The prodigal son

Without his permission or knowledge, Rose of Jericho had rented two rooms at a bed and breakfast in Aidan's name in a part of Toronto called the Annex, close to the main university campus. A two-bedroom condo, because she sure as hell wasn't going to be sleeping next to either of those lovebirds. She'd chosen it specifically because it was next to what appeared to be a nice park, it was within two blocks of the church of the cult, and it was within walking distance of a coffee shop (and a bar) which she knew would be a deal-breaker for Finley (and the bar was a deal-breaker for her). Renting it in Aidan's name only made sense to her, when she had a cult on the lookout for her every movement. She doubted the cult would expect her to be stupid enough to come right to their front door, and she - and Finley - were riding on that doubt all the way to the finish line. She'd had a gander at their website too, when Finley showed it to her before the flight took off and agreed that it was so bad that there was no way their plan couldn't work. Only evil idiots would punish people's eyes with such a color scheme, she thought.

RJ nearly took a sip out of her empty flask before remembering it was empty, and now sad, put it back in her leather coat's pocket and sighed plaintively into the taxi's stuffy air. Their taxi from the airport had tried chatting her up because she had to sit in the front seat, but she'd been so distracted by visions and memories that she hadn't listened to a word of what he'd said. Thankfully he'd picked up on her cue and fallen into awkward silence himself, which saved her a lot of trouble. Without alcohol or proper concentration to numb it, she could feel the car being assembled and reassembled all around her, feel the woes of every passenger that had sat in her seat before her, hear the dead still wandering the city howling into the night, and it nearly made her nauseous. She didn't know how Fin did it - how he focused enough that he could block things out - but RJ had never learned how. Alcohol had always been there, her faithful, flexible friend. It was terrifying, being without it.

She didn't really want it, for once. It would be convenient to block things out, and she would feel physically better, but it felt different being sober now. It never felt this way before, she could admit only to herself. Sobriety had always felt like punishment. Now, with her band's breakup looming in front of her and her inability to control the direction of her life now causing her problems, she felt the need to prove to herself - or anyone watching, really - that she didn't need it to be in control. That she could live without it. Of course, there was that other part of her that did desperately want it, but she tried studiously to ignore it. Part of her wondered, what would Aidan do? And the thought made her laugh and kept her occupied enough that she barely thought at all about drinking until they got to the bed and breakfast. The larger part of her wondered if it even mattered, if any of it mattered at all.

She had done some late night express ordering under different names for various parts from different buyers, of course when no one was looking. Once they settled into their rentals, RJ spent most of the next few hours downstairs in the common area staring out the window and at her phone for an express two-day order that had confirmed to reach Toronto's post office but not yet officially been delivered. It was amazing to RJ what people assumed about her - chief amongst those assumptions was about her incompetence. It was common for people to underestimate her based off of the attitude she put off; it was deliberate, and it worked to her advantage usually. The problem with this was that it didn't work on her brothers, who had known her for her entire life, and so when Finley marched downstairs and squared her up with his arms crossed, she could've easily predicted the question that came out of his mouth: "What are you up to now?"

"Such accusations," she scoffed, and refreshed the page on her phone. "I have done nothing to earn them!"

Finley started laughing, and then kept laughing until he trailed off when he sat across from her on the couch. "Seriously, what's up? Are you waiting for more cultists?"

"Well, this would be the neighborhood for them," she admitted with a scowl at her phone. She shut off the screen and stuffed it into her pocket so she could better address - and get rid of - her little brother. She loved him, but he was too nosy for his own good. "And no, that's not what I'm doing, which is actually none of your business, so . . ." She gestured meaninglessly into the air, waving her hand, hoping he would reach the conclusion on his own that he was not welcome.

Finley did not. Or he did and ignored the conclusion and glared at her suspiciously. "Alright, fine, be suspicious," he declared and stood up. "Aidan and I are going to go walk down to that church and see if they have any flyers or pamphlets. We'll be back."

"Go in disguise," she suggested. "Like, wear a hat."

"Sure, a hat," he rolled his eyes and marched back into his room down the hall behind the stairs.

It was a small two-story, three-bedroom condo-style home that they'd essentially been given the key to, or at least had the key handed over to them when the elderly proprietor opened the door for them and then promptly left, declaring he had two other rentals to manage, and gave them his phone number for repairs, questions, or concerns. It was quaint and suburban, and in a quiet part of the neighborhood. RJ had raced to declare her room first - the only one on the top floor, because she knew damn well that she wasn't going to be downstairs listening to her brother and his boyfriend fornicate through the ceiling while she was drinking herself to sleep. She'd spent the rest of the time noodling on Kaleb's guitar and fingering her aunt's rosary around her neck nervously, in-between moments where she kept checking her phone. The order still said, 'out for delivery.'

Once Fin and Aidan had walked out the door and RJ had locked it behind them, her phone started ringing with an unknown number flashing. She was morbidly curious enough to answer, hoping it was a telemarketer and that she could fuck with them.

Unfortunately, it was her parole officer - that she'd completely spaced about once she had gotten out of the asylum, and who sounded rightfully pissed that she'd been only able to reach her as of that moment. "Jericho Ravara?" The woman of RJ's not-so-literal nightmares intoned.

RJ knew, having met her once in Portland in person before she'd been released, that she was an older black woman who brooked none of RJ's usual nonsense, and so there was only so much bullshit that she could get away with. She tried anyway: "Ah, me no speak-a inglese," she rambled, "Sorry, bye-bye—"

"Don't you dare hang up this phone, woman!" Her parole officer barked.

Something in RJ's spine straightened. "Jesus, Demetria, fine, what? I'm here," RJ conceded.

"Now listen," Demetria said in a serious voice that one couldn't help but pay attention to, such was her commanding presence that it carried through the circuits of the phone, "I'm stuck at home because my husband and I have the flu, and we got it from our grand-baby, so I am in no mood for your usual shit today!" As if to emphasize this, she sniffled.

Something in RJ's gut warmed, and she remarked, "You know, have you ever thought about being on stage? You would be amazing," she said quite seriously.

Demetria chuckled, her mood shifting. "Now that's a dead dream from a young woman that no longer exists. I gave up on that life a long time ago."

"Color me intrigued," RJ said, "and do go on."

"No!" Demetria's previous tone was back, and she sniffled again, and groaned. "Now listen girl, your first test is going to be in two weeks, and I haven't even given you the address. If you miss this, it's straight back to a cell, no shit, do not pass go. Alright?"

RJ rolled her eyes. The coke would be out of her system long before then, and if she remembered to not show up to her drug screening drunk or high, she'd be fine. "Demetria, you worry too much," RJ dismissed. "I'll be there. Although I am kinda stuck in Toronto for the next few days . . ."

"Do I even want to know why?"

Part of RJ was surprised - and even a little offended - that Demetria hadn't apparently been keeping tabs on her, which was supposed to be her job. "Uh, I don't know, I got a bunch of culty kidnappers coming after me? Does that ring any bells, or does no one give a shit if I get nearly killed in public by lunatics with guns?"

"Sweetie, what are you talking about?" Demetria sounded concerned.

RJ was just irritated with her. "Nothing, I guess."

"It sure didn't sound like nothing," Demetria commented, but to her credit, she didn't press it. "If it turns out to be something, and you need protective custody, I'm a phone call away. Save this number, please, so you don't miss any of my calls in the future," she added insistently.

RJ rolled her eyes again. "Fine, fine. Is that all? You just came to harass me about taking my drug test?"

"Wouldn't you, if you were me?" Demetria coughed out over the line.

Jeri could admit that she was right, about that, but Jeri didn't want her parole officer to know that she agreed with her about something. "Fine, fine, gotta go, byesies, et cetera," RJ said and hit the end-call button. She was a little angry that Demetria didn't seem to care about the literal abductors after her, but then again, Jeri knew that she'd been deliberately avoiding the police this entire time. She knew getting Demetria involved would only hurt her and her family, and RJ didn't want that. Still, her parole officer's general lack of concern or belief in her stung a bit.

Jeri kept staring out the window and occasionally checking her phone for updates. She had almost made the decision to brave the crisp pre-winter air outside and walk down to the bar and was even in the process of throwing on her jacket, when Aidan and Finley returned from the church.

RJ blinked, dropped her jacket, and sat back down on the couch. "So, what's up?"

Finley took off the coat he'd borrowed from Aidan and put it over the top of the couch. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Did you even move from this spot?" He wondered.

"Fuck you too," she answered with a smile.

"We got pamphlets!" Aidan announced cheerfully by Finley's side and held up a fistful of papers. "Flyers, pamphlets, the whole shabangdoodle. And a phone number for their volunteer coordinator, though we've gotta make an appointment."

"Their what?" RJ blurted, confused.

