malinryden
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Back from the Grave
🕑 Added 2022-08-07 20:33:18 +0000 UTCWhen did I start feeling this old? Not past forty yet; anything below can be ignored. Joints ached worse when I did climbing. Nothing a few painkillers can't fix. Maybe I should do that. Go for a climb. Leave the city. Breathe some fresh air. Yeah, right, do that and realize I'm heavier than I used to be, and my fingers don't grip right. Shouldn't do it anyway. Bad for the mods. Still miss it. Alone. No mistakes. It would only take one fall to…
Yeah. No. Stop that. Kill that thought dead and move on, smiling apologetically at the cab. People here can't drive. At least shouting back at him is real. Too bad he didn't pull a gun. Could have used the distraction.
Talking to myself isn't healthy; I know that. Should be in the moment, be present, and smile at people. But all that runs on autopilot. There is no need for me there. No need for a brain behind the mask. Maybe it would be easier if that was the case, I wouldn't have time to run these endless monologues to myself.
Focus. I've got a job to do. Some light scouting. Having lunch in a place I wouldn't, dressed like an aging peacock smiling through the wrinkles. There's a ghost whispering over my shoulder, calling me old. There, now the smile sits right. Sometimes ghosts are just the company you need.
Sometimes they're not.
Ghosts are supposed to stay in my head; it's when they slip out into reality that things start getting hairy. My hand is frozen on the handle of the door. It takes a moment for me to step through so it can swing shut behind me. Ghosts. Over my shoulder, someone chuckles. In front of me, the owner of the voice is sitting at a table in the diner, looking like they belong six feet underground. This is why my brain is my worst enemy. I didn't need that thought. Not again. Not right now. So let's do this. It's not like it's the first time. A deep breath. Close your eyes. Open them.
Still there. Not good. Haven't even had a drink today, not when I'm working. Need to be sharp, not lost in hallucinations and memories. Except… It doesn't feel like a memory. The face is too old. Marked in new ways. The hair is different. The outfit is new yet hauntingly similar. Maybe that's it. Mistaken identity. A brain seduced by a ratty hoodie and the right slouch. Pathetic. I was over this.
I was over…
No. No name. No dragging that one back to the surface again. I have work to do. I didn't dress up to go running home without getting the job done. This place is a possible point of contact. All I need to do is walk up to the counter, grab a coffee and look around to see if my target is there. If not, I'll wait for a while. Not a big deal. Just a routine job. Likely amounts to nothing, but I need lunch, and this place is as good as any.
If it wasn't for the ghost.
Maybe I have drunk too little water. Or the meds are acting up again. Or it's the stress. What happened to Angie isn't a good sign. Something is building, I know it. I can't afford to crack again. A deep breath. Nails in palms. Just go over there, you idiot, and talk to them. At best, it's a mistaken identity. At worst, people will stare because I'm talking to myself again. I can handle that. Not like anybody will tattle. No cameras.
Just don't forget to breathe. Act natural. Steady steps. No reaction. Surely they would have noticed, right? A hero. Ridiculous reflexes. Not this. But need to be sure.
"I can't believe it!" The name tastes like acid on my tongue. "Is that really you?" My face knows the drill, and my smile is wide and friendly. It will be so easy to turn it into an apologetic smile when…
"Who?" Eyes meeting mine, wide in shock, hands fumbling. It's not annoyance in those eyes. It's fear. Fear, then recognition.
"I can't believe it!" Words are formed somehow. I'm not sure my brain is involved, it's skidding out of control, unable to keep a grip on reality. "It really is you—you're alive!" Am I lying? I must be, but I hope I'm not. How I keep smiling, I'll never know.
"Ortega?" My name on their lips. Rough. Like a curse. I can see them tensing. Will they run? Could I catch them? "Is that really you? I just… fuck, what has it been? Almost a decade?"
"Seven years," I say automatically, stopping myself before I start counting off the days. I don't keep track anymore. I stopped. It wasn't healthy. One day the number of days would have been too much to bear. Or I would have forgotten. Which is worse. Stopping is better.
I sit down without an invitation, another thing that hasn't changed between you. There wouldn't be one, and I feel too self-conscious to remain standing. If I'm going mad, I'd rather do it sitting down.
"I… this is…." They are looking at me, and I am looking at them. Eye contact, and that isn't good. Running or attacking? What was it they said? Humans are predators, but right now, they act more like prey.
