath, kept his voice calm and focused. Devi looked up to meet his eyes, once again suspicious. "I have a feeling that we're both in rather serious situations, and the...headaches and such are just the tip of the iceberg. I think if we tell each other everything we know, maybe we can figure something out. I'm going to tell you what happened to me, and I'm going to try and be honest about it. I know some parts are going to sound unbelievable..."

Devi nodded, and Scriabin was still silent. He focused a bit harder, tried his hand at touching base with Scriabin in some way, and he could catch faint strains of doubt. Scriabin didn't think Edgar would do it.

Fine.

"I was...hmm." Edgar thought carefully, planned out his words, and Devi waited. "Some time ago...I can't remember exactly when, it's probably been months by now, but some time ago, I was abducted. I can't remember from where, and I can't remember how it happened, but I was kidnapped by a man who intended to kill me so he could use my blood to paint a wall."

Devi stared at Edgar very hard, and he caught her nails digging into the surface of the table.

"He, um, described himself as insane, and I had no reason to doubt him...I tried to talk him out of it, and in the process he became somewhat fond of me, I think that was how he phrased it." Edgar smiled softly. "Enough so that he didn't want me to die, in the end. His name was Johnny, but he said his friends called him Nny."

Edgar stopped to try and gauge Devi's reaction. She had turned her gaze to the table and her white knuckles, and small tremors began from her hands and moved up her arms.

"Fuck," she said simply.

"It was luck that got me out...nothing more. A slight change, something missing, and I wouldn't be here now. But luck got me out, and then after that..." Edgar took a deep breath. "If I had known at the time...but I can't use that to avoid responsibility for what I did. Nny called me and asked me if he should ask out this girl that he liked at a bookstore..."

"Oh my God..." Devi pulled one hand from the table and watched the blood come back into her shaking fingers. "Oh my God, so it was..."

"If I knew...if I had known he would listen to me...well, I can't say that, exactly." Edgar sighed and rubbed his upper arms. "Maybe he would have asked you anyway, but that's still not exactly fair. I don't want to shirk my responsibility for this."

Scriabin had yet to make any comment, and Edgar found this increasingly suspicious. There was no way that he would pass up a chance like this to belittle Edgar for his failings, even so early on, but nothing. What he felt were his own emotions, he was fairly sure, and to dig deep enough to find Scriabin's would take too long.

Being honest about your troubles was supposed to lighten the burden, he'd heard. Edgar still felt just as heavy as ever, but in a way that was hard to describe, he didn't want to stop talking about them.

"I knew that he was insane...and I knew that he intended to murder me, and that he'd probably murder you too. Some part of me wants to say I was optimistic...that I thought that he wouldn't hurt someone he loved." Edgar found his hand near his face and actually jerked a bit when his fingers touched his skin. He didn't remember moving his hand, but his fingers settled over the deadened skin around the scars beneath his eyes. "To be honest, and I am being completely honest here...he called me at an ungodly time of night, and I wasn't exactly awake...I think I said something about how he must have really liked you, to not want to kill you. When he trapped me at first, we ended up talking about humanity in general...Nny doesn't have a very positive view of it, but you probably already know that."

"No sane person would." Devi had her head in her hands.

"He likes so few people...I didn't think you'd get hurt. But...you know, again. Maybe it's that one thing...luck, or fate. I'm not sure." Edgar wanted to say God's Plan, but despite her crucifix earrings, Edgar felt fairly sure that Devi would not be interested. "But...he tried to kill you, didn't he?"

Devi nodded.

"I thought so...he never told me, but I always thought that's what happened."

"So, all this time..."

Edgar thought Devi would continue, but she stayed silent. He decided to keep going.

"After that...I guess Nny wanted someone to talk to. He called me after...your date. He said it...went badly."

"That's putting it mildly." Devi looked up, met Edgar's eyes. "Did he tell you what happened?"

Edgar paused for a few seconds, then shook his head. "He was very vague about it...what I know I pieced together myself. He still won't talk about it."

Devi stared for a few more seconds.

"God, he tried to kill me...you know what he said? You know what he said, he said..." Devi glanced around, as if making sure no one was eavesdropping. "He said there were others. That I wasn't the first girl he's tried to kill. That he loved all the others, and the others were so beautiful. That I'd be beautiful too."

"Others?" Edgar felt a sinking sensation, and he expected Scriabin to say something but he heard nothing.

"Yeah. Can you imagine...God, I can't believe it, he was so nice at first..." Devi spoke with deep resentment. "He was so nice, and at the very end of it, he said he was happy. Then he just got up and..." She waved a hand in a vague gesture. "And I realized he was totally crazy."

"How did you escape?"

Devi stared, then smiled at Edgar again, broadly.

"I kicked the shit out of him, that's how."

Edgar raised an eyebrow with a smile, and Devi shrugged. Her own smile didn't fade. "It wasn't too hard. I got out, and after that-"

"Well, wait..." Edgar raised a hand. "I don't want to get too far off-topic. I'll forget where I was."

Devi stared at him, a flicker of annoyance across her features, then she shrugged again.

"Anyway...Nny called me and said it didn't go well...and after that, he kept calling me. He kept asking me questions, telling me small things about how he felt. I didn't understand why at the time...I guess maybe I was just someone he could talk to. I'm still not sure why he decided to talk to me...he did say he liked me before he let me go, so I guess that was part of it."

"Huh. Well, he said he liked me too before he tried to off me. I wonder how many people he's killed with that line." Still some deep resentment. Not quick to forgive Johnny's attempt on her life, and Edgar couldn't blame her for it. "You know, why didn't you just change your phone number?"

Edgar stared at the table, thought about this for a few seconds.

"Well...I guess I just didn't think it'd go that far. I guess I just assumed that every call he made would be the last. I didn't think I'd ever get more involved, and as long as I was on the other end of the phone line...I guess I just assumed I'd be safe that way. Not the smartest thing, looking back on it..." So much of this could have been avoided, if Edgar had just hung up originally...

But maybe that simplified things too much. Would Johnny have tolerated Edgar hanging up on him? God, did he lack power in their relationship even going back so far? Thinking back on what happened in that kind of light, it seemed so. Edgar had no power from the first words the two had exchanged. It was where their relationship started. Abductor and abductee.

And has that really changed? Has anything really changed?