"They have a young adult outreach program, for kids like, on drugs and shit," Finley summarized. "It's officially affiliated with the local college. Aidan's thinking, we should pose as Christian volunteers, him and I, and see what they're about inside. We didn't go inside today, just walked past and talked to someone handing out this shit by their door."

RJ was immediately suspicious. "They didn't recognize you? Or try to kidnap you?"

Finley shrugged. "I don't think any of them got a good look at me." And survived with enough brain cells to talk about it, she wanted to add, but she saw the concern on Aidan's face so she refrained.

Aidan excused himself back to the room and started fiddling with his phone, dropping his coat carelessly on the floor in the process after kicking off his shoes. Finley picked up after Aidan absently and put the coat and shoes next to his own. RJ watched him with amusement. "You'd make quite a nice little housewife," she commented.

Finley gave her a dark look as he sat across from her huffily. "I didn't pick up anything from outside the church," he reported, ignoring her comment. "Though I picked up on some scared people inside. The girls handing out papers were bored as fuck, not even worth reading into. We need to get a way inside without getting caught or letting anyone know who we are, which means you need to stay away from it as much as possible."

RJ stood up for a victorious stretch. "Great! Let's start by going to the bar down the road," she said. "I don't think this package is gonna get here for a while."

"Package?" Finley was suspicious again. "You know what, nevermind," he decided, "and no, we're not going to a bar. The way I see it, the biggest common thread between you, your attempted abductions, your band breaking up, and your floating and saying shit is substance abuse. Do you really need more of that in your life right now?"

RJ deflated visibly and sat back down onto the couch to grumble. She knew she'd convince him to go with her to the bar eventually but was salty about his attitude. She'd been so focused on her music and waiting for the package that she'd managed to block out most of the clairvoyant noise around her, but it wasn't going to last. She knew as soon as she laid down to go to sleep, she'd be counting the threads in the sheets, hearing the contractors tour the halls, feel the bodies that had once restlessly twisted on the bed she'd be laying on . . . "Okay, well, let's go somewhere else then," she conceded slowly, "but then let's stop at a liquor store on the way back. I don't wanna get super drunk!" She added when she saw the dubious look on Finley's face. He would cave if she cajoled him enough, she knew it. "Look, it'll help me sleep, alright? Otherwise, I'm gonna be up all night, being paranoid as fuck. Sleep aids don't work on me, and I don't want you tripping through my mind every time I have to get shut-eye. Just give me some bourbon and I'll knock right out."

"I'll think about it," Finley promised in a completely insincere tone. RJ genuinely wanted to punch him in that moment and felt her fists involuntarily clench, before she hastily reminded herself that she wasn't her father, and she didn't want to be that person. "We should—"

"What's up?" Aidan re-appeared, running a hand through his golden curls and adjusting his glasses in one move. "Are we going somewhere?"

"Coffee, maybe?" Finley wondered, looking up at Aidan, who nodded noncommittally.

RJ sighed. Coffee is better than nothing, she internally conceded and stood to stretch her limbs. She'd been sitting for so long that her joints crackled in disuse. She twisted her body and felt her back crack in several places and let out an involuntary noise of protest. "Ooof. Alright, fine, let's get Finny some bean juice before he murders all of us with his brain."

"I wouldn't," Fin promised. ". . . Probably."

"How fucking reassuring," she snarked and put on her coat. "Let's skedaddle, my ass is sore from all this sitting and waiting."

"How are you not freezing to death?" Finley wondered as they stepped outside into the brisk air. Snow had fallen on the ground some weeks ago and most of it remained after a warm front had briefly swept through Toronto, and the air was in the low thirties.

It wasn't unbearable, when RJ was just wearing her leather coat, so she toughed it out and gritted her teeth. She glared at Finley for a moment before reminding herself again that she couldn't punch him, that isn't cool, I don't want to be an abusive asshole like my dad. Must not punch my brother. Must not, she repeated over and over in her head. She knew Finley wouldn't pick up on it unless she let him in, and she fiercely did not. Her walls were up to their highest, where his piercing mind couldn't penetrate.

"I'm just tougher than you, I guess," Jeri said instead of punching him like she wanted to, and she internally praised herself for her excellent restraint.

"You literally have no tolerance to cold weather," Aidan agreed, as he stepped out and locked the door behind them. They'd been given two keys to the place to keep between the three of them, and since RJ had rented it without asking in Aidan's name, he held onto one while Finley held onto the other.

"My fiery Latin blood is my biggest strength, and weakness," Finley admitted and bundled up his rust-orange knit scarf tighter. He breathed on his fingers briefly before stuffing them into his coat's pockets.

Her mind was occupied with thoughts of Lithium as they walked. It had been an interesting experience, being consistently medicated on something that reliably suppressed her abilities for a change. The doctors of OSH had tried quite a few things, but nothing had stopped her night terrors the way alcohol did, until they tried tapering her up to a high dosage of Lithium. It had, unfortunately, made her hands shake quite a bit at first and rendered her unable of even playing the piano, which frustrated her immensely. What is the point of life, if I can't even play Trent Reznor on the piano? She remembered thinking, and then started throwing up her dosages. They'd unfortunately caught her in the act and forced it down her throat anyway and restrained her so she couldn't force herself to vomit. She eventually tapped out a few easier songs, and got the shaking under control, and convinced herself that it wasn't all bad. She got into a routine in the hospital and stepping out of the hospital had felt like stepping back into her old life - only to discover that it didn't exist.

She considered the alternative - a brainwashed Finley with millions of people under his sway - and accepted her treatment as inevitable. She just hadn't anticipated, after all of that, that she would start to miss the Lithium. She hadn't been diagnosed with anything as far as she knew except PTSD, but while she was on the drug she wasn't distracted by the constructions and deconstructions of everything she touched. She wasn't assaulted by the ghosts wailing in her ears. She could no longer hear or see them. In a way, it had felt very freeing. She'd relied on alcohol since she had gotten out and had failed to see a kidnapping attempt coming even though she knew she was psychic. It frightened her, and for the first time she wasn't entirely sure which way the future would turn. There were too many possibilities strewn in the way. Some things were set in stone, like death. Other life events were . . . A little less predictable.

"Hey Fin," she found herself asking out loud, as she walked to a stop. Finley had to stop and walk back to catch up to her when he realized this, and his expression was one of concern, and irritation. Their breaths came out in sharp puffs of vapor. "Just a sec," she requested as she struggled to find the words to say what she needed to say.

The dead paused all around her as she stared upward and closed her eyes and tried to drown them out to sort out her own thoughts. It wasn't an easy task, with so many whispers and pleas in her ear. "It's like. If. If . . . You had a button where you could shut it all off forever. And just be normal. Would you?"

Finley's clever brain picked up on what she meant immediately. His answer was knee-jerk, perhaps practiced: "No. Never. Not even for a little while. This is the reason why I am who I am. Why I'm still alive. I wouldn't change that. And I don't want to change you, either."

RJ realized in that moment that Finley didn't know it because he didn't really ever have the emotional room to examine himself, but he had actually changed. After Teegan, he'd been bitter. Lost. Confused. Darkened. She realized in that moment that while she'd been locked away and shut off from the world, he'd been busily maturing and growing.

She grinned. "You're so grown up now. I'm proud of you," she admitted truthfully and engulfed him in an unwanted and unasked-for hug.

He reacted predictably. "What? I don't — huh? Are we hugging? Why are we hugging? This, this feels weird. Aidan? Help."

"Oh no, you got yourself into this, you can get yourself out," Aidan laughed good-naturedly. His breath had fogged up his glasses, so he took them off and vigorously attempted to clean them in a pointless battle against the elements.

"Just let it happen, I promise this won't happen often," Jeri said into his ear, and let the hug go after Finley accepted it for a moment. Her heart had begun to palpitate, and she began to feel anxious about the hug, and didn't want him to sense it. "There, that's enough emotional bonding forever. Let's go back to being shitheads to each other," she pleaded.

Finley agreed and said, "You're such a dick. I'm not sure I enjoy this new emotionally vulnerable version of you. It's creeping me out."

"It's your own damn fault, for not taking me to the bar like I wanted," she informed him, and shrugged. She swiftly caught up with Aidan and hooked his arm in her own. Aidan happily obliged and marched them off toward the coffee shop while Finley trailed, baffled, behind them. Aidan was nice support; as she leaned on his arm and sighed, RJ could perfectly see why Finley was in love with him. Aidan obliged as always and accepted. She thought - far within the confines of her mind and out of Finley's perception - that it was a shame, that heart-breaking ran in the family. Aidan deserves better, she mused.

