October 20, 2023

Jamie has had it with this fucking revenant.

First it tortured and killed those poor souls unfortunate enough to have been put into Poveglia's asylum. Then it had the audacity to keep up its killing streak even after death. It murdered Raffaele Mezzanotte and far too many others, stalked Jamie and everyone she cares about, and, most importantly, it hurt Nathan. Might even be intent on causing his early death. Jamie won't let that happen as long as she lives.

(In addition to all this, the Doctor is also currently preventing her getting laid. If anyone asks, Jamie will categorically and truthfully deny this is in any way a core motivation, but boy, if it doesn't amplify her pre-existing fury.)

She allows these thoughts and emotions to spur her on, rushing over bridges, along canals, through hordes of sightseers already seizing the day. All these people having a good time, blissfully unaware of just how much is at stake, irk her to no end, but she lets this fuel her, too. Not breaking out into a full sprint costs her real effort.

It's only when she nears the café she's been visiting every morning that her brain finds space to accommodate a new train of thought.

A very anxious one.

The café looks just the same as always—flowers above the entrance, people entering and leaving again, lounging on wooden benches out front. Yet, everything is different today. Jamie glances through the window, past its decorative lettering, and spots her sister sitting alone at a small round table. Stella doesn't notice her watching; she has her nose buried in the novel she still hasn't finished.

Reading in a vintage hipster café in Venice. Such a Stella thing to do.

Jamie lingers, rooted to the ground now that a conversation long overdue is so imminent. I'll listen to you when you're down for talking about the rent money, Stella. Jamie vaguely recalls dishing out that line in the heat of the moment, but a part of her wishes she could rewind time. Take it back, never learn why Stella cheated her all those years ago. Jamie wants the truth as badly as she recoils from it.

Sometimes knowledge hurts more than ignorance.

As long as Stella's motives remain unclear, Jamie can fill in the blanks with her own guesswork—the theories she shared with Nathan when opening up to him about her family issues. Theories about student debt, embarrassment about asking for help, a crime of opportunity. A mistake, nothing more.

But a nagging, devastating doubt has always loomed over her like an assassin poised to strike. What if it never was a mistake? What if the crime was entirely premeditated?

Maybe Stella wouldn't even have bothered taking her in if she didn't have a penny to her name. Maybe none of her support meant anything and she only ever cared about using her sister for personal gain.

Deep down, Jamie knows that can't be right. But a lot happened that made it easier to believe maybe it could be, and living a lie for years seemed preferable to having to reckon with a reality of being worth so little to so many loved ones.

Today, she can't keep fleeing from the truth anymore. This fear must be conquered like all the others.

Jamie subdues her urge to run for the hills and enters the café, almost tripping over the threshold in her haste.

As if sensing a sudden chaotic disturbance in the air, Stella looks up from her novel and puts it aside. Jamie slinks closer with her hands in her pockets, forcing herself not to keep her gaze trained on the ground. The pervasive smell of freshly brewed coffee does little to calm her nerves. She thinks she'll be ordering the biggest comfort latte she can get very soon.

But Nathan heard Stella out before, and what little he shared about her revelations sounded promising enough. Stella may be hard to fully trust; Nathan is not.

This is going to be fine.

"Hey. I'm, uh... I'm here."

The best way to start a profound conversation—stating the obvious.

"You are." At least Stella seems to be nervous, too. "I... sort of didn't think you'd come."

Jamie takes the empty seat reserved for her. "Wouldn't be the first time."

A good four years ago, when Jamie was still no-contact with her parents, Stella called to pass on a message on their behalf. The family dog—old, frail, cancer-ridden—was scheduled to be put down. Mom and Dad, Stella said, wished for Jamie to know the time and date at the very least. They felt she should have as much of a chance to say goodbye as everybody else. Jamie hadn't hesitated for a second and told her sister she'd be there.

And still they were surprised, all of them, when Jamie showed up in the sterile waiting room of the vet clinic. As if they'd expected her to get cold feet and flake out, maybe send a condolence text the next morning and leave it at that. None of them had realised it had been a no-brainer for her. Jamie had loved that dog to bits, and maybe all of its owners, too.

Stella picks up on the day Jamie is thinking about without fail. "It's interesting you should mention that. I've been thinking about poor sweet Legolas a lot this morning."

Stella got full naming privileges when Mom and Dad bought the dog—she'd been begging for a puppy even before Jamie was born, but got an annoying little sibling instead. By the time the coveted pet finally entered their lives, a serious Lord of the Rings phase had set in.

"Why?"