"He's followed me." Devi folded her hands on the table. "I think he still likes me, after all this time. Even after what I did to him."

"He does." Edgar coughed, a little uncomfortable. "I'm positive that he still cares about you, in one way or another."

Devi seemed to consider this for a few seconds before shaking her head. "It doesn't change the fact that he's a psychopath, though. God, I've spent so many nights trying to sleep but just knowing he was still out there, it..." Devi stared off into the distance, her voice soft.

Edgar nodded. "I know what you mean. There's this kind of constant fear, that he could be anywhere at any time. For me, since I never knew how he trapped me in the first place, how he got me there...I don't know what to watch for. He could always do that again, and if I didn't see it coming the first time..." Edgar sighed. "I didn't sleep for a long time after I escaped."

After I was released.

"Yeah..." Devi sounded a little relieved. She probably didn't get the chance to talk about this with other people very often. "I hate it, it feels like your life is out of your control. Like you've lost a part of it to him. Like he's just taken a part of you without asking and you can't get it back...there's some part of it that's always his and God, I hate this. Nothing's the same after that night."

"God, you're right..." Edgar stared down at the table. "I didn't think of it that way, but I think you're right. He's taken...heh." He smiled and looked up to meet Devi's green eyes. "He's taken our normalcy away from us, if that's a good word for it."

Devi gave him an appraising look, tilted her head just slightly. It took a little while for her to return his smile. "Yeah, I think that works. You're pretty good with words."

Edgar shrugged it off. "I read a lot. But I think you're right, we've...kind of lost something through knowing him. Like you said, like some part of our lives is now his no matter what we do. Somehow, Johnny's got us both in one way or another...just through this constant fear, the worrying and anxiety..."

"Always thinking about him, even when I hated doing it...I didn't leave my place for days afterwards. Even now I still don't like going out anywhere. I feel like he's watching me, you know? Like he could be anywhere. At any time, he could..."

"Yeah..." Edgar smiled at her, sadly. "Yeah, I know."

"God, I can't... Fuck, I hate him for it. I hate the fact that I didn't realize, that I couldn't tell beforehand... Fuck, you know that I was thinking of asking him out myself? I was surprised that he asked me, but even if you hadn't been there, maybe I would have ended up going out with him anyway... Shit!" Devi slammed a fist into the table, and Edgar jumped. "Why didn't I- why couldn't I fucking tell? Then I'd still... Fuck. I hate this self-pitying bullshit, I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay." Edgar held up a hand. "I've done a lot of that myself." That's putting it mildly. "I think everyone would react like that...but either way, I still feel responsible. I want to apologize for telling him to call you."

"You don't have to apologize. Like I said, it probably would have happened with or without you." Devi had a hand to her forehead, and Edgar found himself thinking on her words harder than she probably intended.

With or without me...things happen with or without me... He swallowed and he found Scriabin's words coming back to him, tone and emphasis perfectly memorized even after all this time.

No one notices you. No one will ever notice you. You have accomplished nothing of any lasting importance in your entire life. You've never affected anyone for better or for worse. You wandered through life as a phantom, a pale imitation of what a person should be. You will be easily replaced because no one noticed you were there. Your life is nothing.

Edgar shook his head and reminded himself that he had a story to tell.

"At this point...well, not precisely at this point, but soon after I met Johnny...small things started to...change. I blamed it on stress, and it was a fairly traumatic experience meeting him so there'd logically be some side-effects, but something changed in a different way when I met Johnny. I'm not sure how, and I'm not sure why, but I started talking to myself more than I did before..."

What are you doing? There he was.

What?

What are you doing? You aren't going to tell her, are you? She'll think you're crazy.

I said I'd be honest and I'm going to be honest. There's no harm in it.

No. No. Scriabin sounded extremely uneasy, and Edgar was pretty sure it was because he never thought this situation would come up. She'll just think you're crazy. She won't understand. She's normal, she won't understand, she won't believe you.

What's the harm in trying?

Don't. Don't do it.

Why? Are you nervous? What can she do about it? What do you think she can do?

Scriabin made an uncomfortable sound, apparently unable to think of a response, and Edgar dug a little deeper. Nervousness, definitely, although that didn't explain why.

Devi was staring at him, and Edgar took a deep breath.

"I know this is going to sound crazy, but...after a while, I started taking sides in arguments...and one side began to become...more consistent, I guess you could say. Over time, it's just become more insistent, more loud. After a while...it became like a whole other person. I think that's when I began to suspect that something had gone really wrong, that being around Johnny had...done something to me. Like...it brought something in me to life. Or something like that. I'm still not sure where that...where that voice came from or what he is now but...after I met Johnny, he developed and...I think whatever it was that you were talking about, whatever it is that's making you sick...I think it was, and maybe still is, reacting to him."

Well. Scriabin's voice was strangely devoid of emotion. I wasn't aware my life could be summed up so succinctly. What do you know.

We don't really have time to go through all the details-

Good to know. Good to know. Scriabin was upset but trying not to show it. Still strangely emotionless, and Edgar wondered if he sounded like this when he detached. Did he make it that obvious?

Well what did you want me to say? What details do you want me to add in here?

Silence.

"So...you think Johnny infected you?" Devi looked skeptical, but not entirely disbelieving. "Made you crazy?"

"I don't know if I'd phrase it like that, and I don't consider myself crazy, but yeah, something like that. I think Johnny or his house, maybe both, was involved in his...that voice's birth. Started him, in a way. Whatever it is that's affecting you...I don't know what just yet, but I think that...Johnny or his house is responsible for that too."

Devi stared down at the table with a hand to her forehead. Edgar was sure that at any minute, she'd call him a lunatic and walk out of the cafe. While the sheer strangeness of his own situation was wearing down for him, talking about it, saying it out loud reminded him of how it might sound to others. He was used to it by now, a thought that he reminded himself was not a good thing, but Devi...

She did not stand up, and kept her eyes down to the table. It took her a few minutes before she spoke. Her voice was level, determined. "After I met him, things started getting strange...really strange, like you said. I thought maybe it was just the stress or bad luck, but now I'm beginning to wonder if things are really just getting worse, really worse...after I met you, things just started...like you triggered something. I'm not sure how or why...but...she started talking..."