The cafe RJ had pointed out was about two or so blocks away from their rental, located near an obnoxiously modern-looking and upscale shopping mall. They managed to get there just before the coffee shop closed for the evening, and as most of the mall was similarly slowing down. Only connecting bars and restaurants had steady streams of people flowing in and out of them - RJ did her best to tune out her brain that was screaming for her to join the crowds of people and lose herself in them. She focused on the now, on the right foot in front of the left and so on. She envied the birds that were chirping nearby, for living in the present moment and being plagued by no others. People locked in different streams of time flowed around and through her, and the dead wailed endlessly, unseen and unheard by everyone except her. She did her best not to indicate to them that she could hear them. They'd never let her hear the end of it otherwise - but it was rather difficult to ignore a bloody screaming woman that was standing in the corner of the coffee shop, staring at the wall and sobbing.

Finley and Aidan chatted about coffee size differences over her head while she stood in front of them in line and stared at the grooves of tile in the floor. An anxious and unpleasant feeling began to well up in her gut that was tying it in knots. She felt certain that at any moment, something awful was going to happen, but unfortunately couldn't see into her own future in the moment. The future didn't come to her awareness upon command. It was always a reflex, or an accident. Happenstance.

That's what she told herself later, after it all happened. She would keep telling herself that - that fate was changeable, but sometimes it was an accident. Something you couldn't predict, even if you knew the day you were going to die and could count it down to the very hour. Sometimes, shit just happens.

RJ became aware very quickly that someone had bumped into her and spilled the coffee all over her leather jacket and shirt, soaking the shirt through. That much, she was able to process - the temperature of it didn't bother her so much as the inconvenience of it, but that was all the attention she could give to it before her awareness was swept away by a torrential downpour of something she could only describe as providence.

She didn't like that word because of what it implied, but that had to be what it was. It wasn't an accident, not really. It was as if a deluge of information downloaded directly into her brain from some external source. In front of her was the most beautiful being she'd ever seen in person, the most ancient, the most powerful, the most bright - her third eye was pried open as if with a crowbar and couldn't shut as she stared into the fathomless beginning and end of all creation. It was like looking at Ramiel again, but even more intensely. Eternity is in his eyes, she thought. Everything had once been a seething sea of light before separating into individuality, and here was a servant in front of her that had seen it all: a being as old as the stars themselves. It wasn't quite like staring into the face of the gods, but perhaps an after-image, or a being so closely made in their image that it was terrifying to witness.

And he had no idea, which was the kicker that made RJ start reflexively laughing. Her heart hammered in her eardrums, beating against her rib cage as she saw a perfectly normal boy, perhaps twenty years old, looking horrified at the accident he'd just created, not realizing he'd spilled his entire destiny when she made eye contact with him. Not knowing who he really was, or where he really came from, or even why he was there. Just a guy getting coffee.

A strange vision hit her then, that would haunt her for many years to come. A child's laugh out of the corner of her periphery drew her attention, and she turned to look, and met a pair of eyes not unlike her own. It was the same coffee shop, but at a different time, as the person's image passed through people that stood before her. They turned, sensing RJ's gaze and saw RJ, and RJ saw them. It was something that had never happened to Jeri in her entire life - acknowledgment from the time-shadows. The dead she had occasionally addressed, but never the shadows across time that passed through her. Space and time intertwined differently before her eyes, and never had she felt a connection that crossed that impassable boundary of space-time.

That person changed everything. They had the same color of blue eyes that Jeri and Finley shared, but it was staring out of her mother's younger face and curly dark hair. It was like looking at RJ's own reflection, such was the recognition she felt in that moment before it all dissolved in front of her eyes.

She became aware of the present moment again when Finley's hand tentatively touched her shoulder and brought her awareness back around. The images of the people dissolved, and everything righted itself and seemed to make sense again. RJ looked to the man who had bumped into her and saw only his light, brighter even than Ramiel's and just as ancient, blinding her to everything else around her. Impossibly, this new person drowned out all the voices of the dead and the shadows that crossed time.

"Jeri?" Fin said in a questioning tone. "Are you okay?"

She realized that she had just had coffee spilled upon her by a stranger, started laughing from nowhere after engaging in a staring contest with said stranger, and then stared at nothing like a weirdo while people had been trying to talk to her. RJ slapped herself on the forehead and grumbled, "Fuck, I hate being sober. Can someone get me some napkins or something?"

"I am so, so, so, so, so, so sorry!" A very Canadian tenor uttered in front of her. She looked up into a pair of breathtaking eyes, a green-brown like a jagged forest with a concentric ring of bright hazel and didn't know what to say to them. She felt dumbstruck. Abruptly, she realized a few more things - one thing for certain was that this had to be the Prodigal Son that Ramiel was talking about. Jeri recognized him when she saw him; Ramiel had spoken truly, as he had everything else - even literally (if she remembered, she would ask Aidan to look at his notes). Two, was that this young man in front of her was human, and didn't realize that he was an angel, or perhaps was disguising himself as a human. Three, that angels - or beings equivalent to them, perhaps - were definitely real, and so was the possible apocalyptic threat that Ramiel had mentioned.

RJ started laughing hysterically again, which is when Finley took her to a booth to sit down while Aidan and the Prodigal stranger started plying her with napkins. She felt like crying but didn't want to.

They built up a steady pile while she patted at her shirt absently but realized it had mostly gotten on her jacket and decided not to care. "Let me buy you something to make up for it," the stranger offered, sounding desperately and terribly polite. She refused to look at him for a while as she processed what she had seen and tried to digest it.

RJ breathed and tried to ground herself in the moment. It helped that Finley hadn't taken his hand from her shoulder yet - his presence, though annoying, had a way of bringing her back to the present whenever she got lost. "Don't worry about it, I'm not much of a coffee drinker," she told the Prodigal stranger beneath her eyelashes. It hurt to look at him a little - like trying to stare at an eclipse as it transitioned. "What's your name?" She wondered. She could've told him about his past life and possible short future, but not even his name. What kind of psychic am I, anyway? She asked herself with amusement and felt more like herself. The tremble in her eyes threatening to spill over with tears went away.

Jeri finally looked up at him and was pleasantly surprised. Those beautiful eyes with skin darker than sienna, he cut a contrast to the winter wonderland outside. He was bundled up for it better than they were, with a beanie and hoodie that were pulled up over his head. He wore a university sweater under his puffy coat and sat across from her with a rustle of clothing. "Ben," he introduced with the epitome of Canadian normality. He put his hand out for her to shake. "Er, Benedict Frank. I'm, uh, really sorry but I already said that, huh?"

"Rose of Jericho Ravara," she offered and stuck her hand out to grasp his, twisting her lips in what she hoped was a friendly smile. Ben's fingers were cold from the outside, strong, slender, and with a few odd calluses. Shaking his hand, she realized with a startle that he was a ski-er and could suddenly perfectly see him weaving in-between trees as he sped down a pristine white slope. He had learned as a child, had lived a whole human life even outside of being the Prodigal Son, whatever that even was or meant. Those were Ramiel's words anyway, not hers. She tried to focus on that - on the person, rather than the light, but it wasn't easy. Especially when Ben was just so bright and unstained, like a summer sky without a cloud in sight, and everything else was so silent around him.

It wasn't often she gave her full name out, but she knew she'd know him for the rest of her short life, so it felt appropriate. Ben had no idea who he really was, but RJ was sure he'd find out eventually. She wasn't going to let that stand in the way of their friendship. "RJ or Jeri for short," she added. "This is my brother Finley, and his boyfriend Aidan. Fin's the coffee fiend between us. I wanted to go to a bar, but nooooo, we can't have that. Captain Fucking Buzzkill here nixed that idea. And now there's coffee all over me - see this is why I can't have nice things!" She let her irritation show but nothing else and used it as a disguise for her shock.

"Don't be a dick," Finley told her bluntly, and sat down next to her, finally removing his hand. Aidan abruptly sat down across from him, taking off his coat and sipping his coffee with a blissful expression, without a care in the world. She envied him fiercely for a second. "Besides, you kinda bumped into him," Finley added, adding betrayal onto the injury.

She glared at Finley, but he took the glare with aplomb which took all the fun out of it for her. She looked to Ben, who seemed interested, if confused by their interaction. "I guess I'm the reason I can't have nice things," she corrected. "Anyway, you should buy me a drink to make up for it sometime," she threw out.

"Oh? What would you like?" Ben wondered innocently. He looked over to the coffee menu, misreading her.

"She means at a bar sometime," Aidan threw in after taking a nice long gulp of his coffee. Ben turned to look at him and held out his hand with a smile, expecting another shake. Aidan shook his hand happily and introduced himself, "Aidan Dearborn. We're from Cali, just visiting. It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Ben said after he let out a noise of realization. He looked back to RJ. Something about him seemed perpetually surprised. "I'd be happy to buy you a drink sometime," he offered, a little shyly.

"Of course you are, now gimme your phone," she commanded, and held out her hand expectantly, grabbing at the air. "Fork it over."

