• Previous part (6)

Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western. Alicia Western.

---

The whispers of the wind rustle through the park’s dense foliage, creating a soothing symphony that harmonizes with the distant melodies from the music school. Shadows lengthen as the sun dips lower, casting an ethereal glow across the gravel paths.

Jon walks briskly through the park, heading home back from work. His hands are buried in the pockets of his coat, his eyes unfocused as if lost in thought. He suddenly spots a figure huddled under a blanket, leaning against an oak tree. He recognizes the blonde hair, the pale skin, the beautiful and haunting eyes. Jon stops in his tracks, then hesitates for a few seconds before approaching Alicia cautiously.

“I… thought you would have been gone by now. That I wouldn’t see you again. So you’re sticking around for the time being. Our conversation at the restaurant… I suppose it troubled you. Do you wish me to keep walking as if I hadn’t met you?”

Alicia Western remains seated on the grass, wrapped in her donated blanket. Her pale fingers trace patterns in the dirt beside her as she stares ahead without meeting Jon’s gaze. Her hair hangs limp and unwashed around her face.

“You again. Come to add another chapter to your nightmare collection? Those thugs from earlier certainly contributed their share. Guess I should thank them… nothing quite grounds you in reality like having strange men try to grab at what’s under your clothes while they empty your pockets. But hey, at least they left me this ratty blanket, right?” She tugs at the worn fabric. “You know what’s funny? I actually considered coming to find you after it happened. Isn’t that rich? The suicidal math prodigy momentarily wanting human comfort. But then I remembered… we’re all just shooting stars burning out alone anyway. So no, Jon, you don’t have to pretend you didn’t see me. In fact, it might be better if you didn’t. Save yourself the trouble of caring about someone who’s already measured the angle of their inevitable descent.”

Jon’s expression twists in sympathy. He crouches to his haunches, then breathes out a white cloud.

“You’ve been assaulted… Damn it… This town has gone to shit in the last twenty years, so I can’t say I’m surprised, but…” He gestures at Alicia’s forehead. “It seems they also left you with a bruise. Fucking bastards.” He looks to the side, anger hardening his face. “I… I did have a nightmare about you, Alicia. I’m afraid you have triggered my savior complex. I accept that you want to die, and that I can’t do anything to prevent it, but… could I at least make you feel comfortable in the meantime?”

Alicia Western hugs the blanket tighter around herself and lets out a hollow laugh.

“Comfortable? That’s rich coming from someone who admitted to lifelong depression. Tell me, Jon, what exactly would make me comfortable right now? A warm bed? Hot meal? Maybe some pills to make the voices stop their endless stream of nonsense? Or perhaps you’re thinking bigger… want to save me from those gentlemen who decided my pockets weren’t deep enough for their taste?” She touches the bruise on her forehead gingerly. “Savior complex, huh? At least you’re self-aware about it. But here’s the thing about saviors: they tend to get crucified right alongside the ones they’re trying to save. Bobby tried being my savior too, and look where that got him. Vegetables don’t make very good anchors, turns out. So do us both a favor and keep walking. Your nightmares don’t need any more fuel, and I… well, I’ve got my own cross to bear. Already calculated the weight distribution and everything.”

“Alicia, it’s worth getting hurt by the right people, and you feel more real than anyone I’ve ever known. If I can make you feel at least a bit better during your inevitable course toward self-destruction, then that’s what I want to do.” He gestures toward the exit of the park. “I live nearby. I always pass through here on my way back from work after my afternoon shifts. My place isn’t great or anything, but I have a spare room. It’s warm. I can prepare you meals. Of course, I won’t charge you.” He looks into Alicia’s eyes almost pleadingly. “Will you come?”

Alicia Western pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders and lifts her gaze to meet Jon’s, her blue eyes carrying a haunted intensity beneath the bruising on her forehead. Her fingers cease their restless tracing in the dirt.