He did not expect that and it took a few seconds for the full implications of it to hit him. He felt Scriabin recoil before he understood it himself, although he wasn't sure why Scriabin would...

Again that reminder that this wasn't normal, that even at the most generous application of the word this couldn't have been considered normal. He so often coached himself in fantasy, kept unpleasant thoughts and edges muffled with lies and stories. His past, his present, after so long he had justified Scriabin's existence, become so accustomed to it, couldn't even think of what his life could have been without it, and...

He had forgotten the facts of the matter at its deepest level. He said the words but didn't understand, refused to understand and now it became clear. Tore through it all and Scriabin was a voice, a voice inside his mind that hadn't always been there, that had so recently entered his life and become so powerful, a foreign voice so influential over his behavior that it was beginning to override his own...

God, he hadn't realized...with their joint delusion just the night before...

Edgar tried to think back to a time when he didn't have Scriabin, couldn't hear him, and those memories now were always colored by their false alternatives. Reworking, redefining, and for what...?

Scriabin wanted to be in his whole life, wanted to have a place in Edgar, with Edgar, as far back as he could remember and it didn't occur to him just how unhealthy that was...

Just how unhealthy all of this was...

How crazy this was.

He didn't consider himself insane, he hadn't, he didn't think that he ever would. He never thought of himself as insane and to maintain that illusion, that definition of himself, he had merely worked Scriabin into his definition of normal. Allowed the enemy in the door so he wouldn't even have to admit to having problems...make what he currently was normal. Redefine insane.

And God, what else could it be? What else could it be, he had an entire other person in his brain, an entire other person and he was making up lies, stories, memories, a life with this false person, he even talked to a toy...God, he talked to a toy, he talked to a plastic toy and it talked back to him...

He was...

He wanted Scriabin to be normal...he wanted to be normal but Devi had shown him the mirror, had shown him exactly what he was doing. She had shown him what had happened, just what had happened, what he had lost over time, what Johnny had done to him. Everything hit him hard and everything that he wanted, he felt for Scriabin put to one side, put to one side in favor of the facts of his situation, of his life...

He wanted to believe but the mirror showed him the truth, and he knew that last night was a lie and not only that, a lie that only meant that things were getting worse. It only meant that he was spiraling further down into insanity and justifying each step on the way down. He was going insane, he was going insane and he had just not noticed for so long, he just ignored and worked and Scriabin had worked with him and he had never suspected, never suspected Scriabin of anything, trusted the intruding voice because it sounded familiar and knew what he wanted, what he needed to hear, and how could he have done something like, how could he have been so careless, so easily tricked, God...

God...

Devi...

Edgar wasn't alone. He wasn't alone, he wasn't alone in this, someone else was going crazy with him, someone else had a voice. Another mental voice, another voice that gained power over time...

The mirror kept reflecting and it showed what this had become, it tore through the lies that Edgar had wanted so much to believe about what was happening to him, what this was, what it meant, who he was. It tore through it all and showed him exactly who he was, and exactly what the voice in his head was. Reflected and there were no lies to cloud the meaning, to obfuscate the nature of it...

What did you do to her?

Nothing.

You did something to Devi, you did something to her. You don't expect me to believe this is a coincidence? That we both developed voices after meeting Johnny? That after me and her met her voice suddenly became more powerful? After she met you, or whatever it was that was in her head met you?

Scriabin felt both startled and repulsed. God, he felt, he even felt and God, God, Edgar wanted to take this all away, he wanted to have what he had before he met Devi, he wanted the comfort of the lies around them again but he couldn't believe that. He couldn't let the reality of this go, not when it had come and stared him in the face like this.

And he would have to do what he knew Scriabin wouldn't.

Are you just like those things in Johnny that he talks about? All that noise? Are you just another parasite and looking to reproduce by spreading to as many people as possible? Are you just using me, using my body to develop? Are you just waiting for a better host? Are you infecting other people, are you using me as a carrier? If that's not the case, if you're more than that, there better be a damn good explanation for this.

Scriabin said nothing, though he could clearly feel his disgust.

Edgar struggled to find where the conversation had last dwindled into silence.

"So...something started talking to you, too?"

"I don't know. God, this sounds crazy." She looked up, expecting Edgar maybe to react negatively, but Edgar stayed where he was. "But...she doesn't say much, just yet. She just wants me to do a painting. I was planning on doing it before anyway, but now...she just won't leave me alone about it. She wants me to do this painting, but I don't have time, I have all this shit I have to do, and she just...repeats the same message over and over again. I can hear her all the time."

"So we've both got these kinds of voices going on." Devi still seemed a little uneasy about talking so frankly about the problem, so Edgar tried to keep his voice as level and calm as possible. "I think we're going through the same thing, or at least something similar. Johnny or his house definitely had an effect on us both, although I don't know what the end result is just yet...it all hinges on something that's...well, a little hard to believe. This is where things are going to get even more strange...and I'm sorry if it does seem more unbelievable."

Edgar was glad to try and move on to a different train of thought. He didn't want to believe what he saw in the mirror but he did, he did and in a way, it surprised and horrified him and he still felt proud that at least he knew, at least he could believe the truth when it showed itself to him. He was able to tell reality from fantasy after all, despite the heartache. Edgar kept his eyes closed and his face level and his thoughts on his words, in a way not wanting to know how Scriabin must have felt about all this. God, he could hear everything... "Johnny told me, or tried to explain to me at one point, that he felt like he couldn't die. I thought that he was just...well, you know, insane, but later on, he wanted me to...prove it. He wanted me to try and kill him, and I could have sworn that I did, but...nothing happened."

"You did what? You're still talking to him?"

Edgar made an uncomfortable sound. "Yeah...he wanted to be friends. There wasn't a lot I could do...I felt like if I said no, he'd kill me for it. I escaped death once, I wasn't entirely too keen on courting it again, if that makes sense. I kept trying to keep my distance, but he kept wanting to talk to me..."

"Did you call the police?"

"They couldn't do anything..." Edgar thought back, remembered the distaste on the face of the officer he had spoken to, remembered that feeling of intense helplessness and he found he was frowning without thought, glaring at the table and his voice was tight and frustrated. "They didn't do anything, I told them everything I knew but it was like, like he-"

"Didn't exist." Edgar looked up to meet Devi's eyes, then felt something soft touch his hand. Devi was resting her hand on top of his own, and the look on her face now for once was not suspicious, doubtful, angry or fearful. She looked sympathetic, near enough to understanding that Edgar wasn't sure how to react. "I know, I tried to call them too. The fuckers. They acted like I never called each time."