"His name. I was thinking about how it was apparently too pompous or complicated for you, because you'd shortened it to 'Leg' within a week. Not even 'Lego' or any other creative nickname—just full-on Leg."

Jamie snickers. "In my defense, I was five."

"I know. But it bothered me for a while regardless. A proper dog name is of utmost importance when you're eleven." Stella brings her coffee cup to her lips, smiling into it before taking a sip. "At some point I'd spent so long eating myself up over it that I decided I ought to teach you a lesson by ignoring you all throughout dinner. Which... had no effect whatsoever, as you were much too busy chatting nonsense to notice. In hindsight, I'm glad you never did."

"Where is this story going, Stella?"

"What I mean is I thought the name was awful at first, until I realised it wasn't a big deal. At all. It was actually kind of funny. I was remembering how, about a month after we'd gotten him, every single one of us called Legolas 'Leg' as a term of endearment like it was second nature. Watching it confuse people at the park always made us laugh."

Stella sets her cup down, cradling it in her hands.

"We lost that, somewhere along the way. Mom and Dad and me. We forgot how to laugh with you. How to move past our little grievances and understand maybe they've never been what matters most. And we should've been mature enough to understand addressing our issues by consistently ignoring you through dinner was never going to make anyone happier. Least of all you."

Jamie is not going to cry again. But it's close.

"...You so rehearsed that."

Tradition dictates there ought to be a jab now. Stop joking when I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you. But it doesn't come and the pain is conspicuous by its absence. This brings with it such shocking, foreign relief Jamie almost fumbles the order she's placing with the newly-arrived waiter.

"It's hard to read when your mind is filled to the brim with thoughts. The book is just for show." Stella lightly shakes her head. "I can't claim to speak for Mom and Dad, but I can speak for myself, and I'm saying we've wronged you. Completely. The fact we failed to acknowledge it just makes the crime greater. None of us had a right to treat you as harshly as we have."

"I... don't always make it easy not to, though."

"That doesn't matter. Everybody has flaws and makes mistakes. If any of us has a problem with yours, we should be dealing with them in a healthy way. Not by making you feel like a terrible person." Stella pauses to gather her thoughts. "I don't know if I can forgive myself for the things I've done, but there's a part of me that hopes you can, even if I don't deserve as much. All I can promise you is I'll truly try to do right by you from now on. Irrespective of your forgiveness."

Jamie accepts her beverage from the waiter. Maybe this isn't what she ordered at all, but she doesn't remember what exactly she ended up asking for, anyway.

"If you're serious about doing better, you could start by telling me about the rent money, Stel."

Stella obliges. Jamie listens to her tale with attention—only the rich taste of her coffee and the memory of Nathan's blackened scar serve as occasional incessant distractors. But she takes note of everything important, of Stella's reasonings and remorse and the digital bank statements proving any debt there was has long since been repaid, and it feels like weight off her shoulders, like shedding fear-forged chains at last. It seems silly now to have prolonged her own misery by not pressing Stella for full clarification earlier.

But perhaps the responsibility of bringing the issue up should never have been hers in the first place.

"I'm sorry," Stella finally says when every ugly truth has been brought to their table. "That's the clearest, most succinct way I can put it. Whether you forgive me or not is in your hands. I'd understand if you can't or don't."

Jamie could hold on to anger and dismay, chastise her sister for every misguided thought and injustice done. But if she did, she'd never heal. All of this happened so long ago, won't ever happen again, and Jamie has wanted to just leave the whole thing behind her for ages. Allow the past to be the past and let go.

So this is a no-brainer, too.

"I forgave you for your actions a long time ago. I didn't forgive you for not coming clean. But you have now, which I appreciate a lot, and I don't want to be angry and resentful anymore." Jamie remembers what she once told Nathan after a serious conversation not entirely unlike this one. "Grudges aren't my style."

Stella has apologized, shown real remorse and repaid her debt. She has promised to do better. And, despite everything, she cares. She always has.

Jamie supposes there are plenty of people who wouldn't settle for that, who'd keep looking back and struggle to move forward. She understands this perfectly well. Some days times long gone will inevitably beckon and the future, ever hard to predict, holds no real guarantees. But Jamie has always believed in second chances, and for her, this is enough.

Stella releases a breath she may have been holding for six damn years.

"Thank you."

Those two words barely register in Jamie's head. With the explanations Stella owed her all out of the way and her mind free from the anxieties they brought with them, her memories of Nathan force themselves to the front, reminding her of her urgent mission.

This conversation has been going well. Very well.

For the first time in years, going out on a limb feels somewhat safe.