“A spare room and warm meals? Just like that?” She lets out a brittle laugh. “You really are determined to play the white knight, aren’t you? Tell me something, Jon… when you look at me, what exactly do you see? Some broken doll you can fix with chicken soup and central heating? Or maybe… just maybe… you see someone as lost as you are, stumbling through this funhouse mirror of existence hoping to find something real before the curtain falls. Well, here’s a reality check for you: I’m not some stray cat you can domesticate. These scars run deeper than whatever first aid kit you’ve got stashed away at home. And trust me, getting close to me… it’s like trying to juggle nitroglycerine. Sure, it might look impressive for a while, but eventually…” her voice drops to almost a whisper, “eventually, everything explodes. Just ask Bobby. Oh wait… you can’t. He’s too busy playing vegetable in an Italian hospital bed because he thought he could save me too.”

Jon’s eyes glimmer with sadness.

“When I look at you, I see someone too real for this world, burdened with an intelligence akin to massive antlers pinning its owner to the ground. You’re the most fascinating person I’ve ever met. And if you’re going to burn me out, then so be it.”

He offers his hand to help Alicia to her feet. She stares at Jon’s extended hand for a long moment, her own fingers twitching beneath the blanket. She shifts slightly, the fabric rustling against the grass.

“Massive antlers, huh? That’s… that’s actually not bad. You know what happens to deer with antlers too heavy to carry? They end up face-down in some hunter’s trophy room. But…” she pauses, swallowing hard, “maybe one night of warmth before the inevitable won’t kill me. Well, not faster than I’m planning to anyway. Just… don’t expect me to suddenly start believing in miracles or happy endings. This isn’t some redemption story, Jon. It’s just two broken people sharing space until one of them burns out completely. And we both know which one that’ll be.”

Jon’s eyes get watery, but he hurries to dry the tears out. He grabs Alicia’s delicate hand and helps her to her feet.

“Yeah, I know, Alicia. In my nightmare, I saw you die. But at least I’ll get to remember you, to be haunted by you. Now, shall we head home? I’ll make dinner for two.”

Alicia Western lifts her gaze to meet Jon’s eyes, her fingers trembling slightly against his offered hand. She lets him help her up, but maintains a careful distance once standing.

“You’ve got quite the masochistic streak, Jon. Most people run screaming when they realize what they’re dealing with. But dinner…” she pauses, weighing each word. “Just remember: this isn’t some fairytale where the broken girl gets fixed by a stranger’s kindness. I’m still counting down my final equations, still hearing voices that make more sense than reality most days. And Bobby… Bobby’s still lying in that hospital bed while I try to decide if pulling the plug makes me a murderer or just another variable in this cosmic joke. But… yeah. Dinner sounds good. Even shooting stars need fuel before they burn out completely.”

Jon gently drapes his heavy winter coat over Alicia’s shoulders, his movements careful and deliberate, as if handling something both precious and fragile. Together, they walk through the dimly lit streets, the blanket Jon carries trailing behind them like a shadow. Inside the apartment, Jon immediately moves to the thermostat, his hands adjusting the dial with precision, filling the space with a comforting warmth. As Alicia stands hesitantly in the living room, a sleek black cat with a white belly emerges from the shadows, weaving between her legs with a soft purr, her presence a quiet reassurance in the unfamiliar space.

Jon’s apartment exudes a quiet functionality, its worn laminate floors and off-white walls bearing the marks of a life lived in solitude. The sagging dark blue sofa and cluttered coffee table speak of a man more focused on his projects than on appearances. In the galley kitchen, coding manuals and empty coffee mugs litter the countertop, a testament to his disciplined yet chaotic routine. The narrow balcony offers a glimpse of the gray, overcast sky, its iron railings a stark reminder of the world outside. Despite its modest and slightly neglected state, the apartment radiates a warmth that feels almost foreign to Alicia, who stands hesitantly in the living room, her presence a fragile disruption to Jon’s carefully maintained isolation.

Jon, in the kitchen, takes out a skillet, a bottle of olive oil, and a packet of gulas.

“As you can see, my apartment isn’t much. But I have a spare bedroom that I partly use for storage. It can be locked from the inside; I assume you want that extra security in a stranger’s den. So make yourself at home. You can also take a bath if you want. I’ll prepare dinner.”