Edgar blinked at the contact, but found himself smiling. Human contact had gained such importance over his time with Johnny...how much was undeserved? "Like his house, how I could never tell them where it was..."

"Just got lost in all the streets...like they were changing, just to keep you away."

"His phone number was unlisted...didn't exist-"

"Like a phantom but I knew he was real, I knew he was but they just wouldn't do anything-"

He felt Devi's hand shift on top of his own, felt the muscles tightening in her fingers with frustration that shook her voice. Edgar breathed slowly, found his calming voice again and kept a soft smile.

"I just kept hoping that eventually he'd leave me alone...but it didn't really work out that way."

He expected Scriabin to make some kind of smart comment, but nothing.

"He still won't leave me alone, even after everything that happened. I feel like he's everywhere. I can't believe the fucking police in this town."

"Well..." Edgar wondered why Johnny was content to passively follow Devi, watch her from a distance, but was more active in pursuing Edgar's attention. That wasn't a pleasant train of thought. "Either way, he said he couldn't die. And...I know this is not going to make sense. I know it, and I won't blame you if you think I'm crazy for it."

She stared at him for a little while, again raised an eyebrow. "This better be good."

Edgar shook his head with a pained smile. "Believe me...it gets worse. Johnny kept talking about reality...like how he couldn't die, how he was invincible, something was using him for some purpose, things like that. I know, he's crazy, so it's hard to put weight on what he says, but...he said that he was losing himself...what he used to define himself, I guess..." God, this felt like it happened so long ago. Details were fuzzy now and they shouldn't have been. "He said he used to paint-"

"God, that's right..." Devi sounded somewhat far away. "I remember, I remember seeing some of the things he painted in his house...those Styrofoam things, I...I forgot about that."

"Yeah..." Edgar kept his eyes on the table. "He said that he used to know why he was doing things, then he lost it...like he was acting with no motive." That's a good way to put it. "He said that there were things that kept...provoking him. I noticed this when I was with him, people just...just kept bothering him. Like they wanted to be killed, or their purpose was to irritate him, drive him to murder. I know that sounds like justification for what he does, and I want to make it clear that I do not approve of murder and I never will. I just think this all is related, in the end."

Devi stared at the table, made a soft thoughtful sound but didn't say anything.

"I don't approve of what Johnny does..." Edgar wanted to make this very clear. "I never will, and the fact that my presence hasn't put a stop to that..." No, that was an ugly path to follow. Change the subject. "It brings up the question though, did you notice that when you were with him? People being irritating, people just provoking Johnny for no reason?"

Devi thought for a few seconds. "Nothing out of the usual. Nothing that hinted at the fact he was a psychopathic serial killer or anything. There are assholes everywhere, no matter where you go, but I didn't notice an increased number of them that night. He got annoyed, but then he'd...fuck, I hate to think of it now, but he'd look at me or talk to me, and he'd calm down...he told me I made everything better for him. Goddamn it!" Devi hit the table again, and buried her face in her hands. "Goddamn him..."

Edgar felt something, but he wasn't sure what it was. It caused his body to twitch, to ready itself for something, something in his brain focusing on what Devi had said but he wasn't sure what it was. He didn't like how it felt, it made him feel bad or, to be more specific, it made him feel bad about how he felt. Like he shouldn't feel that way, but it was there and he wasn't sure how to make it go away-

You're jealous, Scriabin spat, and Edgar froze. You're jealous of Devi. You're jealous of the fact that for all of his supposed love and affection for you, Devi was the one who made him happy. Devi was the one who changed his reality enough so that it wasn't complete shit all the time. She did more in one night than you have in months. You're jealous of her and the fact that Nny cares more about her.

That's not true.

Scriabin made a disgusted sound. Fine, whatever. You do that. I'm not in the mood to argue.

It's not true, and you know it's not.

I'm not in the mood. Go ahead and do your whole denial thing. It doesn't change the fact that you're still jealous and I'm right. It doesn't change anything.

"Sometimes I hate him so much, and other times..." She took a deep breath, but didn't clarify further.

"Either way..." Edgar kept his internal frustration and irritation out of his voice. "At one point...at one point Johnny committed suicide..or at least I thought he did." Probably best not to get into details. "I found his body, and then..." He wanted to be honest, but God, looking back on it, his fight with Krik was embarrassingly one-sided. He closed his eyes, felt Scriabin's satisfied amusement at his discomfort, and took a deep breath. "Then me and this other guy got into a fight, which I lost." He could see that Devi wanted to ask about it, so he kept his words fast. "It's not important why or anything, really, but the fact is that I lost consciousness...and..."

Devi looked somewhat amused, which prompted more embarrassment on Edgar's part than he wanted to feel. Edgar continued. "I think I may have died. This is where everything gets strange." He saw by her expression that she already didn't believe him. "The thing is, I spoke with..." Edgar wanted to say someone else, but he was trying to be honest. "I spoke with...well, Satan, and he told me that there were systems- a system, that used Johnny. Made him crazy. He said that this system was used to gather hate and store it in things called cells, and Johnny was a lock on one of these cells. Like a hate filter, in a way. He told me that these people, these locks generally live quiet lives until they self-destruct...I'm assuming due to the pressure of the entire thing. Johnny did self-destruct, but I guess the analogy would run that it was like a bomb. He took out everyone that he came in contact with. The system used him, and I think the voices, the parasites, I think they're a part of it. I think they're the first part, I think they're what allows the flow of hate...into the mind, if that makes sense."

She did not believe him.

"I know how this sounds." Actually, Edgar had no idea that the entire thing sounded this stupid. He was a little surprised to find he believed it himself. "You don't have to believe all of it, or any of it, but the part that's important is about the system, the waste lock system. If it's happening to me, and we're mirroring each other...it's probably happening to you too."

"Honestly, Edgar, yeah, that is a little hard to believe." She leaned back in her chair. "You came back to life? Talked to fucking Satan? There's no proof for any of this, just the fact we've both got little voices after meeting up with Johnny."

