She tried to call for Arthur, but couldn't articulate the words. A frantic spark ricocheted off the inside of her ribs, alternately ballooning to fill her whole consciousness and shrinking to a terrified speck. Its words tangled at the base of her tongue, fighting with hers for expression, and all that came out was a horrified moan.

Her legs took her somewhere. Was it where the spark wanted her to go, or where she wanted to go?

Away. Away was the most important thing. Away filled her whole body and drove her down the road, faster and faster until she was sure her lungs would burst.

…...

The first time Lewis wakes her up is the third night. He'd warned her, but Vivi really wasn't picturing a seven foot three man thrashing around in bed. She rolls clear, barely missing a flying fist, his cries loud enough to earn a solid bang on the wall from the neighbors.

She doesn't know what to do, but if she doesn't do something the police will come. "Lewis!" she hisses. His arms and legs go every which way. It's going to hurt if she times this wrong. As one arm passes she dives under it, wrapping her arms around his middle and tucking her head against his chest. "Lewis!" She squeezes tightly. "Wake up!"

His thrashing slows, and his cries die away. One hand comes to rest between her shoulderblades, and it's trembling. "Vivi?" he whispers. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Two cups of tea later-cocoa for Vivi, extra chocolate-Lewis is staring at the mug between his hands, murmuring, "This was a mistake. I'm sorry. I never should have put you through this."

Vivi is stung. "Just like that?" She sets her mug down sharply, the cocoa sloshing out over the rim.

"It's not safe. I didn't know it was that bad. Nobody watches me. I lock them out."

"Now you listen here," Vivi's voice is not steady. "I did not fall in love with you and invite you here to watch you-" she almost chokes. She hadn't meant to say that, but his head is already up, his eyes wide. She coughs, taking a sip of cocoa to brace herself, and continues. "To watch you up and leave because you have night terrors and you think I can't handle it. We're going to work this out. Do you hear me? We'll work it out together. Just like everything else."

…...

Her legs wobbled as they slowed, but they did not stop. Road was too obvious. Shelter. She stretched a hand out, scattering Deadbeats to find a place to hide.

Deadbeats. Lewis. Lewis was trapped in-

Two sets of panic blotted out her vision.

…...

The sixth time Lewis wakes her, he hides his face against her and cries like a child. He doesn't understand, he says. He hoped it would go away with Vivi there, but it isn't any better, and it'll probably never get better, and he can't remember why he's scared in his dreams, so how is he supposed to make them stop?

Vivi hands him a black-backed journal. She says to write down what he can remember, since it's not very much. Maybe eventually he'll be able to piece things together. "It's okay if it takes time. I'm not going anywhere."

His hand covers hers as he takes it, lingering. She wonders if this is the way she looked at him when he stayed after the train incident. It's like he can't believe she really exists.

She remembers the feeling all too well.

…...

The scent of blacktop and tar. Her cheek pressed against the road. She ground her forehead into it, trying to regain a sense of herself. A Deadbeat swooped by her ear, chittering, and she reached to it for support. It swooped in under her arm, lifting her back to her feet and staying there, balancing her tottering steps as it guided her down the road.

Headlights. Screeching. Blacktop again.

…

There are days when she can't leave bed because, even though the Lamictal helps, there are still stretches of bleakness where it is like she has no skin and everything-light, sound, motion-is painful. Duet calls them "Sick Days" and wards off questions from the regulars.

Lewis stays the bare minimum for his shift at the Pepper Paradiso and comes back right away. Sometimes he holds her. Sometimes he plays her favorite piece on the violin, one room over so it isn't so loud. Sometimes he'll sit nearby, reading to himself and glancing over every now and then. Those nights, he does both shares of chores and relinquishes his spot to Mystery, sleeping on the couch.

Those days she wishes she could get away from herself and assure Lewis it isn't really her. Just some unwelcome stranger who looks like her. But it is her, and she can't pretend differently. Yet, for some reason, he still lights up every time she finally emerges from the room, eyes downcast and hair matted.

"You made it!" he cheers, lifting her and spinning.

And she knows she's made the right choice.

…

Flashing lights. Urgent questions. Moving.

Orange. Orange was shaking her. "Where is Artie? Where is he?"

Two sets of answers spilled out of her mouth in an unintelligible groan. The questions took a different turn. A few familiar words surfaced from the blur.

Medication.

Restrain.