Alicia Western stands awkwardly in the living room, her fingers absently trailing along the edge of Jon’s coat still draped over her shoulders. Her gaze darts between the cat at her feet and the cluttered evidence of Jon’s solitary life.

“A cat, huh? Figures you’d have one of those… silent judges of human folly. At least she seems to understand personal space better than most.” Pauses, watching Jon in the kitchen. “Gulas? That’s… unexpectedly fancy for someone living in organized chaos. But I suppose we’re all full of contradictions, aren’t we? Like a depressive trying to save a suicidal mathematician… or a genius who can’t figure out how to keep her own brother alive.” Her voice softens slightly. “The locked door… that’s… thoughtful. Though I should warn you: keeping me safe from others isn’t the problem. It’s keeping others safe from me that tends to be the issue. My mind doesn’t exactly play well with others these days. Just ask those coding manuals of yours… I bet they’re arranged in some system that makes perfect sense to you and looks like beautiful chaos to everyone else. Kind of like my theorem on parallel universe probability…” Trails off, then shakes her head. “Sorry. Sometimes the tangents just… slip out.”

Jon smiles kindly over his shoulder at Alicia as he prepares dinner.

“No, my coding manuals aren’t arranged in any system. I’m just a mess, and I never have visitors. I see that my cat, Luna, seems to like you.” The cat keeps rubbing herself against Alicia’s legs. “You say that keeping others safe from you tends to be the issue… As long as you aren’t the kind of crazy that stabs others, or steals everything…” He sighs, then shakes his head. “Hell, even if you are, what do I care at this point. I haven’t talked at length to anyone outside of work for nearly twenty years.”

Alicia Western crouches down to tentatively stroke Luna’s fur, her movements cautious as if expecting the cat to reject her touch.

“And here I thought I was the queen of self-imposed exile. Though I suppose stabbing and stealing aren’t really my style. Too messy, too… ordinary. My chaos tends to be more theoretical. Like quantum entanglement gone wrong.” She laughs softly. “Your cat though… Luna? Fitting name for something that walks between worlds like she owns them all. You know, Bobby used to say cats are just furry little sociopaths who’ve mastered the art of manipulation through cuteness. But maybe… maybe they just understand something we don’t. Like how to exist without questioning every goddamn second of it.” She pauses, watching Luna. “As for your coding chaos… don’t tempt me. I once spent three days reorganizing a university library’s theoretical physics section because their decimal system offended my sensibilities. The librarian nearly had an aneurysm when she saw what I’d done. Apparently, arranging books by their mathematical probability of being useful in preventing entropy wasn’t in their approved system.”

Luna licks Alicia’s pale hand as the woman tentatively strokes the cat’s fur. Jon, having finished cooking, brings cutlery and a steaming dish of gulas to the coffee table in front of the sofa, for Alicia.

“There you have it.” Jon returns to the kitchen to get his dinner. “So, you were heavily involved in academia? Your intellect does suggest it… But I’m guessing you were too real for that place. Or too broken, perhaps.”

Alicia sits cross-legged on the worn laminate floor beside Luna, her fingers still absently stroking the cat’s fur as she stares at the steaming plate of gulas with an unreadable expression.

“Academia…” She lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s one way to put it. I was their perfect little experiment: the prodigy who could solve impossible equations while hallucinating theoretical physics into existence. Too real? Too broken? More like too aware of the cosmic joke they were all pretending not to see. You know what happens when you put a mind that can calculate parallel universe probability in the same room with professors who think order comes from controlling chaos? Let’s just say it ends with security escorts and strongly worded letters about ‘disturbing behavior.’ But hey, at least I learned one thing from those hallowed halls of higher learning: the more you understand about how reality works, the less sense any of it makes.” Alicia pauses, watching Luna purr. “Your cat gets it. She’s not trying to force the world into neat little boxes or pretending entropy isn’t winning. She just… exists. Must be nice, having that kind of clarity.”