"A surprise?" I can do this. Add words. Weave a narrative. Calm down the situation. Be fucking professional.
"Got it in one." They haven't leaned back yet. Frozen in the way that makes people ignore them. Never worked on me. Another thing remembered. I tried so hard to forget, but I failed.
"I can't believe it's really you." I say the name again, and they flinch as if I had hit them. Too open with it in mixed company. Shit. I should have remembered. "I thought… I mean, they said you were dead, but that's a load of…." Why did I say that? But the ghost doesn't evaporate when faced with their own improbability. Just frowns deeper. "You are all right, right?" They don't look it. You don't feel it.
"I am alive, anyway." They look down, every gesture as familiar as a stab in the gut. Shaky hands trying to clean up the mess they made earlier. It doesn't go so well. "I'm sitting here having a coffee. That counts as all right, I suppose."
"It does." I should reach out and touch, dispel the illusion. Chuckle at the people staring at the weirdo talking to an empty chair. I should, but instead, I lower my voice and pray I won't wake up just yet. I haven't had time to say I'm sorry.
Sorry for failing. Sorry for not being there. Sorry for falling apart. But I don't say that; instead, I go right for the jugular, words tumbling blindly into the silence that had started building between us.
"When you went through the window," I say, seeing the scream reflected on the frowning face in front of me. Harder. Angled like a tombstone. "I thought… I guess we all did. It was a long way down—I never would have thought you survived." Begging for the answer you expect, the whispered 'I didn't' that would ruin the illusion. It doesn't come. Instead, I get a blank stare and an intake of breath I don't think is a sob. They were never much for crying. Oh boy, I wouldn't be ready for that.
"I almost didn't." Looking down. Hollow eyes. Dark circles underneath. When did they get so old? How can I remember what I've never seen?
"Once we…" I swallow, suddenly unsure what to do. "There was an explosion. I guess you wouldn't know that. Steel made the call, and I was too close, so I got knocked out. Once I woke up, I tried looking for you, but there was medical staff everywhere, and Steel said you had been taken away in an ambulance. Died on your way to the hospital."
"Steel said…" A familiar twitch. Bad blood still. Or bad memories.
"I guess he misunderstood." I'm babbling. I know it. Making excuses. Could he have been wrong? Could the person that told him? "It was…chaotic. His dampeners were blown. When I tried to find your body, they said it had been cremated together with the rest of the victims. They feared there might be a chemical agent involved, and all the bodies were…disposed of quickly."
"I…was very badly hurt." It almost sounds like an apology. Or a peace offering.
"Where have you been all these years then?" Stupid small talk to someone who always hated that. But I can't help it. I need to know. Why didn't they come back? Why didn't they call? Why pretend to be dead? I want to shout the last at the top of my lungs, but instead, I smile and try not to look hurt.
"There was a reason why I never joined the Rangers, even though you invited me." A little twitch. Familiar. Telling the truth was never easy for them. "I did survive the fall, but there were people there waiting for me. That ambulance Steel saw me carted away in did not bring me to a hospital. At least not to an official one. I had enemies…" a half-choked chuckle, and I fight not to join in. Not my pain. Not my joke. Instead, I smile as the story continues, connecting dots they don't know I have access to. "Have enemies, I suppose. They got to me. Faked my death. Once I got free, it seemed like my best option was to just retire and pretend to be dead."
"Why didn't you contact me?" I try to make it sound like concern and not an accusation. I'm kinder to my ghosts these days. "If you were in danger, I could have helped. We could have helped."
"Don't you think that if there was anything you could have helped with, I would have asked?" Sharp words, your ghosts never bothered being gentle back. "I had my reasons to stay away."
"I'm sorry." I look down because they have a point. I know that. I know too much. I know they probably had reasons. Keeping me safe. At least I can pretend that.
"It's okay." There is an echo of a smile. The biggest one you've seen yet. "I'm fine."
"I'm glad you're fine," I say, unable to stop the sigh. Unable to stop the hurt. "But you could have at least sent us a message or something. We thought you were dead. I've spent the last seven years thinking about what I could have done differently. Why didn't you contact us?" I know why, and maybe part of me hopes the ghost will at least have the decency to tell the truth.
"Once I had escaped their…care," they trail off, looking like they are judging what is safe to tell. "We're talking about people with the ability to whisk me away from an ambulance and fake my death. If I had told you the truth, all I would have done was risk your lives as well."