He stared at her finger tattoos as he fished his phone out of his pocket and confusedly handed it over. RJ could feel Finley staring holes into her head, but she wasn't about to talk about things that Benedict wasn't ready to hear in front of him. That had to take time. You can't just bump into someone at a coffee shop and say, hey, you're an angel fallen from heaven and the bad guys want you for your destiny so come with us if you want to live, she rationalized as she programmed her number into Ben's phone by sending a text to hers from it. She handed it back after she was done, winced at the headache she was starting to have behind her eyes, and told him, "There. Now I can hit you up when I'm ready for you to repay me in drink-form."

"Sure," Ben easily agreed and put his phone away. He stared at her hands again for a moment before looking back into her eyes, and he seemed excited. "You're RJ Ravara, the musician, right?" He guessed, accurately.

RJ rolled her eyes. "Gee, did the name give me away?"

"Well, yeah, but also your finger tattoos. I saw them in a magazine once while you were holding a guitar in a picture," Ben gushed. "Sorry, I've just never met someone before that was famous like this. I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable," he added, overly concerned now about her feelings. It made her want to laugh. "I'm just—I listen to your music sometimes. It helps me focus on my projects while I'm working. I certainly never expected to dump coffee over one of my favorite musicians."

"What sort of projects?" Aidan threw in, changing the subject. RJ wondered how it was that Aidan always knew just when to interject and when to redirect people. She knew she wasn't exactly comfortable discussing the subject of fame outside of an interview but had never discussed this with Aidan that she could recall. Had he simply sensed the exact right moment? He's a good friend, she thought wistfully.

"Oh, I'm a photography student at the university," Benedict answered. "It keeps me out in nature, it's very calming. Um, I do have a class in a little while, but I'd love to hang out and show you some of my portfolio sometime - i-if you're interesting," he added with a nervous glance between them. "I mean, interested," he corrected.

"We'll be seeing more of each other, don't worry," RJ promised him. "I'll hit you up for that drink later, though. We'll be in town for a hot minute." Part of her didn't want him to go - his light seemed to keep the dead quiet, for whatever reason - or at least, it drowned out the crying and sobbing woman in the corner of the cafe. Jeri made a point to try not to pay attention to her, but for some reason everyone avoided her subconsciously. That one dark corner was entirely unoccupied by tables, chairs, people, or even plants despite those things being everywhere else in the cafe. It was as if the world wanted to forget about her.

"So great meeting you! Sorry!" Was Ben's parting words as he stood up and nearly ran for the door as he glanced down at his black watch, absently throwing his spilled coffee cup away in the trash on the way out.

When he was gone, the noise around the room seemed to intensify. RJ buried her head in her arms and pressed her eyes into the crooks of her arms, seeing stars. She pulled back up with a sigh after a moment and rubbed her brow. The headache was worsening. She heard the sobbing again, and the whispers of the dead across that strange veil that separated life and death. She focused on her breathing, hoping to any god that listened that it would help.

"We should get back to the rental, Jeri could use a change of clothes," Aidan offered, very reasonably, and Jeri nodded along.

"Alright," Finley consented without any argument, and once more RJ thought Aidan was a better person than her brother deserved and was jealous of the peaceful relationship they had. Why do Finley and I have to argue so much about dumb shit? She wondered.

With Ben gone, the dead seemed louder, and her head pounded. The woman sobbing in the corner turned her head - her eyes were hollow holes and her mouth a bloody smear. RJ quickly looked away. "Let's get the hell out of this haunted-ass cafe," she grumbled and marched to the door. The cool, crisp November air outside cleared her thoughts immediately, and she was suddenly grateful that they were in Toronto.

Rose of Jericho fiercely soldiered through the cold all the way back to the rental, marching behind Aidan and Finley with purpose in her gait. She suspected that her packages would begin to arrive soon, and eagerly - or anxiously? - anticipated the incipient argument that would promptly ensure once it became clear to Finley and Aidan what she was building. Focusing on the feeling helped drown out the constant stream of information from all around her about the city - and the violence that pervaded it, as it did every space where the living gathered and tread, always leaving the lonely dead in their wake. She wondered if there had ever been a time where the dead had been regarded as more than invisible ghosts, honored perhaps as they should have been by their descendants. She did not know how to give them the peace they seemed to crave, and felt their cries were more an assault on her sanity than anything.

"Did you say that cafe was haunted?" Aidan wondered, looking down at her briefly.

RJ grumbled, "I don't want to talk about it. Trust me, you don't want to know," she said, reflecting on the troubled spirit in the corner and decided to put it far out of her mind, lest thinking about the ghost summon it. "We need to keep an eye on that Ben kid though, he's definitely the Portugal Man," she announced.

"Isn't that an old band?" Finley asked from behind them. "Wait you mean — are you talking about the Prodigal Son that Ramiel was rambling about? Was Ramiel right about something?"

They were about a block from the rental, but RJ shivered as the cold air started penetrating her jacket. Aidan, reading her body language, said aloud for her benefit, "Let's talk more about this when we get inside. This isn't exactly a street-conversation." Jeri nodded and clung to Aidan's arm a little tighter, shivering fiercely.

She felt better once they were inside and quickly tore off her jacket and shirt, regardless of privacy. She had no patience for it and doubted it was anything either of the boys had seen. Finley made a fussy noise about it, but she ignored him and marched off to her bedroom up the stairs, and quickly dumped her duffel bag's contents on the bed so she could find a shirt. She put on a too-large band-T that she had stolen from Tim many years ago and emerged, sliding halfway down the banister and landing on her booted feet at the bottom. She cried out, "Yeah!" Victoriously and tried to get a high-five from Finley and Aidan, but only Aidan indulged her. "You're such a stick in the mud," she accused her little brother.

"Right. Can we talk about this Prodigal bullshit now?" Finley wondered anxiously, folding his arms across his chest. It made Jeri wonder if he was constipated. "What happened? What makes you certain it's Ben?"

RJ put her hands on her hips and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling in exhaustion. It was difficult to maintain focus, but for her brother's sake, she tried. She closed her eyes and tried to just breathe through it, breathe through the whispers, the pleas, and the cries, through the hammers and the chatter across time and space. Tried to pretend it was all just white noise. "I really, really, really wish I had a drink," she mumbled, and made to sit back down on the sofa. She stared out the window for a moment before deciding how to answer Finley's question. She looked him in the eyes when she found her answer. "Okay, look. There's just things I know. It's like a valve or tap that gets opened up and pours all this information into my head and fills up the glass. And that's just the shit that I know - there's stuff that doesn't stay in the glass, the foam that gets poured out, and the stuff that spills because it's over-filled. So, I don't know everything, because I can't hold onto the stuff that spills over. Does that make sense? Kinda? At all?"

"Are you talking about your abilities?" Aidan asked politely, sitting down next to her.

"That's how it works for me, sometimes," RJ struggled to explain. She clutched at the sides of her heads as the images intensified until they became a string of complete nonsense, and closed her eyes. "It's, I'm, it's — like information just gets pumped into my head and it's all crammed up in there and I can't always untangle it from my own shit, but I'm sure about this, guys. Ben is important," she emphasized, drawing her hands away and trying to focus on the two of them. "He's the Prodigal Son. And I think . . . I think he's like Ramiel, whatever you want to call Ramiel."

"An angel?" Finley supplied. "I mean, Ramiel is the name of an angel, right? We learned that at the library."

"I'm not sure that angels exist as Christians define them, but maybe Ramiel is something similar," Aidan diplomatically deduced. "All we know for certain is that Ramiel has abilities and that's his name as far as he wants us to know, and that RJ saw something significant earlier when she bumped into Ben. Is that what you're getting at?"

RJ didn't know how to define what she had seen for them. She barely understood it herself. Endless trails of stars were mostly what she could recall from staring at Ben's soul - he hadn't of course known that's what she was doing to him, but how could she not? His was so large and bright and he had just dumped his destiny all over her. She'd seen galaxies form and disintegrate. Her mind couldn't encompass the amount of time required for such a thing; it was macro-cosmic. Ben was positively ancient, and for some reason he had no idea of what he was. "I don't know what he is. Angels are a thing now though, I guess, and Ramiel was onto something. He'll show up again and tell us about how doomed I am even more," she sulked.

"He's kind of a jackass," Finley agreed with a nod, comforting her.

"There's some things that Ramiel has mentioned that we haven't uncovered the meaning of, however," Aidan reminded them. "A few names, like Asmodeus, and the Ba'el Moloch that he talked about. Why is he using those names specifically?"

"Well, if angels are real, and this thing is like in opposition of them, then I really don't want to know more about it," RJ said wearily. "It's a hard enough pill to swallow as is. I don't want to add fucking, whatever, gods and demons to the mix."

"You're speaking as if it's already a conclusion, that they are real," Fin said. He finally got tired of standing and sat across from Aidan in a gray love-seat. "We don't have any evidence of that."