"I know, but there's no proof otherwise either, right?" He smiled weakly, but she didn't return the gesture. "I know, it sounds stupid. It sounds really stupid. The thing about dying or Satan or anything doesn't matter, really, it's just about the systems. That's what's important and that's what I think this is about. It's more than a coincidence that our voices reacted to each other that way, don't you think? That we both got one after meeting the same person? That means something, I know it does. Whether or not it means the system theory, that's up to you, but...that's what I think is happening. I think that those voices, those parasites, are working for the system. That they're trying to make us both go crazy, in a way. They're working to destroy us."

Oh, is that what I'm doing?

Oh shit.

I didn't mean you-

Oh, really? Who on earth did you mean? What magical other person are we talking about?

In an effort to make Devi feel less alone, he forgot that Scriabin was listening and...

God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry okay, I don't want to scare her off, I'm trying to get her to believe me-

Wow, you apologized. I feel better already. It's a good thing that your words have such magical healing powers.

Edgar was in for some serious pain when he got home. Scriabin was pissed at him, and he was pretty sure that staying with Devi would only make it worse.

That small, ugly, rebellious voice spoke up again, reminded him that Devi was an actual human being, and Scriabin...

For once he wanted to prove that voice wrong, he wanted to prove everything wrong just because he didn't mean to, he didn't want to hurt him. Scriabin's anger was easy to sense and familiar, but Edgar knew, even if he couldn't tell immediately, that he had hurt Scriabin more deeply than he would ever let on, and he really hadn't wanted to do that. He didn't want to do that, after it all, everything they had last night...

But the mirror kept reflecting, kept reflecting and that ugly voice kept saying, kept pointing out exactly who, or rather, what, it was that he felt concerned for, kept asking whether that concern was justified or just the side-effects of manipulation that had gone on for so long...

I didn't mean it, I'm trying to get her to believe me- God, he wished Scriabin would understand but he knew that Scriabin would interpret his words in the worst, most insulting way.

I told you she wouldn't believe you. Are you lying to try and make the truth more palatable? After all your moralistic ranting about how I shouldn't lie? You fantastic jackass.

God, I'm sorry, okay? He was, he really was, despite all of his misgivings and doubts and that mirror, he was. He wanted to stop thinking about it, he wanted everything to be simple again- Just-, you can yell at me later, I just want to get through this conversation-

What, do you want her to like you? It was a mean, sneering comment, but afterwards Scriabin paused.

God, is everything a sexual thing with you?

Scriabin didn't respond, instead made a thoughtful sound in the back of Edgar's mind.

"Destroy us..." Devi stared at the table. "I do...I do feel like I'm losing my mind lately. But I don't want to believe some shit about systems and fucking Satan. I got over the whole Satan vampire thing when I was a teenager. I just..." She leaned her head on one hand and sighed. "I just want to know how to make it stop."

"That's the thing..." Edgar felt uncomfortable at Scriabin's sudden silence. He was rarely silent unless he was planning something... "That's the thing, I don't want to go crazy either...but..." God, he had to make it up to Scriabin somehow, but if he told her that Scriabin might have been related to something else, he'd be contradicting himself and he might alienate her...ugh. There was no way out of this. "The thing is I'm not sure if all the voices are...entirely related. For example, my voice...he started early, earlier than when I," God this was awkward to say, "when I met up with Satan and he said I was a lock...so I don't think Scriabin is related to the lock system."

"Who?"

Edgar winced. Shit, he hadn't meant to let his name slip. "That's his name."

She stared at him for a few more seconds. "Isn't that the name of that guy in that movie? Shit, you know, come to think of it, you kind of look like him."

"Yeah, I get that a lot." Edgar wanted to move on to something else immediately. "But, um, you said that you felt like your voice was doing something to you?"

"I'm pretty sure she is...and I'm sure she doesn't like your voice. I think that's what happened back in the bookstore. I think they just...didn't like each other or something." A very short pause. "God, do you realize how fucking crazy this sounds?"

"I know, I know. I know how this sounds. I know but you know it and I know it and we know it's happening, and we've just got to go with it." Edgar ran a hand through his hair and tried to slow down his words. "So why do you think that she's quieter now?"

"Well, why do you think you aren't feeling sick?"

Scriabin?

Like hell I'm answering any of your questions now.

Edgar let out a long sigh.

Fuck you, bitch. Scriabin added completely unnecessarily, and Edgar shook his head and tried to keep his expression neutral. Fuck you.

"I don't know..." Scriabin used to quiet down whenever he was speaking out loud...he wasn't sure when Scriabin stopped being influenced by that. "Maybe he doesn't care anymore...I'm not sure."

"Well, let's go with this crazy system theory thing of yours." She obviously did not put much faith into the theory and on closer inspection, really, who would? "Maybe your voice and my voice are part of two different systems or something. I mean, you said that yours showed up before your whole 'meeting with Satan', so that means there's got to be at least two systems going on. Mine...from what you've said about Nny, it sounds like...it's kind of the same thing. Shit, that's healthy."

"Yeah, from what you said, I think...it sounds the same. Just being bothered constantly and being unable to, um...I don't know." Edgar felt weird explaining something that he was sure Devi already knew. "You understand...it didn't occur to me that there might be more than one system."

"Fuck, while we're at it, why not keep expanding it? Maybe the voices are a totally unrelated thing from this lock thing you keep talking about, maybe they're totally different. Maybe my voice and your voice and N- Johnny's voice are all different from this lock system. All different from each other."

An uncomfortable thought. "Yeah, could be...in that case though, it's harder to find out how to fix it."

"Well...let's see how everything matches up." Edgar wasn't sure if Devi was just humoring him or not. "You said Nny was a painter? How much do you know?"

"Not a lot...most of it I just guessed. I saw his paintings, the large ones he keeps in the basements...they were beautiful, in this horrible way. I think what happened is that all that hate going into him from that whole system...I don't know how long it got hold of him, but he said that he felt like he was gradually slipping out of control since I met him. He said that he used to know why he killed people but lost that motivation later...I think maybe whatever that system is, I think it took that same...creative power he used to wield and turned it against him, in a way."

"Or..." Devi looking thoughtful, a finger to her lips. "Or stifled it...stopped it. So he couldn't paint anymore...he asked me that once, he asked me what would happen if I stopped doing what I considered defined me as a person...God, I should have been more suspicious..." Her eyes widened. "He said something about becoming a maniac without that, to have that cut off..."

