Shark of Spades

Drawing My Last

TWO WEEKS LATER EXACTLY

I looked absolutely awful. I'm not much of one to be centered on appearances, but two weeks of lying on a hospital cot without seeing the sun was affecting my looks for the worse. The tubes sticking out of my arms and the oxygen mask over my mouth didn't  help.

Evan came in, looking worse than me, minus the tubing. I  pointed with shaky fingers towards the mask, and he helped carefully remove it.

"What is it?" he asked, still managing to sound sincerely worried despite his obvious exhaustion.

"I'm ready, Evan."

He blanched when I used his real name. I hadn't called him Evan in almost three years. "Ready for what?"

"I'm ready to go. Now get these damn tubes out of my arms, Evan. I want to die on my own terms, not with all this things poking into me."

I felt terrible for forcing him to doing something that would cause him to look so conflicted as he measured the possibility of my recovery against my dying wishes, but I didn't have enough time left to be screwing  around and wasting my breath. I was prepared to say what needed to be said and to make it count. So after he finished unplugging all the stupid equipment and sat back down in the chair, I held out my hand to  him, and he took it.

"Evan, you're my brother. You're my family. Nobody else is, so that means a lot to me. Everything you've done for  me...nobody else has done. Does that make sense?" I asked, feeling as  though I'd say far too much and yet not nearly enough. Shaking my head, I  used some of my remaining strength to pull him closer into a hug. "I love you, Evan. Okay?"

He pulled back abruptly, probably surprised and about to say something, but then he saw that I was crying.

I - Misa, Card, whoever I was - was crying.

Then Evan was crying silently as well and trying to smile, but it was forced  for my benefit, the kind that looks as though it's on the brink of  shattering any moment. He leaned forward and with infinite gentleness kissed me lightly on the forehead. "I love you too, Misa."

"I know," I  said softly, smiling as he pulled away despite the tears still sliding down my face. I hadn't cried since I was fourteen, with the exception of two brief moments of weakness, and I hadn't smiled  my real smile since I was eight, and yet today, I was doing both of  them. Not only that, but I'd told someone my real feelings without putting up a brick wall or making half-empty threats or issuing directions to ensure our survival. I hadn't cried in a while, hadn't smiled in a long time, and I'd never died.

Today was a very momentous occasion, I suppose, for all three to occur.

***

I made Evan leave a little while later, giving him final instructions to remove the chip from my arm and publicize the information after I died. He left with another forced smile, his eyes still wet.

***

"You may as well come in. It's creepy to linger at the door like that," I said a while later, looking up as Jack walked in.

His face was carefully composed and completely blank. He sat down in the  chair and looked into my eyes. "So this is all a trick, right? Your  birthday's coming up, and you need to 'kill' off your fake identity as Card so you can live in peace as Misa and no one will ever know that you are one and the same, right? You're actually fine, aren't you?"

I paused before smiling at him. "How'd you figure it out so fast?"

Instead of looking relieved and grinning like I expected him to, he glared at me. "No, no way. This can't..."

"I already told you that you were right. This was something Evan and I planned out. We even got the doctor on board," I said, still smiling on the outside but trying to figure out what Jack was thinking.

"Damn it, Card. You can't...don't lie to me."

My eyes widened of their own accord. Damn. I'm losing it, to allow myself to slip up with facial expressions. What am I thinking? With a resigned shrug, I sighed and asked, "How did you know?" How did you know that I was lying?

His eyes stared painfully into mine. "You're smiling, Card. That's how I know."

"I know it's rare, but-"

"No, you're actually smiling. Usually you're faking it, but this is the real thing," he said sadly, looking sincerely upset.

How...how does he know these things? I struggled to answer my own question, but I couldn't. Before I realized it, I was crying again, only this time, my smile had faded away.

"Before," he continued on as though he didn't notice me crying, "you said that you felt dead. Do you still feel dead?"

I  opened my mouth for a second, staring down at my hands because I didn't  know what to say. Finally, "Well, dead people can't smile, and dead people can't laugh, and dead people can't cry."

"I didn't ask if you were dead. I asked if you felt dead."

Why is he being so deep? I  wondered in a panic, feeling disorientated and apprehensive. Still not sure of what to say, I turned the question back at him. "What about you? Do you feel dead?"

He smiled. Not a demonic grin, but a nice smile. "We all feel a little dead. But how can I feel completely dead when my life has purpose? How can I feel dead when I'm surrounded by  constant pain? How can I feel dead when I can feel love?"

I looked away. "I don't think I have a purpose, though. I've spent most of my  life either locked away or running away. I've distanced myself from  everybody. If I'm in pain, I don't think I realize it. I just accept it. And love..." I looked back at him. "I don't really know what that is." I felt guilty for a moment and felt the need to confess. "I told Evan I loved him, and I think I was telling the truth." I smiled, feeling the  last of my tears slip down off of my cheek. "If I told you that I loved you, what would you say?"

He shrugged. "It depends. If you're dead on the inside, then it doesn't matter to me. How can you love someone with  a heart that doesn't beat?"

I sighed, smiling as though having  predicted his response. "Then I guess it's my fault if I'm dead inside, because I'm the one who stopped my own heart."

"Of course," he said after a moment, leaning in a little closer. "Hearts can always be restarted."

I closed my eyes, not because I was reveling in the moment, but because I was tired and in pain and I could feel the end coming. "If only that would work on me. I don't think I'd mind a beating heart."

"Then maybe I'll give you mine," he said softly, but I shook my head, my eyes still closed.

"I won't need my heart for much longer. You take care of yours, okay?" I said, my voice growing quieter with each word.

"Why can't I help you?" he whispered, sounding pained, but there was nothing I could say. Instead, I grabbed his hand.

"Goodbye, Jonathon," I murmured, squeezing his hand gently.

Then my hand fell.