RJ glared at her brother. He's so scientific, she thought, and sighed. It was a good thing he was dubious, but not in this case. She needed him to believe in and trust her - something he seemed incapable of from time to time. "Does it matter if they are? There are kidnappers out there, and they're perfectly human, Finley," RJ stated. "We gotta keep an eye on Ben. They might not know who he is, but if he starts hanging around us, they're gonna figure it out and target him."

"Well, maybe we should stay away from him, to give him a low profile," Aidan offered.

RJ shook her head. "No. If they have anyone like me around, or anyone with abilities . . . Supernatural ones, I mean? Yeah, they'll find out sooner or later. If I figured it out, for sure someone else can. I'm not the only one of me out there." Even the spirits noticed Ben, and didn't know what to make of him, she silently added, thinking of the troubled ghost in the cafe, who had stopped crying and simply cowered in Benedict's bright presence.

"You think so?" Fin said with doubt. "I've never met another telepath."

She gave him an even wearier look. "You think you're alone in this big wide, world? Think again, brother mine. And anyways, better that we control when that is, and protect Ben as best as we can. He's still . . . just a Canadian photography student. He has no idea who he really is, or what he is." She thought about it and realized that she was uncharacteristically worried about Benedict Frank. She instinctively felt the urge to keep him away from her bullshit but knew that was impossible.

"What did you see?" Aidan wondered.

Jeri stared up at the ceiling again and tried to re-order her thoughts as the whispers intensified for a moment. She didn't like talking about her abilities, for fear that the dead were listening. "I saw . . . It's so hard to describe . . . I saw stars. Endlessly. And he, he's so bright. Like—"

At that precise, opportune moment, someone knocked on the door. RJ leapt up from her seat, relieved for the distraction and ran over to the door. She tore it open to face a startled, bundled-up delivery driver, who deposited a package into her greedy hands as soon as she outstretched them. "Thank you," Jeri said, and waved as the delivery driver took off in his brown truck. She kicked the door shut as the package required both of her hands, and she deposited it on the couch where she had been sitting before. Aidan moved a little to make more room for her to open it up.

She could tell they both had questions on their minds, but she didn't pay Fin or Aidan any attention as she took out her boot-knife to open up the package. Inside was a barrel for a shotgun and the forearm - the other parts would arrive separately from different manufacturers, over the course of the next two days. She dumped the contents happily on the floor and started to pick them up and admire them, which is when Aidan decided to react accordingly.

"Is that — are you building a gun?" Aidan was incredulous and took off his glasses to clean them on his shirt and put them back on. "Yep, yeah, I thought I was seeing things but that looks like gun parts. What the fuck." It was a not a question, but a statement.

"Did you buy those from the same place?" Was Finley's only question.

RJ stared at her brother like he was the idiot. "What kind of dumbass do you take me for?"

Finley held up his hands defensively. "Alright, alright, I was just asking."

"This has to be illegal," Aidan objected.

"Like anyone gives a fuck," RJ scoffed. "I build these all the time, and all of mine are illegal. And I go shooting with them on a regular basis. Who's stopping me?"

"To be fair, her gun collection is pretty massive, and she hasn't hurt anyone yet with any of them," Finley, oddly, defended her. She stared at him for a moment, baffled, before going back to admiring her shotgun parts. She picked up the forearm and felt it in her hands and was pleased with the grip. "Plus, I've seen her build worse," Finley added, which did not reassure Aidan at all, judging from his expression. "I mean, she's attached flamethrowers to guitars and managed not to light herself on fire, except that one time when she was still training," was Finley's continuing endorsement. RJ was almost proud of him, for half-assed-ly taking her side.

Aidan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose behind his glasses. "Thank you for listening to my objections," he said tiredly. "I think I'm going to go study." He stood and made his way to the bedroom he shared with Finley, leaving the Ravara siblings behind.

"He mad?" RJ wondered, eying Aidan's sadly trailing form as he left them behind.

Aidan shut the door behind him. "Yeah, but not with me this time, so that's okay," Finley said in his boyfriend's absence. "He can be as mad at you as he wants to be. He'll eventually see it's useless. Like Alex said, it's hard to stay mad at someone who doesn't seem to notice or even care."

RJ made an annoyed noise and took the parts of her shotgun and dumped them all on her bed, away from her clothes. When she got back to the living room and saw Finley perusing something on his phone, she punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Alright, now it's gin-time. Let's go."

Fin gave her a measured look that sized her up in its entirety. She stared back unflinchingly - she would go without him if he didn't go with her, and he had to know it. After a few seconds he decided, "Yeah, okay. I'll tell Aidan we'll head to a bar. We can take a cab back if you get too cold."

"Yes! I knew you loved me!" RJ practically cheered between gritted teeth and hugged her brother, which made him incredibly uncomfortable and amused her to no end.

Finley pushed her off him and went back to the room to talk to Aidan and get his coat and scarf. RJ pulled her phone out of her pocket and eyed the message that she had sent from Ben's phone. She programmed the number into her phone as 'Coffee Boy' and shot him a text message: Girl you wasted your coffee on here. Wanna get drunk? Drinks on me at the Writer's Room.

Fin took his sweet time getting ready and talking to Aidan, but RJ didn't begrudge him the time. His time with Aidan was limited whether he was aware of it, and she knew they loved each other very much. That didn't stop her from hooking her brother's arm in hers as soon as they were out the door, and tearing off down the sidewalk chanting, "Let's-get-wastey-schwastey-wastey!" This, because she knew her time with her brother was even more limited than Aidan's, and she felt she had seniority.

"Jesus, please God, no," Finley plead to the air, but nonetheless tolerated her chanting and closeness.

Jeri had found a place called the Writer's Room a few blocks away from their rental, a more upscale bar with a killer view that she didn't mind getting shitty at. She would have preferred a dive pub, but there hadn't been one within close to spitting distance of the area that they'd rented out. She cursed the church that was so keen on abducting her for nefarious purposes for picking a building on the university side of downtown. The one time she'd partied through Toronto on tour, she hadn't even sneezed at the district they were in now; she'd been too busy getting wasted on the other side of town where all the fun was.

"I told Ben where we're at," she told Finley as they entered the hotel elevators and she hit the button for the top floor. "But drinks are on me tonight."

"Holy shit," Finley breathed out when the doors opened, and he saw the view. From the top of the hotel, you could almost see the entire city out of the top floor's massive windows - it was as if someone had placed a saloon instead of a penthouse at the top floor. The patio was closed due to ice on the outside, but the inside was decently bustling without being overcrowded. Only a few people were seated at the bar, and RJ immediately meandered over to it, eager for a martini - but then reconsidered and parked herself at an unoccupied table in a secluded corner, so she could people-watch with her brother. She knew he wouldn't want to be where the center of attention was in the middle of the room, where the bar was.

Fin shot her a grateful look when they sat down, and he took off his coat to get comfortable. A man with short blond hair attended to them within a few minutes, perhaps - or perhaps not - summoned by Finley's Jedi-mind-trick. "Open up a tab for me and give us two doubles of the biggest, dickinest, gin-iest specialty martinis that you have, and hold the olives and fruit shit because I'll accidentally eat it and I haven't eaten much yet today, and you don't want me puking on your floor. Oh, and put lil' umbrellas in 'em, thanks," she told the server after flashing her ID. The server either didn't recognize her name or was being polite and took down the order with nary a word.

"Why umbrellas?" Finley had to ask when the server had left.

"They make you feel warmer and fancier," was the only justification RJ had to offer. "You'll see what I mean."

She watched her brother mull it over after their drinks had been delivered and he had sipped at his. What had been delivered to them, the server explained, was a floral gin mixed with an egg white and white tea. It wasn't bad, just different, and RJ could appreciate the skill required to mix it properly. Finley eyed the umbrella contemplatively in his differently-shaped cocktail glass (because they had at least put hers in a martini container) and then decided, "I guess it is nice this way. I feel like lifting a pinky. Is that proper drinking etiquette?"

"Proper drinking etiquette with martinis is to down the whole glass and order two more immediately," RJ informed him. "In fact, that's what we in the professional drinking business call the 'Hemingway method.'"

"I prefer to sip mine, and have umbrellas," Fin decided. "What would you even call this? It's not a martini."

"Yeah," she agreed, eying her drink. "I guess it's like a gin fizz with a twist. Almost like a Chelsea sidecar." Her phone buzzed, drawing her attention. Now that she had alcohol in her system, dividing her attention didn't seem so dangerous. True, there were still the whispers, and the shades, but she wasn't so distracted by the people from different times wandering in and out of the bar. If anything, the whispers of the dead could have easily been just despondent bar chatter. It was nice, to pretend. She felt grounded with her brother at her side, and a drink in her hand. It was like everything was all right with the world for a moment.

