30. Questions (part 2)
Winter returned that evening, and that hazing breeze of heat burned out and its molten remains solidified into frost. A coating of silver. More defenses, a breastplate of glass guarding the heart of the City of Justice.
What heart it may harbor.
Peter Lake struggled to believe in it, like he struggled to believe himself a miracle.
You're water… You're a good man…
Yet his existence had been bound to it from the moment he'd been born. Even in death, he was tethered to these streets of icy cement, these soft-edged bricks and thin-veiled paint jobs.
He was needed here by someone he'd never met or found himself to care about.
Cecil wore himself out with the smallest explanations. Peter Lake had yet to be accustomed to how vague the indications were, in the weird world he'd been gifted when Athansor found him that Christmas afternoon.
Willa's instructions, Cecil's shyness… and of course, that stubborn horse's inability to speak, altogether.
Athansor.
So, in vagueness, as he'd always done when confronted with the unanswerable, Peter began to think.
Questions answered questions until, without uttering a word, he sank in his own pool of abstract theories, dismounting every piece of a complex machine and then rebuilding it from scratch.
Death granted him no additional wisdom. It only gave him more time to ponder over things.
It didn't help, either, that now his obsession with puzzles was fused with Beverly's restlessness.
Was I ever expected to sink?
His parents. He hadn't seen them yet. He wondered if they'd ever been granted the chance to hover over him, watch like Cecil or Beverly had, to see the fruit of their choice…
Was I, ever?
He hadn't been meant to die.
He hadn't been destined to sink when he jumped from that bridge.
Beverly caught him and harbored him in her vessel in the sky.
Was I…
But now he was needed by another that wasn't her.
What… did that mean? What need was in store?
When we return to the city, stay with me. That was all Beverly had requested of him, her final night alive.
That he didn't vanish and become yet another brick upon the City of Justice. A key in her piano.
Loving had been so easy in the past… Would it continue to be easy, if it was so necessary, so crucial to the life of another?
Peter…
When he knew them, they who silently waited to be found, would it happen just as suddenly? Was the love he felt for Beverly now so comparable, so replicable?
Not his romantic love of her, but his willingness to follow wherever she tread. To be stolen by her, carried through an ocean of starfire. To abandon all paths just to tread her own.
Was that replicable?
You're overthinking again, Peter.
It was easy to think too much, when time stretched out into infinity and nothing else changed.
It was a twisted way of theorizing, yes. But Peter Lake thought a lot, now that he was dead. More than he'd ever had the privilege to do so. Besides, he'd been granted a piece of Beverly's impatience, and a surge of energetic panic quietly burned in his beatless chest.
You're not a thief, my darling…
She'd called him 'darling.'
"You look pale," Cecil murmured, at some point in the evening.
"I'm dead," Peter muttered, embarrassed.
And to this Cecil cackled, and Beverly's face stretched into a silent gasp of amusement. And Peter Lake swore, then, to feel the shiver of starlight under his clothes.
They were tucked away from all skies, lounging in New York's cavernous underbelly, and yet he was convinced that the stars had just become a little brighter, with the reaction he'd caused.
So he laughed too, shyly, into the collar of his shirt, and he contributed to the shine.
I feared never to laugh again, Beverly… Do you realize this?
That evening, when he looked upon the woman he loved in the tepid lamplight, and Cecil had placed his bunnet over his face and lain back between the barrels of ale, and she guided him to her, without making a sound…
You called me 'darling,' earlier… I liked that.
"Your eyes..."
"What?"
"Are you flying?"
"Does... Does it show?"
"I don't know. I can just tell..." Perhaps it was due to the fact that her eyes seemed larger, brighter, rapt in invisible details.
"It seems like some of me may still take flight... Even with your gravity holding me down... I'm trying to test how far I may go."
Peter stared at her. He smiled. "Where are you?"
"I'm kissing Willa goodnight..." She grinned a bit.
In flight, dispersed, yet still here.
Was it due to the fact that his soul felt lighter in this instant? His mind clearer? His peace contributed to her own, after all. They were two weights upon this balance, two souls united to the same vessel. To fly, one first needed to trust not to fall.
I'm so proud of you.
He hated to admit that he had yet to achieve such courage.
Fly on down, Peter Pan.
With or without wings of his own... he feared to fly alone.