"Stella." Jamie's tone becomes so serious it catches her sister off-guard. "I kind of need to tell you a story as well. Because I... haven't been entirely honest with you, either."

Stella frowns, confused. "About what?"

"Long story, but you'll hear it all, though I need to warn you that it's going to be a lot to take in to the point where you might think I've gone insane. Just know that I haven't and that I'm begging you to listen to me with an open mind. Also, I'll have to request your help dealing with this huge mess Nate and I are in, but it's really a lot to ask–"

"You're currently allowed to ask for a lot," Stella interrupts. "If the mess is truly huge, then out with it right away. You have my full attention."

Jamie tries to keep her tangents to a minimum, seized by the need to deliver her story as streamlined as possible—Stella must be able to understand every oddity her inner skeptic will be inclined to dismiss as mere fantasy. She touches upon talking cats, undead Icelandic bishops, a grimoire the world won't ever be ready to handle. Criminals, sinking yachts, magic scars. She speaks of a covert trip to Poveglia—don't say it, Stella, please don't say you told me so—and every dead thing still haunting crumbling asylum halls.

A revenant in plague doctor garb, pictured in the photographs Nathan took of Mom and Dad. The ghost of Raffaele Mezzanotte, who was nineteen years old and had an artist's Instagram account.

Jamie even comes clean about the damned canal.

Stella listens, engrossed in the tale, albeit fighting to stop herself interrupting at times. With each word out of Jamie's mouth, her bewilderment visibly grows. But by the time she's all caught up, when Jamie presents her most dire plea, reluctant understanding seems to be dawning.

"Maybe all I've done is convince you I'm crazy," Jamie finishes. "But I swear on my life everything I just told you is true and real."

Stella sets her empty coffee cup back on the table—pensive, but not freaked out. For someone whose life story just became a whole different genre, she seems to be doing well.

"I'll be honest. Certain aspects of your tale made me worry yesterday's events hurled you into a psychotic episode. But other parts of it... Bizarre as they sound, they make more sense in hindsight than what you've tried to sell me before. Like your prank story."

"I know."

"The selfie with the bobcat and the undead man you could have manipulated—though I don't see why you would—but that poor dead teenager's Instagram account is as authentic as it gets. And if I were to call this Veronika Lockhardt or ask Nathan to confirm what you told me independently of you, they'd back up everything you claim, wouldn't they?"

"Absolutely. Do you want to grill either of them on the subject?"

"That won't be necessary." Stella rises from her seat. "I'm gathering time is of the essence here. Besides, whether Nathan is truly in life-threatening danger or not shouldn't be hard to ascertain."

Jamie is getting spoiled with all the relief she's feeling this morning. Best not get used to it.

"You'll... You'll help? Really?"

"Of course. Gino will, too. You're my sister and I'm not about to sit back while this... murderous undead demon... torments you and the one boyfriend you've had who's worth keeping around. Enjoy the new relationship, by the way. You two are made for each other."

"Thanks." A faint blush creeps up Jamie's cheeks as she trails after her sister, who is heading for the counter to pay. "I'll enjoy it more when the Doctor is dead, though. FYI, it's a revenant, not a demon, so..."

Stella has no use for such details. "I don't care what it is. It just needs to die."

That it does.

Jamie and Stella start on their way back to their hotel, discussing what to do next. Stock up on weapons first, Stella suggests, so they'll be prepared to go ahead and face the Doctor once and for all. The hands of the clock keep moving steadily forward, the afternoon already approaching at a rapid pace.

Part of Jamie still can't fathom her sister believes her—she keeps waiting for the about-face, the change of mind, the inevitable accusation of madness. But Stella is taking her more seriously than ever before.

One day, with some luck, that won't feel extraordinary anymore. This is what Jamie is thinking when she and Stella suddenly stop in their tracks, surprised.

Nathan comes walking towards them.

He intercepts them en route to their home base, his movements fast, stiff and slightly uncoordinated. His strong jaw is clenched, fists buried deep in his jacket's pockets. Jamie's heart drowns in sorrow when his frantic eyes meet hers—a clear indication something is even more wrong than it already was.

Jamie knows she won't rest until the revenant is well and truly dead and gone, reduced to nothing but more ashes to mingle with Poveglia's soil.

"Nate! Are you okay? I thought you'd try and rest."

"I would, and I tried, but..." Nathan already looked pale when Jamie had to abandon him in their room, but he is practically translucent now. "... Jamie, Stella. You should see this."

He frees one hand from its designated pocket, unclenching his fist and putting the palm of his hand on display.

The palm and the jet-black veins within.