It was a reply from 'Coffee Boy' Ben, simply an okay! She wasn't sure if that meant he would show up or was just acknowledging what she said and felt herself puzzled by the interaction for a little while. "What's up?" Fin wondered, probably about the look on her face.

"Ben's a kook," she remarked.

"He seems like a good kid," Fin commented.

One of her eyebrows tried to crawl up her forehead in an expression of disbelief. "You know that from meeting him for five minutes? Also, you're like, the same age. Don't call him 'kid,' it feels wrong."

"He's probably younger than me," Fin objected, "and yeah, I got a brief scan of him. A lot of it was white noise like Ramiel, telling in hindsight, but I was able to push past it for a moment. He was thinking about his parents for a little while back there, worrying about disappointing them or some shit." RJ scoffed; she couldn't imagine wanting to impress her parents, those assholes. Fin went on, smirking perhaps because he caught onto her thought, "I didn't catch too much of it, but bad people generally don't worry about stuff like that. They're more set in their ways without a moral compass. The fact that he immediately felt bad and tried to make amends for something so small and simple is also telling. I hope he doesn't get caught up in our bullshit," Fin concluded with a downward turn of his lips.

RJ thought the same thing and didn't think it was fair for someone so nicely Canadian like Ben to unknowingly be a part of an apocalyptic scenario, but she put the thought away by downing the rest of her drink. She held it up in the air briefly and let it fall back down gently onto the table with a clink.

"For a second, I thought you were going to smash that," Finley said.

Jeri rolled her eyes. "I'm not a heathen. While this is definitely not a martini, it's still served in a martini glass. I have class. Though I don't know why they put yours in a Glencairn, that's for scotch-sniffing. Maybe they ran out of martini glasses, but whatever." Finley eyed his own glass in confusion and held it up, examining it. It was bulbous at the bottom and tapered gently at the top - she knew her liquor and bar sets. "Hey, can you woo-woo me another drink?" She asked with wide, pleading eyes, hoping he wouldn't resist.

Finley rolled his eyes as well but nonetheless looked about for their server. He spied him near the bar and squinted at the man for a moment. The server turned around as if confused, then looked their way and walked over. "Another drink?" He asked Jeri politely.

She nodded and passed him the empty triangular glass. "Better make it two," she told him, just as Finley finished his, and passed his glass over as well, ill-concealing a subsequent burp as the server walked away. She clapped her brother on the back with glee. "Proud of you," she said.

"For what?" Finley honestly questioned.

"Being you," she said, and then struggled to define what she really wanted to say. She was proud of him for many reasons - for going and sticking with college, for meditating and working to master his abilities, for maturing so much after he lost Teegan, for moving on, for just existing in spite of the world trying to beat him down and his own genetics fighting against him. It was a hard feeling to define, so she just shrugged and stuck with what she already said. She didn't want him to read her mind and know about all her actually gushy feelings, so she kept her mental wall up nice and high and impatiently waited for her refill, tapping her fingers on the table in a rhythmic pattern.

"You've been weirdly less shitty to me than usual lately," Finley spoke up, drawing her attention. He seemed disturbed by this. "I mean, I'm not complaining about it, it's just strange."

"It sounds like you're complaining," she accused. "I can start pimp-slapping you right now, would that make you feel better?" She held up her right hand, ringed and tattooed with the name MARY, and wiggled it in offer.

"Marginally," Finley conceded, "I mean, that at least would be something I'm more used to. Being supportive, proud, and nice to each other just feels . . . Immoral? Just, wrong."

RJ laughed at his admission just as their drinks were delivered. "You're a fucked-up cookie, Finny," she said as the server walked away and told them to enjoy. "So why is it that you can take nice things when Aidan gives them to you, but not me?" She wondered if she had stumbled onto the heart of the problem Fin seemed to be having with her lately. Usually, her intuition about people was spot-on. She just didn't like actually aiming it at the folks around her. It felt like cheating on social interaction - after all, being psychic has its advantages. She knew that it really wasn't about her, but unresolved shit in his childhood. Aidan could have told her that, except that she had figured it out herself a long time ago. Finley doesn't like what I remind him of, she thought.

"Aidan's always been that way," Finley explained easily enough. "That's why we're best friends. We try to support and help each other. Siblings are different. Especially with our family."

"Seems like he does all the helping, but okay," RJ interjected and took a sip of her tasty cocktail.

"It's mutual," Finley insisted, but not without doubt. He similarly took a drink and thought about his next response carefully. "I really, I do love him very much," he concluded warmly.

RJ took a long sip and braced herself for the following conversation. She couldn't just say nothing at all - that was anathema to her nature. Even Tim, when he'd asked about Pamela's future, she had been honest with. Perhaps not entirely honest; after all, it didn't matter to Timothee when Pam would die. It mattered whether or not they loved each other and if they had a future together. All she'd done was asked him, 'does she make you happy?' And when Tim had said 'yes, of course,' that had told her all she needed to know. 'That's all that matters,' she'd said to him, and withheld the truth. She told him elements of it instead - that she was the first great love of his life and made him promise to treat her well. If she had her way, Pamela's last years on earth would be joyous. That was all she could offer to people. It didn't stop her from feeling guilty about it.

She knew Aidan and Finley wouldn't last in the end. Somehow, someway, Finley was going to cock the entire thing up and Aidan would realize Fin was going down a path he couldn't follow. They'd probably always by sappy best friends but she knew her brother, and this was more than pattern recognition - this was a fact. Aidan was made of light and love; Fin and RJ were made of blood and struggle. She grappled with what to say to her brother, knowing she couldn't bear to be dishonest with him, and took another sip before finally opening her mouth to speak. She knew the future couldn't be stopped, but alternate futures existed. There was only one where Finley lived a happy life with many children and grandchildren; many where he did not. Her next words might tip the axis and spin him into some alternate life that she alone would be responsible for. Finally, she said, "He loves you with all his heart, Finley. Hold onto that with two hands. It's too rare to just let go, being loved like that. I get it, it's addictive. But if he ever decides . . . If he can't anymore, you need to let him go. That's what you do with love. It's catch and release. You love people, and you let them go when they're ready. If they're ready. Real love is learning to let go. Everything else is just selfish."

Grief was the consequence of love, something RJ knew very well. She also knew no matter Finley's alternate future, it would always be full of grief, which was a feeling that could only take place where love once resided. No matter what, RJ didn't want to rob Finley of his future happiness, in whatever form it took. She hated his ass sometimes, but she did want him to be happy. He deserved that. She was gunning for the future with the most grandkids, because she knew Finley needed people around him who loved him more than almost anyone. He would fall into even worse darkness if she and Aidan weren't there to keep him from the brink.

She hadn't protected him all their childhood just to throw away that duty when she became famous. She hadn't plead guilty to manslaughter and gone to prison just to implicate her brother at the last second. Jeri had served her sentence, because she knew she could, and he couldn't. It would ruin his future if he'd been implicated - he would have been discovered for what he was and filed away like a number into the system, another indoctrinated weapon for the government. Or even something worse. Instead, the story was that he'd tried to stop her, and he'd stuck to that at her instruction. Jeri suspected a part of Finley had died then, perhaps the last shred of his innocence. A necessary sacrifice, she told herself. The future in which she died young, was the future that given Finley the most hope, the most grief, and the most suffering. She hoped he would be able to bear it all, for her sake.

"I know," Finley said in a defeated, broken voice that made her want to punch him even more. Somehow, she felt worse when he admitted she was right, than when he accused her of being wrong. There was a tightness in her chest suddenly that refused to let go. "I just don't want him caught up in our bullshit either, but he seems to determined to . . . He's too much himself for his own good," Fin despaired.

"He's concerned about your safety," RJ summarized with an eyeroll, and did her best to ignore the knot in her chest, "and after watching you infiltrate a government agency and the teleporting guy and then hearing about you kill people with your brain, I mean, I'd be worried in his shoes too. Look, he's gonna do what he's gonna do, and the best we can do is make sure he gets out of this alive and as intact as possible."

"I'll drink to that," Fin decided and held up the remainder of his cocktail for her to clink her glass against his.

"To Aidan getting out of this shit," she announced.

"To Aidan," he agreed, and downed a gulp of his cocktail. He cocked his head back for the drink and when it came back down, he ended up bringing too much into his mouth as something surprised him. Fin's eyes widened and fixed on something behind Jeri. He swallowed his drink and tried, and failed, to suppress a burp.

She had a feeling who it was, based off the sudden quiet that engulfed her brain. The whispers didn't seem so loud in Ben's presence, and he was bright enough even when just lurking behind RJ for her to sense before she saw him. There was warmth at her back, and the tight knot in her chest finally eased up a bit when she sensed that a buffer had arrived. She didn't want to delve into too much heavy shit with her brother while they were drunk - that was how people got slapped. "Glad you could make it coffee-boy," she said as she turned around to meet Ben's eyes. The concentric rings of color reminded her of tree rings - of a tree that was impossibly older than the earth and didn't know it.