But it was enough, for the moment, to admire her as she did. Without ever leaving his side. Giving only a piece of her light to the rest of the city, from the shadows within which she hid with Cecil and him.
"Hold me," she told him, at some moment. "So that I may remember where I am..."
They'd embraced many times since their deaths. There was a particular pleasure to it, now. It was the way to know for sure that they still existed.
He conceded her wish, smiling easily.
"Don't get lost to the light."
"I won't..."
She lay her cheek on his chest, her frenzied red hair spreading at her back, over her green gown, his black-clad arm. They lay back upon the ground. The single earring trembled from her ear. Peter Lake felt the other, a tiny stone between her head and his chest.
"How can I still hear your heartbeat?" she whispered, suddenly.
"You can?"
"Maybe it's your breathing… The thin and the thick… Or the way your eyes move from one place to another, as if you were connecting little threads in the air. I can see you in the darkest places, Peter. You're worried again."
He shrugged gently. "That's no news."
"I worried earlier and you helped me through."
"Your worry was mine."
"It became my own, though… and there's nothing wrong with that."
He moved one hand slowly across her back. The broad, flat bones between her shoulders, her soft waist. The green fabric whistled softly as he caressed her. Beverly breathed softly.
"Stars do get tired," she mused. "Our vessels are stationary for a reason… We offer so much and receive very little… Mm… Not to sound dramatic or anything…"
"You never sound dramatic…"
She chuckled quietly. "You're lying."
"I'm no good at lying, remember."
"Precisely. I saw through it straight away."
New York's golden glow thickened outside, fogging the stars above. Peter Lake saw them, even here, underground, in the pitch black. Maybe he'd even see that little bright-haired stranger if he squinted hard enough. Right now he feared that faceless vision more than ever.
Someone in this city needs you.
He said: "I remember what your father told me…"
"What, exactly?"
"That… when love is lost, one discovers greed. He said that to me, the day after the furnace incident."
"I know… I heard you…"
"You did?"
"Mm… Just a bit…" She smiled. He smiled. "Why do you remember that now?"
"Well… he was right, first thing. I think both you and I can attest to it."
"Wouldn't that cheer him up…"
"To know he was right? Oh, everyone loves to be right."
"Sorry, I cut you off, go on…"
"Oh, it's fine, no… Uh… Second… Yes, second… What was I going to say for 'second'?"
Beverly giggled. "I don't know."
A bristling fog, a set of eyes blinking all at once, in the same millisecond, within New York City, so many eyes…
The City of Justice has no heart, and I no longer do either… We finally understand each other…
"Whoever I'm meant to help," he said, then, without preamble, "if I am needed after all… I am terrified of them."
And it took him a second to realize how sudden and stupid this comment truly was.
The pianist gazed at him with silent surprise for a beat, but then her puzzlement appeared to transform into some sort of pity.
Her reaction made Peter flush.
"You think…" Beverly actually paused here. Her red eyebrows lifted subtly, and then she took in a breath, and that sweet, hoarse voice formed the following question: "You think you'll be required to fall in love again?"
"No," he replied, almost instantly.
He swore, then, to hear Humpstone John's laugh, somewhere in the city. A twinkle of fresh frost, reforming. The shields of the city. Winter, the broken vow it'd made to Beverly.
He was too old to be so melodramatic. Was his spirit so light now, that he so easily drifted away?
You're so stupid, Peter.
His doubt resided in her chest, as did her impatience reside in his own. Theirs was one vessel. Her earring was in his vest. A gift, let alone a gift like theirs, is never demanded back. Even if it were, both of them had proven to be capable of finding a way back to each other, in spite of it all.
Stupid, stupid Peter.
He loved her and she loved him and that existed and that was the reason why they were awake still, when it was so late for them.
The writing's on the wall.
"No," he reassured her again. "No. It's not that."
Beverly nodded and Peter sighed softly.
"I'm sorry. That came out wrong…"
"It did, yes."
"I'm sorry…"
Beverly only grinned a bit. "I see you've got your doubt back."
"Heh… Yes."
Her blue eyes suddenly flooded with compassion. "What scares you, Peter?"
They'd promised to never forsake one another, when the moment came. Winter hadn't ended, but their time was up, their promise kept.