"Do you feel the same? I mean, that kind of same stifled feeling? You said you didn't have time to do that painting..."

"Well, I've just been busy lately. I can still paint if I just had the time but...God, that's an ugly thought."

"Do you think your voice is trying to help you?"

"What?"

"I mean...you said it wanted you to do that painting?"

"Well...yeah." Devi scratched her head. "But she doesn't understand that I can't right now, I just fucking can't and it gets me frustrated..."

"Hmm..."

A silence as the two thought.

"Either way..." Edgar said and Devi looked back up at him. "I think you should be careful. Your voice might be trying to help you or trying to hurt you...you should be really careful about what you believe. I mean..."

"Do you paint too? Is this some kind of weird artist's plague?" She smiled a little at her comment, and Edgar smiled back.

"No, I'm not a very creative person. That's why I'm...a little confused, I guess. I don't have that kind of...creative outlet to be stifled, if that makes sense. I guess that's why I think that my voice is different from the system's voices..."

"I thought you said you were a lock, or whatever it was." She still didn't believe that theory and it was obvious in her voice.

"I am, but...I think Scriabin's something different. Earlier. Maybe taking up the space that the system would have used otherwise, I don't know. I don't understand how any of this works..." Edgar looked into her eyes. "Everything aside, I want you to be careful."

"You want me to be careful?" She tilted her head at him, kind of smirked but not quite. "Why so interested?"

Edgar shrugged, tried to sound casual. "I think we could help each other. I mean, we're both going through similar ordeals...and despite the subject matter, I found this conversation rather pleasant. Did you?"

She stared at him with that same smirk for a few more seconds. "You have a point. It's getting increasingly difficult to find anyone nowadays who's worth talking to. Compared to some of the other guys I've met recently, you're amazing."

"Thank you." Edgar felt genuinely flattered. "I haven't been talking to many people at all, so I can't say the same about you, I'm afraid."

"And besides, who's really perfect anyway?" Devi leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. Something around her neck caught the light for just a second. Edgar hadn't noticed that before...she had a necklace. A small quartz crystal on a silver chain. "I'd be willing to put up with a dozen guys who heard voices telling them things if they were as skilled a conversationalist as you."

Edgar felt a tinge of mild irritation at the insinuation that he was crazy, and he found it returned his thoughts to an ugly, barren place. He could still feel Scriabin sulking, offended and hurt and angry and trying to hide anything deeper from him, and he didn't want to think about it anymore. Not right now. This day had been going so well at first.

"That's a pretty necklace." Edgar decided he might as well move on to a different topic. Devi looked back to him, then down to her chest.

"Oh, this." She picked up the crystal gingerly. "Yeah, Tenna gave it to me today." At Edgar's questioning look, Devi shrugged and clarified. "She's a friend of mine. She said that crystals are supposed to promote healing and calm or something like that. I think she's been working at that hippie store too long. I don't believe in that New Age bullshit. Do you?"

Edgar shook his head. He considered briefly mentioning that he was Christian, then decided against it. It wasn't like that was important information that Devi needed to know. "What's it supposed to do?"

"Well, I don't know. I'm not sure how much of what Tenna tells me is what it really does or what she thinks it should do." Devi smiled faintly, and Edgar got the impression that Devi and Tenna were good friends, despite the mild irritation in her voice. "I told her that things had gotten weird lately, and before you know it, she's trying to talk to me at all hours of the night. I tell her I have no time to work and her answer is to try and take up any free time I do have. It's getting really old, to be honest. But this is her latest effort to get me to feel better. Supposedly these kind of crystals promote inner healing." Devi rolled her eyes. "They're supposed to kind of absorb the negative thoughts and energies around someone and purify them. Or something. She wouldn't leave me alone until I put it on, and then I forgot about it until you pointed it out. I'll probably take it off when I get home."

Edgar smiled. "She sounds like she cares about you."

Devi almost shrugged, but stopped before she completed the motion. She looked at Edgar again, studied him, and her voice was low. "I don't think that'll help me now."

Another silence.

Edgar was the first to speak again.

"What are we going to do?" It was a general question with no intended listener, enough so that if Scriabin were listening instead of sulking, perhaps he would have also had some kind of answer. Devi stared at the table.

"I don't know. He won't leave you alone, right? He knows where you live...he knows your phone number. He knows where I live...we can't get away from him. He's only making this worse, I'm sure of it. I don't understand what's happening, though I still don't think Satan is involved, and I don't know if we can stop it."

We.

Edgar coughed, stared down at the table with Devi and felt his fingers twitch just that little bit, just enough so that he knew what his body was trying to do and he forced his hands to stay still. It didn't mean anything.

"I don't want this to happen." She rested a hand on her forehead. "I don't want to go crazy."

"Neither do I."

"What are we going to do?"

"Well..." They needed a plan, and Edgar felt obligated to come up with something, logical or not. "I don't know, exactly. I guess we can start by keeping track of exactly what's happening to us...how we feel, anything that seems off. Maybe we can find a pattern that way. If there's something triggering it, or something feeding it, then maybe we can find it and put a stop to it."

"Do you think that she's trying to help me? My voice?"

Edgar made an uncomfortable sound. "If your voice is the same as Johnny's...then no, I don't think so."

"And yours? Is it helping you?"

Edgar found that his first response to this question was "I don't know."

The following surge of hatred and fury from Scriabin forced him to automatically rethink his words. He didn't even realize that his prime motivation for doing so was not concern for Scriabin's possible hurt feelings, but fear of what Scriabin was going to do to him, of what his anger promised. "I think so."

"Then why keep tabs on each other?"

"Well, we're both...or I'm pretty sure we're both part of the lock system now." Edgar rubbed the back of his head. "The voices might not be related, or at least mine might not be, but they might be a warning system for worse things to come. Does that make sense?"

Devi stared at him.

"We're supposed to be honest, right?" she said finally, and Edgar nodded. "Well...are you the kind of guy that will constantly leave messages if I don't respond to them?"

"No."

"You know when to back off?"

Edgar thought for a few seconds, then shrugged. "I don't approach unless asked, in general."

Devi made a thoughtful sound, then dug around in the pocket of her coat. She kept her voice even while she pulled out a small piece of paper and a pencil.