"We're the Rangers. That's what we do." I can't hide the relief. Maybe that's why this ghost is here. Because I've needed to say this for seven years. "And you are my friend. You think I wouldn't risk my life for you?"
"That's the point…." Their face twists in a pained grimace. "Maybe I don't want you to do that? Maybe I want to protect you for once? Maybe I want you to be safe, to be happy?"
"What makes you think I would be happy thinking you were dead?" I can't help it, I snap, and people stare, so I force myself to whisper because there is no way I can have this conversation as if it was nothing. "I was devastated. I spent seven years thinking I'd caused your death."
"I never wanted you to blame yourself," they say, louder than before. But people ignore them like the ghost they are. "I thought you'd just…."
"Move on and forget you?" The words are sharp enough that they look up, but I can't read their eyes. Not this time.
"I wasn't the only one who died…." They look away, deflecting again.
"I know. We held a funeral for you and Anathema, but you were my friend, my…." How dare they accuse you of forgetting…" but it's not anger on their face. It's something else, and for a moment, I'm wondering if I am the one seeing a ghost here. "Are you sure you're fine? I know you said so, but you look like hell. I just…"
"I am fine," they lie. "I'm just living a quiet life now. Sidestep is dead."
"Sidestep might be dead, but you are not." It feels true when I say it. Is it? Is this real? Is it actually happening? How can I be sure? "You're still a telepath, right?"
"I am," they say slowly, trying to work out your angle. "But it's a long stretch from having powers to having the guts to use them. These days, they mostly save me from getting jostled when someone hurries through a crowd." The laugh is jarring, as if their own life is a joke to them.
"I'm glad," I say, and I mean it. I even join in the laughter, even if it's mostly from relief. Deep down, part of me had already started to consider that it might have been an imposter if this wasn't a ghost. Some sort of trap. But telepathy rules that out. And more than that, it is an opportunity. "I could really use your help."
"What?" The surprise on their face is a relief. This doesn't feel like a plan. Even if I don't dare to hope just yet.
"I know this is sudden, and I know you're retired, but I just don't know who else to trust. You showing up here right now is…I won't lie, it feels like providence." Like my prayers had been answered. Like a weight had slipped from my shoulders and landed in my gut.
"Why me?" The fear and paranoia in those two words make me pause. They should know the answer to this. Because there never really was anybody else who got it.
"Because I trust you. Because I always trusted you." I look into their eyes and will them to believe it. That whatever happened hasn't changed that. There is a moment when the silence stretches, and you worry the illusion will break, but then they sigh and look away.
"Tell me about it." As much as an invitation as I am ever going to get.
"Would it be all right if we talked somewhere safer?" Calm words, even if I feel anything but.
"Safer? Is it that bad?"
"Maybe." I don't laugh, even though I should. Worse than fearing for my sanity? Maybe. Probably. "I don't know. It's just that it's not just my secret."
"Secret? Ortega, since when did you start having secrets?" They sound so scandalized I almost feel proud. If only they knew.
"Well, to be completely honest," I say, delighting in the irony. "It's my friend… she's…."
"Friend?" The raised eyebrow is as familiar as my own reflection.
"It's not like that," I say, chuckling to myself. "Don't tease me. She really is just a friend." Not a lie. Technically.
"If you say so," they tease, and for a moment I can't stop the frown. But then they relent. "Fine, she is a friend of yours. A friend in trouble, apparently."
"That's not something you're a stranger to either," I point out.
"Yeah, I do have a habit of putting my nose where it doesn't belong, don't I?" Is that pride? Maybe. Figures.
"Just let me give her a call and check first, okay?" I pull out my phone, wondering how I should phrase this. She won't take it well.
It's almost a relief to look away from them, even though I have to look back quickly to see that they haven't faded while I take my eyes off them. No change, just the faintly amused smirk. Maybe this is real. Maybe I can hope.
"What is it?" Angie answers almost before the signal starts. As always. Her voice is sharper than usual.
"Angie?" I say, though there's no mistaking her.
"Who else? Don't tell me you've fritzed your phone again. I swear I am done fixing them."
"No, are you around this afternoon?" I keep my voice light, aware of the company.
"Still grounded, if that's what you mean." Bitter. Understandably.
"Good," I say, unable to stop myself.