"I have dreamed of a young girl with bright red hair," he stroked Beverly's now, and she leaned into his touch. "It's not like yours… It's more orange than yours. Shinier, more saturated… Her little hand faces the moon. It's a child."
"Since when do you dream of this?"
"Since the day we met."
Beverly was quiet for a moment.
"I was so concerned, back then, with the belief that you may have been mine to save… Everyone and everything in my life pointed towards that conclusion. I never let myself realize that I'd one day be yours, instead." He smiled a bit. He hesitated, then: "I wanted to see you and she was always there… I understand why now. But for the longest time I couldn't bear to look at her. As if I were trying to dodge a truth I was too uncomfortable with…"
Beverly nodded. "You'll help her some day. She's the one who needs you."
When love is lost, one discovers greed.
He looked at the pianist, with a touch of helplessness.
"I just wish I hadn't hated her," he murmured. "For stealing a purpose that was never mine in the first place… Now she needs me, and I used to turn my head away to avoid seeing her in my dreams…"
Beverly looked very serious all of a sudden. She stared in the same manner in which she'd done so, wearing that purple gown, in that hallway, not so long before. She understood and shared the dread he felt. They were bound to the same wind, after all.
She hesitated again, then spoke softly: "It doesn't matter..."
"How does it not matter?"
"You won't abandon her. Like you didn't abandon John."
Shut up, Peter...
"And you'll help her, like you helped me."
Just shut up.
"You were abandoned as a baby… And because of that, you've been incapable of abandoning anyone, your whole life. Even when you tried… you always returned. You know the pain of being left behind... You don't wish to inflict that upon anybody else. That is what matters."
This was equality, to feel and be felt. To know how to help one another.
Also, to understand when one had gone too far, and created superfluous discord over something yet to happen.
You promised not to burden her with any more doubt, Peter.
Peter Lake readied an apology in his mind, but Beverly saw it coming, and she shook her head tenderly, lifting a hand and pressing the icy tips of her fingers to his lips.
"No," she told him.
That's all she said of that matter. No further elaboration was needed.
After a second, she did speak again.
"You're imperfect. I am too. And Cecil, as well. We are not awake because we're better than the ones who are asleep, Peter. We, too, will sleep some day. But what Cecil said was true: we are cursed and blessed to care. We could run but we linger… We love, and we want to be worthy of being loved in return. We have amends to make, but most importantly, we wish to make amends. It's the air we breathe."
To hold you and feel like I deserve being in your arms…
She was stroking his cheek now, her thumb brushing repeatedly along his flesh. The hands of a clock, time spent, a future neither of them would ever dream to be deprived of.
When we return to the city, stay with me.
He'd kept his word.
You exist to me… How could I ever regret that?
Peter Lake loved her, and that was not easy. It wasn't so trivial or so frail, to love a woman like this. The very fact that he'd thought it was, now, even for a second, suddenly made him tremble with embarrassment.
Humpstone John would have shaken his head and laughed and called him a late-bloomed lovestruck teenager once more.
Peter missed John… He missed him so dearly…
The fall had been effortless. To sink under Beverly's kindness, to crave her and care for her. To feel such things had been so very easy.
But the regaining of one's footing, the stability of a bond, the acceptance that, wherever they landed, after the fall ended, they would need to walk and not once falter… that was when loving ceased to be easy.
And, most importantly, when one knew, deep in their hearts, that they loved at all.
You're not dumb, you're not ugly.
Peter leaned into her hand, as it moved against his face.
"Hey… I'm not upset with you," she whispered.
"I know. I do regret worrying about these things, though. I promised to be more optimistic."
"We have nothing but time. You needn't hurry. Just let it seep in, drop by drop. Feel me as I feel you."
"You always have an answer for everything. Somehow, this continues to surprise me."
"I don't know it all. I do know you, though."
"Mm." He smiled a little.
Her eyes looked violet-green in such poor light. How could a source so feeble render such specific colors?
"I want to steal them back," he murmured, then. "All of Pearly's gems… I want to return them to the stars he's stranded. Many of which I stranded, too, most likely…"
Beverly nodded. "Then we'll do that…"
"Of course, I want to get some coins for Cecil…"
"Will you do it as you've done before?"
"What?"
"You told me you sang in the street for coins, for a while…"
Picking pockets and singing like a magpie.