"You seem like a nice guy and I think you're right, I think that maybe we can help each other somehow, and we're going to need all the help we can get. The thing is that recently, I don't want to be disturbed unless it's important. Lately people have been calling up and asking me to do things a lot and I'm getting tired of it. It's hard to focus."

"Do you want me to wait for your call, then?"

Devi looked up at him and again she had a vaguely grateful expression, as if thankful that Edgar had understood.

"Most likely. Don't call me unless it's really important. I'll answer your messages eventually, but leave only one. Is that a deal?"

Edgar took the piece of paper that she offered him. "Of course."

"What about you?" Devi folded her hands in front of her as Edgar began to write his own phone-number on a supermarket receipt he found in his coat pocket. "You have any rules you want me to follow?"

Edgar shook his head and handed over his phone number. "Not particularly. My life isn't very eventful, except when Johnny steps into it. I don't mind if you call me at any time, as long as I'm there. I might not be, but I think most of the time I'll be there."

"Okay then." Devi pocketed the slip of paper and stood, and Edgar followed her lead. "Now that that's been taken care of, I've got things I need to do. It's been nice talking to you, and lately, that's saying a lot."

Edgar reached out a hand without thinking, and thankfully Devi took it and the two shook hands for a few seconds. Her skin was cool and slightly damp. "I'm just sorry I couldn't help you more."

Devi shrugged and the two began walking towards the door. "Well, we've got theories. That's more than what I had before. Plus we both know we're not alone, which is good, and we've kind of got a plan, so I think we came out ahead."

"Yeah, I think so." Edgar wanted to say more in response, but he couldn't find the words.

Once outside, Devi opened her hideous umbrella and waved good-bye. She smiled just a little, and Edgar smiled in return as she headed on her way.

He stood there in the rain, his coat which had dried just a little in the café now again soaked, and he held on to his upper arms.

So now what? Scriabin's voice was filled with hate.

Edgar watched her leave, looked down at the ground and watched the ripples from the raindrops in the puddles that were scattered across the sidewalk.

I'm going to see Johnny.

What? Scriabin sounded both completely shocked and somewhat horrified. Edgar turned and walked purposefully towards his car, his fists closed tight.

I'm going to see Johnny. You've been distracting me for days. You're trying to keep me away from him. This is it. I'm going to see him again.

After everything I've- everything we've- everything I've tried to tell you- Scriabin struggled for words through the midst of anger Edgar knew was nearly blinding. You're going back to him? After everything you just told Devi? Why? Why? What possible motivation could you have? He has nothing to offer you except more abuse, more threats to your life, more lies and emotional ambivalence and fingers wrapped around your throat that's too damn silent! He gives you nothing, he'll give you nothing, I've explained to you, I've told you why, I've even explained in small words that Johnny will never, ever love you like you think he will and that's a good thing, Edgar! That's a good thing because you won't die, and I can't understand why you can't see this! Johnny is destroying you! Being with Johnny is destroying you as a person. Why are you going back to him?

Edgar sat down in the front seat of his car, slammed the car door behind him and shook himself off. Destroying me as a person, huh. And what about you? What have you been doing to me?

How dare you. How dare you even say that to me. Fury building high and Edgar could barely feel his own, differentiate it from Scriabin's. He could hear it in Scriabin's tone, the hissing growl through his clenched teeth, the occasional quiver of his voice when he was on the verge of screaming but managed to keep that in check. How dare you say that to me after everything you've done. After everything I've done for you, after all the shit you put me through, all the shit I've cleaned up after you, everything I've done for you and you have the audacity to say that it wasn't for your benefit. You honestly think that I've been trying to hurt you? Everything I've ever done I've done for you-

For me? Edgar's head was beginning to hurt and he felt for his keys in his pocket. Was it really for me, Scriabin, in the end? How many times have you told me that only so I can find out later on that you were lying to me? How many times you have you told me to trust you for my own benefit when really it served your interests rather than my own?

God, this is what drives me crazy about you. You forget everything except what's happening right now. You forget everything except what justifies how you feel. You forget it all. What about last night, genius? You trusted me then, didn't you? Did I turn on you then? Did I lie to you then?

You say I'm the one who forgets the past? You weren't even honest with me then, you kept what you wanted hidden until I practically dragged it out of you after we fought and suffered for it. You fought me every step of the way, you fought me finding the what-you-so-gladly-say is the truth now, and I can't even say for sure that it is. Maybe it is and maybe it isn't, and you wouldn't tell me either way, would you? One night where I succeeded in fighting past your barriers, you trying to stop me every inch of the way, and you somehow think it was a victory for you? Last night was for you, not for me, wasn't it?

For me- I didn't ask to come with you-

No, but you sure made yourself at home when you showed up, didn't you?

I don't remember you exactly kicking me out, Scriabin hissed through gritted teeth. I don't remember you exactly fighting with all your strength against our past together, did you? You're the one who started it, I was the one who tried to remember the reality-

And I was the one who had to tell you the truth, because you couldn't bear to break the fantasy. You couldn't do it and so I had to, I had to...did you, what did you want from last night?

You know what I wanted-

That's not an answer to my question- GOD I hate that about you! You never give me a straight answer about anything, regardless of how important or unimportant it is. You're always lying about everything, and one night doesn't erase the countless times you lied to me before-...God, you lied to me about Devi. You lied to me about what happened when we met her. You lied to me at the church. You lied to me in that white space, you lied to me when I had that breakdown, you lied to me about the seizure, you lied to me about where you came from, about how you felt, what you wanted, lied to me about Jimmy and why you wanted him to die, you've lied to me about so much. You've even told me that you're a liar, repeatedly. How can you expect me to trust you?

How can the concept of change be so foreign to you? How can you be so stubbornly idiotic? Scriabin's voice raising, stronger and his head was pounding and Edgar leaned his head against the steering wheel. Everything I've done has been for your benefit! You just can't see that, you just would never have understood! I've kept things from you because you keep doing this, you keep refusing to understand so you can claim the moral high-ground! There are some things that you're better off not knowing and I've done my best to keep those things from you. Everything I've done, every lie I've told has been to help you! I've been trying to keep you sane, remember? That's what I've always been doing!