"Good? I can't do my job locked up like a—"
"And the rest?" I interrupt her before she can continue, probably sounding giddier than I should.
"Yeah. Everybody's here." Her anger has shifted to confusion.
"Good…" I say again, looking over at the perhaps not a ghost and resisting to give them a thumbs up. "I was thinking about coming by. I've met someone that might be able to give some input." I lower my tone as I speak their full name. But judging from the look on their face, they still don't like you using it like this.
"Are you drunk?" She's blunt, and she's got a point. "Sidestep is dead. Are you telling me they're not? Are you aware of how that sounds, especially coming from you?"
"I know." I shake my head, but I can't have that discussion here.
"I bailed you out last time, and you promised me that was it. That you'd stop."
"I know. I know, but…." I lower my voice, I hate how much it sounds like begging, but here we go. "Would you be willing to—"
"Meet them? Check if you've actually gone crazy this time? Do you want to join me in here this bad? We can be grounded together. Play some cards. Or…" she pauses as if she's realized I haven't talked back to her yet. "You're serious."
"Yes"
"This sounds nuts."
"I know."
"Your former partner.
"Yes…"
"The telepath."
"I know. That's why I'm calling you."
"Are you absolutely nuts?" Her voice is loud enough that I have to hold the phone some distance from my ear. "You can't possibly be suggesting what I think you're suggesting." She sighs, then whispers softly. "Do you trust them?"
"Yes, of course I can vouch for them. I wouldn't suggest this otherwise."
"And you are absolutely certain this is Sidestep and not some poor sod you've dragged into this and who is too afraid to tell you no?"
"Yes, I'm certain. Who else would it be?"
"I dunno. I went and beat up Daniel without remembering a thing not so long ago, I know you're supposedly proof to that sort of thing, but this sounds nuts."
"I know," I admit, but the ghost is sitting right there pretending not to listen in.
"So what happened? How are they still alive? They are alive, right? This isn't some Dawn of the Dead situation?"
"That's a long story, but yes, very much alive. And retired. I just thought…."
"That you'd drag them back to the headquarter so we could make sure you haven't finally lost it?"
"Yes, that's exactly why I suggested it." I can't stop the sigh of relief. "I'll see you in a while then."
"I'll tell the others. No way they'd miss out on this." And then she hangs up.
There. Done. For better or worse.
"Are you okay over there?" I look over at them, a soft smile to show I don't mind them listening in.
Yes," they say, rubbing their head. "I was just thinking. I hope you don't expect too much from me, considering I haven't done this in years."
"It will be fine," I assure them. "We're looking for advice more than anything." I pull out some bills and put them on the table. A familiar reflex. "Honestly, I'm just glad to have someone who knows anything about this to talk to." To talk to, period.
"Someone?" The smirk hits your heart in a way that's just unfair.
"Well," I look down, hands restless, feet already wanting to be on their way. "If by someone, you mean you." I look up, bad idea, because my arms are moving and I don't have the heart to stop them. "I've missed you."
I hug them tightly. The familiar initial stiffness, as if I was going for the kill and not for an embrace. For a moment, I expect them to fight me off and slide out with a laugh and an elbow to the ribs. But instead, they just stand there, and so do I.
I stand there until the ghost has evaporated, and the only thing that remains is my old friend. Asshole. Bastard. But alive.
"Sorry," I say, finally letting them go. "I couldn't give you a hug before since you were sitting down."
"Been working out?" The smile is tense, and they shift their shoulder. Teasing. Good. I wouldn't have been able to handle a tender moment right then. Not without tears, and with my luck, someone would have had a camera.
"Wouldn't be able to stay in shape otherwise." I tease back. The truth hurts. "I'm not as young as I used to be. Looks like neither of us is."
"Older and wiser, hopefully." They look away, the thin smile too familiar for me to be able to look at it for long. "Now, should we go meet your friend?"
"Sure," I say, gesturing towards the door. "Let's grab a cab."
Nobody even looks twice at us as we leave.
Comments
Kinui
Just joined the patreon to able to read moments like this. After playing I don't know how many times, Ortega's initial meeting always felt off to me. This makes their reactions make so much more sense. So cool to see these alternate POVs
Emerson
Ortegaaaa D;
yakopak
Where is the discord?
We need more Ortega POV. Sidesteps have sugar or coffee or whatnot for vices but me? This stuff above