Institute.

It came to her that she was fighting people who were trying to hold her back. They were trying to keep her still, but Away was still burning in her, and she had to leave. It wasn't safe. It was never safe, no matter where he went. It never would be.

…

Safety takes on a new definition. Vivi would never have defined safe as the man whose fists fly when he sleeps, and she's pretty sure he never would have defined it as the woman incapable of stability. He won't show her his journals yet, but he says he's getting somewhere with the fragments. It worries him. He hints that it might even open up a case for their group to solve.

This, of course, intrigues her to no end, but she bites her tongue and tries to be patient.

Tries.

Tries.

Tries so hard.

He'll tell her soon, he promises. There's something else he wants to talk to her about too. Dinner next week at the Paradiso? He won't be working that shift, he says. Just dinner and a good talk. About the journals, of course. And other things.

"What other things?"

He smiles nervously, tugging at his ascot. "Just, uh, just hold on a little longer. I promise. I'll let you in on everything next week."

…

Too fast. Everything happened too fast. But it didn't last long. A prick at the wrist, and it slowed again. Faces moved in and out of her vision, floating in a haze. There were squares on the ceiling, but she was too fuzzy to count them.

The spark wasn't banging around anymore. It was warm, though. It lay dormant in her chest, an oasis from the numbness that claimed the rest of her.

…

He isn't moving.

That can't be right. He isn't supposed to be there. What is he doing, hanging like a speared fish?

A horrified scream from above. An arm goes sailing into the abyss. Her feet draw her into the cave, toward Lewis.

It's just a dream. A really terrible dream.

Now she knows for sure it is a dream. Out of Lewis' body rises a skeleton, clawing its way out of his chest, every bone visible and lined in crackling pink flame. And out of the thick, green fog rises a nightmare. "What is this?" it laughs. "The fruit of my labor is the fruit of another labor. Fascinating."

The nightmare pins the skeleton on its spine and asks, "What is your name?"

The skeleton cries, "Lewis!"

The nightmare laughs at him, lifting the skeleton's bony forearm. "Strange. You do not look like Lewis. You do not sound like Lewis. Who is Lewis?"

Bones trembling, the skeleton begins to cry.

She knows those cries. She's woken to them every few nights for the last several months.

Abandoning the body, she rushes the nightmare, screaming every spell she can think of to drive a demon back to hell.

It doesn't falter. Flinch. Turn to her at all. It lowers its jaws over the skeleton, opening them and inhaling. Pink flames unwind from the bones, the outline of the skeleton dissolving, streaming into those open jaws.

She hurls her purse at the creature's head. It doesn't move. She doesn't have anything else on hand. She yanks his locket from her neck, hurling it with a desperate shriek.

"Lewis!"

His hand flies up, catching the locket. He twists on the ground, flipping over in the creature's grasp and reaching a hand out to Vivi. Its eyesockets glow pink, and fire relights its bones, and everything flashes pink and black and…

Blank.

…

And the oasis of warmth flooded in cold grief. She lurched, coming up short against straps on her wrists and ankles, twisting on a padded mattress and wailing.

No wonder Aji hated her. No wonder Kay sought comfort with Arthur and barely looked at her. Lewis Pepper was gone. Had been gone for months now, and every tear had been for her own lost memory. Not for the loss of Lewis himself, but for what she didn't know.

She'd struck him. Gods, she'd tried to send him back to the grave. Her gut heaved as the voices scattered around her again, preparing to administer this or that.

She'd asked him who he was. She may as well have handed him to the Shiker on a silver platter.

A needle sank into her skin, and she prayed for a dose too high for her system to handle.

"What are you doing?" One voice cut through the rest. "Remove that syringe. Who authorized this procedure? Who signed the papers? I want them in my office with all documentation in two hours."

"Mystery," two voices drifted from her mouth, synchronized for the first time.

"Who am I? This is insulting. Don't waste my time. Vivi Kimura is my patient, I've been her personal doctor since her first hospitalization. I know what she needs, and it isn't a crowd. Out!"

Long fingers undid the straps, moving from wrist to ankle, and ankle to wrist. An arm circled her shoulders, pulling her up.

"He's dead, Mystery," she moaned, her mind full of memories she didn't know she'd made. "Lewis died."

Her hand lifted itself to her eyes, tenderly wiping the tears, and she melted, sobbing, into Mystery's arms.