Scriabin, you're not...you weren't. Why didn't you tell me about Devi? Why didn't you tell me about her voice? That was it, wasn't it? That was why I felt so sick? Why you told me to get out? Why didn't you tell me what happened? Why didn't you tell me that she had a voice too?

You didn't need to know.

What do you mean I didn't need to-

That's one of those things you didn't need to know. I never thought it would come up again because I never thought you'd see her again. Funny how things work out.

Who are you to decide what I can and can't handle?

I know you, Edgar! I know you better than you know yourself because like it or not I'm stuck here! I know how you feel about everything, I know every thought that crosses your mind! I know more about what you can and can't handle than you do, and you can't handle a surprisingly large amount, boy.

You, you're so fucking arrogant- Rage building and he was breathing fast, his heart was racing and he felt the metal of his keys touch his fingers, distract him just long enough to remind him of what he was originally planning. I can't...I can't. I've...you're distracting me. Edgar sat up and he felt extremely dizzy. You're trying to distract me again. You're trying to get me to argue with you so I won't go. It won't work. It's not going to work this time. You've been distracting me for too long. You've been taking things from me for too long. I'm going to see Johnny again and you can't stop me.

God damn you! Scriabin shouted. Don't you understand anything? Can't you listen? I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'll keep saying it until you understand: Johnny is the worst person in the world for you! God, does the fact that Johnny fully intends to kill you mean NOTHING to you? How can you be so stupid? How can you so consistently follow the same self-destructive patterns? How many times and ways do I have to tell you to stop hurting yourself before you listen to me?

Johnny-

Johnny doesn't love you, Edgar, and he never will. I told you this, I explained this to you before, and I thought maybe you would listen but you never did. You've never listened to me, Edgar, and look where it's gotten you! Look at you, you've signed your own death warrant, you've slit your own wrists-

I'm not going to listen to you, not anymore. You've done this to me too much. Johnny matters to me, Scriabin, he matters to me and he needs me. He's going to need me, and if Jimmy hasn't found him yet, I can warn him. I have to try. I have to try and do something. I am going to go see Johnny.

Johnny is a psychopath, Edgar! He has no comprehension of normal human emotion! His love is a knife through your ribcage! A punctured lung filling with blood, and you want this? And Jimmy, god, Jimmy, I told you why he deserves to die! Why Jimmy is basically walking right into Johnny's knife with a gleeful smile on his face and that there's nothing that can, or should, be done about it! I told you, I explained it to you, god, why can't you understand! Why are you doing this? Johnny is the reason you're unhappy, he's the reason that you're who you are now instead of who you were, he's wearing away at your personality and your life and for Christ's sake Edgar, he's going to kill you. He's going to kill you, does that mean nothing to you? Does that mean nothing to you? Why are you throwing your life away? Why is Johnny worth your life?

I'm not going to be distracted anymore. If I can save someone's life I'm going to try. I'm going to go see him.

God- Fuck you! Scriabin's voice broke and he knew that tears had caused the momentary audible weakness. Scriabin's rage was overpowering, and now beneath it all he could feel his hurt. Fuck you, you selfish bastard, I'm still here! I'm still here with you! Are you going to kill us both?

Edgar closed his eyes and he felt something burning, a heat that built and he wanted it to stop but he didn't know how. It was building in the back of his mind, ugly and painful and he felt afraid in a way he didn't understand for some reason he didn't know.

This is my body. The mirror still held up and it still reflected the truth, and he didn't mean to say that but he did, and despite it all he knew it was true. He knew that it would hurt Scriabin in a way that Edgar knew was hideous and agonizing but it was the truth. It was the truth and he couldn't lie about it, not when someone's life could be at stake. This was my body before you came, this was my life before you tried to work your way into it. This is my body no matter what happens. It's my decision what I do with it, not yours.

Fuck you! Scriabin screamed, furious and shrill. Fuck you, fuck you, after everything you said to me, after everything-

It's the truth and you know it, you know it's the truth. I can't lie to myself anymore about what you are, about where you came from. You know where you came from, you know what you are. You know the truth just as well as I do! We can tell stories to try and make it deeper, make it more meaningful, make it a choice, a deliberate choice on both our parts but it wasn't, and it's not. We can't lie to each other like this, Scriabin! We can't pretend this is something it's not!

Fuck you! Sobbing and Edgar could still feel the rage burning, rage burning hot and strong and he wanted it to stop, it hurt, it hurt too much and his entire body stood on edge, all muscles tensed in preparation for something, to ward off something but he didn't know what. Fuck you, you don't know what this is! You don't know anything, you don't know anything about me, you don't know what I can do! You think I'm still your little fucking voice, I'll fucking show you! Back to that 'no life of my own' bullshit, I'll fucking show you!

Edgar shuddered and after it stopped he realized that he couldn't feel his hands and it was getting hard to breathe.

I'm more than that, I'm more than you, I'm more than any of you! I'm fucking more than Nny and I'm more than that bitch in Devi, I'm more than just your fucking little voice! 'This is my body', 'this is my body', well fuck you! Fuck that, I'll show you whose fucking body this is! I am fucking tired of you, and I am fucking tired of playing baby-sitter to your fucking bad decisions! I am fucking FED UP with your pseudo-relationship with Nny and your unbelievable, unwarranted, in-fucking-comprehensible inability to stop it, stop him! You're too fucking weak to stop him, you're too weak to say no when he raises the knife above you, but I'm not! You're too fucking weak to save yourself and you don't even know it, you don't even want to know it. That's the fucking truth Edgar. You think this is your body? You think I have no power? You think our death isn't my decision? You think that I'm going to let that fucker kill me without a fight? I'll show you just how fucking fragile your relationship with the skinny fucking psychopath really is! All your bullshit about how this'll survive and you have faith and it's all belief in nothing, in a shallow-as-shit relationship that you can't let go of! Can never see past the surface to see what it really is, all it will ever be and you and your fucking fantasies and your obsession with playing with fire, well fuck that! You think that Nny really loves you, you think that in the end your magic fucking love will save you both, you make me sick! I'll show you the fucking truth and you're going to be sorry, you're going to fucking beg me for lies. I'll fucking show you, I'll fucking show you once and for all, I'll FUCKING SHOW YOU-

Edgar's heart stopped beating. He made a choked sound and slumped against the steering wheel, his eyes still frozen open.