Laughter Lines

Take My Hand

Vivi's wheelchair slid itself smoothly down the hallway. Her hands remained in her lap, fingers clenched around the hem of her sweater. The bony ribs were gone, but wisps of pink still drifted off the ends of her hair like smoke. Mystery observed her from behind, keeping pace as she led him deeper into the mansion.

If there was ever a time to present a neutral face, it was now. Nevermind that she smelled like finely simmered anger, ignore the fragrant conflict stewing between the two souls in one body. No, don't ignore it. Stoke it, perhaps, and there might be an opportunity. An unguarded, outraged moment where Lewis was separate enough to snatch. That was the opening he would look for. With Lewis gone, they would lose hold over his Hoshi No Tama as well. Then he could return to perfect service of Mother.

And he had plenty of aces up his sleeve. He knew Vivi backwards and forwards. If anyone could send her flying out of control, he could.

A dim warning flickered in his mind, but he pushed past it. Sometimes you had to go all in to win big.

Abruptly, a door on the left swung open. Vivi entered and Mystery followed, finding himself in a perfect replica of Vivi's apartment bedroom. There was her queen-sized bed with rumpled comforter and lumpy blue afghan, her single venture into the world of handmade crafts. She'd started and completed it in three sleepless days on a manic impulse. On the floor lay piles of clothing, lumped in semi-reasoned-out categories only Vivi could discern. Well, Vivi and himself. That one was the day-old-and-still-can-wear pile. That was the unbearably-smelly-needs-washing-ASAP pile. What was in the laundry basket had been freshly washed and was awaiting a proper sorting, should Vivi ever have the focus and desire to actually put her clothes in the correct drawers. Most of her drawers held clothes she hadn't touched in months. Empty orange tubes littered the room.

None of this actually existed here. It was merely a visual recreation. Why didn't Lewis recreate it neater? He'd picked up after Vivi enough times to make it clear he was a more organized sort.

Vivi transitioned carefully from the wheelchair to the edge of the bed, using her good leg to get over. She snapped her fingers and the wheelchair dematerialized in a burst of pink flames. Her smile was still frozen in place and her eyes too-bright. These were not signs of instability, no. She was genuinely livid with him.

"Where do I even start with you?" Her voice trembled. "The list is too long and all mashed together in my head."

Mystery arched one brow with a touch of derision. He pulled up a laundry hamper and sat across from someone who couldn't bluff if her life depended on it, who played every card no matter how bad a hand she had. This would be simple. "I don't know, Vivi. Why don't you begin at the beginning? Seems like a common starting point." He kept his tone light. Neutral. Start with a little needling and move up.

"The beginning?" she laughed, and it was a harsh sound. "What is the beginning anymore? There's always more and more that I didn't know. Stuff that happened before the beginning becomes the new beginning, and whoops, looks like that wasn't the start of the story after all."

She'd left an opening. Mystery shrugged, fiddling with his cuffs. "If you can't pick a topic of conversation, I suppose I can just sit here while you cry and bemoan how miserable everything is and how it's both your fault and not your fault at the same time. I suppose I could lick your face and act like a good doggie while I take just enough of the edge off your swing that you don't try and empty all the medicine bottles at once. Just like old times."

She sucked in a sharp breath. "Just like old times, huh? Do you really remember old times?"

"I remember everything with the perfect clarity that comes with not caring about any of it." Mystery affected mild amusement. "Those times mean nothing to me. You mean nothing to me beyond survival, Vivi. You never really did."