Shark of Spades

Things Ain't What They Used to Be

Evan grinned, leaning back and stretching. "I think we can both safely agree that the chances of this being your car are even lower than the chances of me being dead."

"If you were dead like you're supposed to be, does that mean it is my car?"

He tilted his head, closing his eyes and relaxing. "Nice to see you again, too, M-"

Without thinking, I leaned towards him and covered his mouth, causing him to  open his eyes abruptly. "Don't say that name. Never."

He removed my hand slowly. "Then what should I call you?"

"Card."

"Not very original."

"I was going for functionality."

He sighed, turning and laying across the back seats. "So it's true."

"What's true?"

"That you've been living as a guy, gambling your way here and there to make some money."

I didn't deny it, just shrugged. Deflect and reflect. "Why are you alive?"

He laughed, but he sounded like blades of grass just before winter strikes, tired and ready to give in. "Don't sound so happy to see me."

"I won't lie to you, Evan. I'm not happy to see you. Why the hell are you here?"

"Because I'd rather be on the world than under it," he replied easily. "Aren't you even a little curious, bothered in some way?"

"Why would I be bothered at all?" I asked, struggling to keep my poker face. But of course, Evan had taught me everything I knew about cards, probably what he'd learned from Jack and the others as he'd worked to compile evidence against the government. Naturally, my teacher would be able to read my face.

He opened one eye, a grin on his lips. "Then why don't you try driving? Sitting out here in the open is not optimal for our safety."

I tried to put my hands on the wheel, but they wouldn't move. "Damn it," I muttered, ignoring his light laughter and looking out the window. We sat in silence for five minutes until I  finally got back enough of my calm to smoothly start the car and leave the cemetery.

***

I drove around aimlessly for twenty minutes before pulling over next to what looked like a public library. "Get  out," I said, not looking back at him because I was afraid that he'd  meet my eyes.

"Why?" he asked, sighing and leaning over the median so I couldn't ignore him. "You just don't want to talk to me."

I nodded tensely. "That's right. I don't want to talk to you."

"Hey, I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings by dying. Seriously, it was nothing personal."

I frowned, still avoiding eye contact and instead scanning the faces of passing pedestrians. "Great. Now get out. I need time to think."

He shrugged and opened the door on his left, getting out, but before leaving, he stuck his head in the car. "I don't suppose you're going to make this easy for me and give me a real address to a real building  where I'll really find you come later today?"

"No." I shifted into drive. "You'll find me when you need to."

He nodded sadly and shut the door behind him, waving as I drove away without looking at him (excepting my peripherals). I didn't want to see him. But that was the problem, wasn't it. Even if I tried to run, he would find me. Jack's telepathy was terrifying, but he'd slipped up today. Evan didn't mess up.

***

The entire time I sat behind the wheel, I was wondering why Evan's appearance was bothering me so much.  Shouldn't I be happy to see him? We'd been close. Really close.

But then I realized that in the time Evan had been gone, I'd had to figure out how to protect myself. He hadn't been there, so I had had to be there for myself. So I built up walls, got a gun, got involved in the  underworld of organized crime and gambling and dirty money and blood money and survival money.

And now he was back. Did that mean he was going to protect me? Did I want him to?

I'd spent years building myself up, and now that he was back, I couldn't just erase myself. Whoever I was before, she didn't exist now. I couldn't ever go back.

I pulled into the parking lot of a random motel and let my shoulders slump, my back hunch, my head rest on the  steering wheel, feeling suffocated and overwhelmed and caged in. Then I drew in a deep breath, regained my composure, picked up my briefcase, and booked myself a room.