Ben was smiling at the eyes and grinning widely. "Hello!" He greeted. She gestured to an empty chair at their table on her other side, as Finley had taken one next to her. Ben plopped down across from Finley at the square bar table and took of his coat, fussed with a moment with where to put it before deciding to hang the massive poofy winter coat on the back of his chair. He had a small satchel with him that he careful disentangled himself from and hooked it on the chair's back on top of the coat. Ben then turned back around in his seat to face them, with a smaller smile. He wore the same hat from earlier, a simple black beanie, and a moss-green cabled sweater over jeans. His demeanor was the most noticeable thing about him, however - there was a simple cheerfulness and innocent positivity that he radiated, of which he was not aware. Ben's eyes locked with Finley's. "Fin . . . Something, right?"

"Finley Ravara, call me Fin," Fin introduced properly. He held out his hand for Ben to shake, and Ben leaned in to do so enthusiastically. "We only met for a split second, so I'd be surprised if you remembered. I'm Jeri's younger brother. I think we might be close to the same age."

Ben had leaned back in his seat, finding a more comfortable position, and made a noise of pleasant surprise. "Oh! Well, I turned twenty-one a few months ago. Are you also a student?"

"Yeah, UC Davis, I'm a math major," Fin breezed. "I guess I'm only a year older," he concluded and gave RJ a look askance.

RJ glared at Ben suspiciously and squinted. "Are you even old enough to drink? Not that I'm objecting, I just need to get glasses if that's the case. I intentionally supported Finley's underage drinking," she bragged proudly while Finley quietly shook his head as if exasperated by the mere memory of all the teenage shenanigans she had gotten him into, when he was still too young to even drive. It was her duty as her older sister, in part, to corrupt him.

"Drinking ages in Canada are different," Ben said with a hint of a smirk. "Just by a little. But yes, I am." His hand reached up to his head and slid off the black beanie that lived there, to reveal a completely shaven buzz-cut. He ran his fingers over his scalp absently.

It was unexpected; for whatever reason, she had pictured him in her head with hair, and to see him without it felt odd. "What happened to your hair?" She asked. "Did you lose a fight with an electric razor? Or a bet?"

"Cousin of mine got diagnosed with leukemia!" Ben said in a weirdly cheerful voice. "So, a lot of us shaved our heads and started a fundraiser for her because she used to have this really long hair that she loved and it made her sad when it all fell out in treatment. She shaved it off and we, or most everyone in the family surprised her at the hospital by shaving ours. Gotta say, my mom looked weird without hair! Oh, plus, cancer treatments are expensive when you're not properly insured. Anyway, I liked it so I kept the cut."

"That's a good reason," Fin said. "One time, Jeri got so drunk she tried to cut her own hair, and I had to shave it all off for her in the morning. Her drummer Tim thought it was hilarious but everyone else was pissed because she had a concert the following day."

"It wasn't all shaved off, just the right side," Jeri disagreed. "And it looked awesome for the concert later, thanks for that! I totally rocked that half-shave."

"You're welcome, I think?" Finley seemed confused by her whiplash disagreement and approval.

"What's your poison, Benji?" She leaned forward with her elbows on the table and put her chin in her hands as she addressed Ben, who watched them interact with amusement.

"Am I getting you a drink?" Ben wondered. He pulled the satchel from the back of his seat to his lap but left it unopened.

"You wouldn't be able to keep up with my drinking habit, Eggs Benedict," RJ assessed honestly, looking him quickly up and down. He was around Finley's height, only a shade taller, and he was significantly lankier than Fin. "Besides, I'm saving that drink you owe me for a rainy day. No, tonight's all on me. What's your heart's desire?"

Ben asked what they had ordered, but since RJ genuinely didn't know Ben politely waited until their server came back over to them and asked for his order a few seconds later. She wasn't certain about the future anymore because she was drunk, so RJ expected Ben to order something intensely fruity and was very surprised when he ordered plain scotch on the rocks. RJ stared at Finley suspiciously as the server walked away - her brother looked entirely innocent as he sipped his drink nonchalantly. "What?" Fin said, like he was confused. True, she had asked him earlier to abuse his abilities, and true, she had asked him many times to do so in the past to get out of parking tickets and sticky situations with fans in public - and true, she didn't really have anything to object about, so she put that thought away with a drink. Doesn't matter, I guess. Let him brainwash a few waiters, she thought. So long as it isn't the President, we're fucking good.

"I would've thought you were more of a fruity cocktail person," Finley commented, looking to Ben in surprise as the Canadian student sniffed and sipped at his scotch. Either he could read more of Jeri's thoughts than she thought, or they just happened to align their thoughts more often than she would like. "I can picture you so perfectly in my head with a big fat hurricane," said Fin, looking confusedly at the drink in Benedict's hands.

"Oh, no those are too sweet and mixed drinks give me headaches," Ben disagreed, frowning. He held up his scotch appraisingly. "I like to keep liquor simple! You can never go wrong with scotch."

"I'll drink to that," RJ agreed and took a generous sip of her drink.

"This actually seems to suit you more," Fin assessed of Ben after a few seconds of consideration. Whatever he had concluded, he seemed approving. "You know, Jeri once told me that you can tell a lot about a person by their drink of choice," he went on.

"You can!" RJ agreed enthusiastically. "Like, Finley and me for example: you can tell by our drink of choice that we're messy, trashy bitches who like our bartenders to be generous with their gin."

"I'll drink to that," Finley murmured and took a sip, just as she fist-bumped him quietly.

"What does it mean if I just drink this?" Ben wondered, holding up his tumbler and swirling it in the air gently.

"It means you're too classy for our kind, and you have good taste," Fin rightfully ascertained.

Ben shifted in his seat and seemed to consider something. "I have a perhaps odd request," he announced as he looked away from their table and outside at the view.

RJ sighed as an old and familiar feeling washed over her. "Where should I put it?" She asked.

Ben blinked, and then seemed to flush, though it was hard for Jeri to tell in the dim Writer's Room. "What?"

She rolled her wrist, waving her hand through the air. "The signature, that's what you want, right? You want me to sign something," she assumed tiredly. "Their tits, their guitars, their dogs, you name it, I've signed it all."

Finley seemed horrified when he looked at her. "What poor dog—?" He was about to ask, but she cut him off.

"Chihuahuas, one really expensive half-shaved Maltese shih tzu, and a few hairless cats also," she answered his question.

"Oh," Ben made a noise of comprehension and blinked, looking surprised. He simultaneously took her comment in stride. "No! I mean, that's not what I meant to ask. I don't have a dog, but I do have a snake, and a rat, and I'd rather you didn't sign them. No offense. I was just hoping to take some pictures of the bar, and of you two. No poses, just organic interaction - that's what I'm really lacking in my portfolio. I focus more on outdoor photography and I need more portraits. I wouldn't publish them for profit at any point, they would just help me expand my repertoire. I just don't have many people-shots, and you two are interesting looking, and this isn't something I do very often - go out with people I mean, and take photos of them. It would help me out a lot, and I can share them with you after if you like. You can say no, and I won't be offended."

RJ and Finley stared at each other and had a moment of silent communion without telepathy. Fin seemed more concerned for her sake but didn't want to be rude, so she answered for them, "Alright, but don't go all paparazzi on me or I'll track you down and make you eat your ice cleats," she half-heartedly threatened. She knew Ben wasn't the kind to do so, and would keep his word, but seeing his reaction when she threatened him was just too fun.

He was shocked, like the idea had never occurred to him, and then his expression twisted with genuine amusement when he realized she was just making a little fun of him. Making him brightly smile was quite an experience for RJ, who was more used to making people's eyes roll up into their heads. Ben was just a naturally sunny sort of person, and RJ had only met very few of those kinds of people in her life. His light kept the shades at bay, so she would let him do whatever he wanted - within reason - if it kept him around.

Ben took out a professional, but surprisingly old looking camera from his satchel and began to piece it together. He spent some time switching in between lenses and looking around through them before settling on one and fiddling with it. His movements were practiced and precise as he adjusted settings and focus, and he did not cease or change pace as he rambled out loud, "Thanks for inviting me out, guys. I feel bad about earlier but maybe it wasn't such a bad thing if I managed to get new friends out of it. How long will you be in Toronto? Have you been here before? You picked a strange time to visit. It'll get bitterly cold in a few days."

Finley answered as truthfully as he could without revealing anything, as RJ didn't trust herself not to blab the entire truth to Ben in a display of copious word-vomit, "It's a long story. And I don't want to lie to you about it, but it's a deeply personal story, and we've only just met. I'd like to tell you everything about it, but now isn't the time."