Was death so thick in flavor that it drowned out the taste of childhood?
The mere reminder of it brought a warm breeze of nostalgic embarrassment to Peter's face. Beverly giggled. Cecil stirred in his sleep. A little smirk peeked its way out of the shadow cast by his bunnet.
"Wouldn't that be a sight," Beverly said.
"I mean, s- someone will hear me. If Cecil's word is to be believed. I'll do it for him and him only cause, I mean, I haven't sung in a long time. And, uh… I was never good at it."
Magpie. Trespasser.
"Oh, I'm sure you were."
"Nuh-uh."
She pressed her face playfully to his. "I want to hear you sing!"
"You'll come to regret ever saying that."
"I doubt it."
"Besides, your opinion of my singing will be biased."
"Ah, will it be?"
"Yes."
"I'll tell you the truth."
"Okay. I believe you."
They leaned into one another in the darkness. For a while they said nothing and just stayed with their foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, ghostly smiles frozen lazily upon their lips.
I love it when you touch me.
"I want," Beverly whispered, then, "to help little Willa… To help my father. If all it takes is for me to visit them in rays of sunshine every day, then…"
"We'll do that," Peter replied. "And if we can't travel through light, we'll walk."
"I want you to meet my mother… In spite of her state."
"I don't care what state she's in. I want to meet her. I want you to meet my father, too."
"John."
"Yes."
"I believe this is the first time I hear you call him your father," she murmured, opening her eyes.
Peter smiled at her in the half-light. "He always has been. But he's also been John to me, all my life. Just John. My first savior."
Beverly kissed his cheek. She nuzzled his skin, running the tip of her slender nose along the side of his face. Her touch brought a shivering tickle down his spine.
Frost trembled along New York City. The waters under the Brooklyn Bridge fizzled and bubbled against the rocky pillars.
"I must thank him, then, somehow," Beverly whispered. "He saved you. Through that, he saved me too. He brought you to me before I even knew you existed."
I have wanted you forever.
Peter Lake brought her closer to him. This woman, this voice, this mind, this soul shackled to his own. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head.
"My life," he said.
"My miracle..."
They twisted into an embrace within the rocky caverns of the city. Two halves of the same star, flickering on and off, buried in the City of Justice.
Author's Note: To anyone who is here today, thank you for reading.
Here it is, chapter 30! After more than one whole month, I have it all done.
As is often the case, I began writing one conversation that shifted into another XD Plus, my conflicting moods throughout May all converged and it was all a big mess: first, my stress with the end of my second year studying Animation (I love it, of course, but good lord, this year was exhausting), and my final projects, and then of course my family's mood being as erratic and explosive as always. I am so used to it all by now that my calmness frightens me. But, oh well. I'm here. This is how I deal with it. I write and write and I give it my all.
My parents don't even pay attention to it most days - today I did explode and explain all that I've been doing for the last 2 years and how I am building myself up to one day bring my stories to a brighter light, with an actual budget, or just, I dunno, keep growing as an artist and writer. And I really don't care right now, that I'm creating all of this for free. Because I love doing it, and people are reading it, and that is helping me grow, and also making me happy, and that is what's important. That is how I cope.
So... well, look what I ended up doing, as a result of all my conflicting mood swings this last month. Another Peter chapter where he worries about everything, communicates it, gets comforted, and in the end, both he and Beverly are talking about other things, the things they want to do with their endless time. They are laughing, too. Laughing...
That is the conclusion I have reached myself. It's been a long time since I have. I worry, and worry, but in the end, I am still awake, not because I have it all figured out, but because I still have so much stuff to do. So many stories to tell, and drawings to make.
I'm convinced that the reason why I'm not dead right now, in spite of all the pain I've gone through with my family's situation, and the world in general... is because of my dear friends, and also, my obsession with doing so much, all the time. I have too many things to do. I cannot die now. I will not go to sleep. I will keep on going...
Thank you, as always, for being here. For your patience, and your time, and... I just like that people are reading what I write. I like that someone sees me, and sees these characters that I care so much about, my version of this movie that doesn't get nearly enough love. So, here is your hug, *hug, and I'll see you again soon. Take care, wherever you are.
September 2 2023: Edited a bit :3 I added a new segment explaining why and how Beverly can still travel through light.