"Oh, no worries, I apologize for prying," Ben said with ease and snapped his first photograph - of RJ, holding her glass and looking at Finley. She hadn't even been aware of the lens pointed at her and brushed it off as she always did when she heard that noise. Every album and music video required various photo shoots and video, and it had ceased fazing her a while ago. In a way, it reminded her of her band, and the sense of home she felt when she was playing with them. Like it was where she belonged. It made her wistful, so she downed half of the rest of her drink. "Why do you get tattoos?" Ben asked her, pulling his eye away from the lens for a moment to look at her.

RJ didn't want to lie to Ben either, and was surprised to discover this feeling. Her gut instinct told her to make up a reason or a story, but consciously, she just didn't want to. Benedict was an easy person to get along with, and essentially a good person. He didn't deserve to be lied to by her, especially since their lives were going to depend on one another soon. For once, she thought, I'm not okay with being the asshole. She chuckled, and said, "I like the pain, honestly. I know it sounds fucked up, but my life has been pretty fucked up from the start. The pain grounds me - when I'm under the needle, everything else falls away. It's like playing music for me. It's my therapy. You don't think about anything else when you're on that chair, or on the stage."

"You make it sound like meditation," said Finley as he leaned on his propped up arm.

She looked at him quite seriously and confirmed, "It is."

"Do they all mean something?" Ben kept the conversation going, and snapped a picture of Finley, who was startled by the sound for a moment.

"Well, yeah, they're art," she shrugged. "I don't remember why I got most of them, but some of them were just because I liked the concept and wanted the artist to run away with it. I was young when I got the skeleton-arm, though," she said and pointed to the skeletal tissue outline on her right sleeve and took off her jacket to show it. "I got the vines on the other sleeve because I always liked thorny vines for the way they looked but didn't want something trashy. I went with realism for that one." She displayed her other sleeve.

"Why the knuckle tattoos? Do those words mean something? I've been curious since I first saw them," Ben admitted and took the camera away from his eyes for a moment to adjust a dial.

Fin snorted, and RJ frowned. She stared down at her knuckles. 'MARY LIES' they said. Someone named Mary who either lied or lay somewhere. But why did either thing matter? She'd puzzled herself over this for a long time, but those words had simply been burned into her mind. She'd woken from a blackout drunk in a stupor and demanded to get the tattoos done. She'd sobered up enough to convince Tim it was a good idea to drive her and get it done at the closest shop that was still open and accepting walk-ins. Luckily, it was only afternoon - they'd passed out near dawn. "Honestly don't know," she summarized for Ben's benefit. "I didn't want to forget what I was trying to remember. I know it meant something or means something. It's like it's at the tip of my tongue, and I can never quite get the words out, you know? It's weird. But I feel like there's truth in it. I swear I remember all my other tattoos, but, uh, we found out recently that I actually don't. Some of them, at least a good portion of the small ones, have been during blackout drunks." Impulsively, she rolled up the skeletal sleeve further and displayed the little circle bisected by the rotated crescent on the inside of her forearm. This one she didn't remember getting, but knew she must have done it during another episode. "Like this one," she pointed at it, and gauged Ben's reaction to seeing it.

He peered at it for a moment before looking away, curious but not entirely interested. Ben was more interested in his camera, which he brought up to his eyes with one hand and kept the other supporting the lens and kept looking around through it, occasionally snapping a picture. It was only mildly disappointing - if he had recognized it, that would have been cause for more alarm. Ben's ignorance for now, as far as Jeri was concerned, was bliss. She rolled her sleeve back up, satisfied, and turned to her brother. "You should get a tattoo," she told him.

Fin laughed. "Of what? And where? I've never wanted one."

"You should get one of them neck-flower tattoos," she tried to sell him. Suddenly she could picture it perfectly, wrapped around the right side of his neck like a graceful corsage. "Something blue, and pretty, with nice, clean, thin black lines. Watercolor, or illustrative . . . Yeah, that'll class up the place. It'll look really good with short or long hair, too, I promise."

"I'll think about it," he promised dubiously, and rubbed his neck self-consciously.

"I have a tattoo," Ben shared. "Just the one, though."

"Don't tell me, lemme guess," Jeri offered, holding up a hand to stop him from talking. She pretended to concentrate. Fin stared at her and seemed annoyed - as he often was when she pulled her 'party trick' or asked him to share his, as she called it. A mental image had already come to her of Ben under the needle, with his sister holding his hand even though it was more for her benefit than his as she watched on with morbid fascination a pattern unfold underneath and bloom across his skin. His sister, who had grown up and was now apprenticing as a tattoo artist. She didn't want to freak him out with too much information at once though, so RJ said, "A lavender sprig on your left forearm. Unique choice, but you're a unique guy."

Ben stared at her, though to his credit he tried not to and went back to looking through his camera and snapping pictures of her. She let him. Maybe it was how he preferred to remember things, in images. "Did I roll up my sleeves?" He wondered of the air.

Jeri didn't fault people for the things they wanted to believe, if they were easier than the truth. She shrugged. "I wasn't looking. It's just what came to mind. You want me to get more specific? I can."

"Great, and next, she'll tell you how you're gonna die," Finley drolled. "Don't mind her. She likes to cold read people."

"If you can tell me what the tattoo means, I'll believe you," Ben declared, pulling the camera away from his eyes to look at RJ square in the eyes.

A challenge, she thought and grinned. "Is that what it'll take?" She asked.

"For what?" He asked right back.

"For you to believe in me, I mean," RJ clarified. "If I tell you what your tattoo means, if I be your Daniel and you be my King, then that means you believe me when I say shit. It means you have to listen to me."

Ben seemed amused, if anything. "And what happens if I believe you?"

"Well, I don't like to label it," RJ admitted honestly. "It makes it seem like what I'm capable of isn't really real, and it is. It is to me. I see things. I know things. It's kind of my thing." She looked to Finley, who seemed like he wanted to disagree, but didn't have the energy to and simply took a sip of his cocktail instead.

Ben nodded in agreement and offered his hand to shake. "Deal," he agreed, as she shook it. She did for a moment, and then motioned for his other hand. He offered it, and she rolled up his sleeve, leaning over the table briefly to look at the ink. She felt like she'd have a better read if she looked at it, or touched it, and Ben didn't seem to mind. She examined it closely, the delicate illustrative silvery green lines, the pale green ink as highlights on the leaves, and the delicate bluish-purple flowers. The natural melanin in his skin made the lavender a deep purple, almost indigo. Holding his arm in hers, she could feel Ben's sense of bittersweet finality whenever he looked at the tattoo and knew what it was. She picked up on his associated memory, and answered him, "Lavender was her name, but you called her Lavi. You liked that it meant 'lion' in Finnish. I'm picturing . . . A white cat, short hair. She's the cat you grew up with. She curled up with you in your cradle. She came from the shelter and had the prettiest blue eyes that were almost purple. Your artist really nailed that color. Her name suits her. Fifteen years is a long time for a cat to live."

Ben didn't seem shocked, or horrified, or even surprised. Instead, to RJ's horror, tears formed in his eyes, but they only lasted a moment before he blinked them away. He pulled his arm out of RJ's grip and wiped at them and sighed. It was a while before he looked at her again, and this time his expression was unreadable. "Who are you?"

"RJ Ravara, psychic guitarist extraordinaire," she introduced herself with a flourish and stood up to take a mocking bow. "We had a deal though, yeah? You believe in me now?"

Ben seemed confused. "Why is it important to you that I believe you? I mean, I didn't really doubt you before."

"No reason in particular, nothing to worry your pretty head about," RJ assured him as she sat back down. She downed the rest of her drink - not much of it was left - and eyed the glass as she sat it back down. "Good talk, Ben."

Finley cut in toward Ben and said, "Just don't ask her to tell you about your death, okay? You'll regret it."

There are worse things in life than death, she wanted to tell Finley, but held her tongue. Ben focused more on his camera than them after that point, though he kept the conversation light and active. He finished off a second scotch and chatted with Finley about their differing experiences at university for a while, before asking her questions about her band-mates. She told him a few funny stories here and there of different pranks and mishaps, feeling wistful as she talked about them, particularly Jen. That relationship souring hurt the worst out of all of them, since she wasn't as attached to Lo or Tino. RJ fell silent after a while and her attempts at conversation were met with bitter remembrances, causing her answers to questions to become jilted and awkward.

Ben sensed this but didn't let it get him down too much and simply put away his camera and thanked them for their time and company. He promised to be in touch soon as he left after offering them a ride, though because their rental was so close, they refused. When he left, he took his light with him, and RJ felt drained. RJ took care of the tab after Ben left when Finley suggested that they follow suit, and she didn't have the energy to argue with him. Her mind was thankfully blank as they ambled back to the rental, and she stomped upstairs after kicking off her boots when they got in with nary a word to Finley.

She collapsed, still clothed, on the bed. She breathed, in and out. She was still RJ. Time inched on by. Just a few years left, she told herself internally as she slept. Gotta make them count.