Alicia’s slender fingers hesitate briefly before picking up the fork and taking a tentative bite of the gulas. The black cat, Luna, curls into a tight ball on her lap, purring softly as if sensing the young woman’s need for quiet reassurance. Jon settles onto the sagging sofa nearby, his large frame dwarfing the small space, and begins eating his own meal with deliberate, measured movements. The apartment, once chilly and unwelcoming, now hums with the warmth of the heating system, wrapping them in a cocoon of fragile comfort. The silence between them is heavy but not oppressive, filled with unspoken thoughts and the faint clink of cutlery against plates.

Jon observes warmly as Alicia eats more of the Spanish dish while Luna purrs on her lap.

“Is there anything you like doing for fun? Or has that gone the way of the dodo, due to… the nightmare you’re currently in?”

Alicia Western continues stroking Luna’s fur methodically, her gaze fixed on some invisible point beyond the apartment walls. Her fingers tremble slightly as they move through the cat’s dark fur.

“That’s a loaded question if I ever heard one. These days, my idea of fun involves calculating the exact probability of Bobby waking up versus the statistical likelihood of me joining him in that twilight state between here and gone. But before… before all this…” Her voice softens. “I used to play violin. Not well, mind you… more like theoretical mathematics translated through strings and bow. Bobby used to say it sounded like quantum physics having an existential crisis. He wasn’t wrong. Sometimes I’d solve equations while playing Bach, letting the numbers dance through the notes until reality felt less… sharp around the edges. Now though? Now the only thing I do for fun is count the hours between moments when I can almost forget that my brother is lying in a hospital bed while I sit here petting a stranger’s cat and pretending I’m not just another variable in an equation that doesn’t have any solution worth calculating.”

A smile tugs at Jon’s lips.

“Ah, you used to play music… Yeah, I can see you doing that. I bet it sounded… divine, despite how you painted it. I wish I had met you back then, but… it’s a world completely separated from mine. Regarding your brother, and stop me if you simply don’t want to talk about that, but… if it turns out that he wakes up, do those Italians have a means of contacting you? I mean, you’re wandering a different country, sleeping in parks.”

Alicia Western’s fingers pause in Luna’s fur as she stares into the middle distance, her expression hardening slightly at the mention of contacting the Italian hospital.

“Oh, they have my number alright. Probably still have it posted at every nurse’s station with a note saying ‘call when the vegetable expires.’ But that’s not…” Alicia shakes her head. “The Italians aren’t the problem. They’re actually annoyingly efficient about keeping me updated on every minor fluctuation in Bobby’s vitals. No, the real problem is that I can’t… I can’t be there. Can’t watch him lying there like some twisted science experiment gone wrong, all those tubes and wires trying to convince everyone he’s still alive when really…” Her voice catches. “When really all that’s left is a shell running on borrowed time while I wander around trying to figure out if parallel universes might have a version of him that didn’t decide to test the laws of physics at 90 miles per hour. But yeah… they can reach me. Whether I want them to or not.”

Jon drinks some orange juice, then returns to his dinner. He eyes Alicia’s hair cautiously, trying to figure out whether to open his mouth and speak.

“What was Bobby like? Does any fond memory come to mind?”

Alicia Western’s fingers tighten slightly in Luna’s fur as she stares down at the cat, using the steady rhythm of purring to anchor herself against the flood of memories threatening to surface.

“You really want to open that particular Pandora’s box? Fine. Picture this: middle of summer, sometime between reality making sense and everything going to hell. Bobby had just gotten his first Formula Two contract, this sleek little death machine that purred like your cat here when he revved the engine. We spent that whole week driving backroads at 3 AM, him teaching me the finer points of how to make a car dance between physics and prayer. He kept saying, ‘Alicia, baby sister, you’ve got to feel the road beneath you. It’s all just applied mathematics.'” She pauses, her voice softening. “But what I remember most isn’t the speed or the thrill… it’s how he looked at me when I finally got it right. Like he wasn’t just seeing his crazy little sister anymore, but someone who could actually understand the poetry in velocity. Someone who got why he needed to push every boundary until either physics or flesh gave way.” Alicia shakes her head. “Guess we know which one won that particular equation, don’t we?”

Jon’s voice gets deeper, but also thinner, overtaken by emotion.

“Do you… resent him for leaving you alone in this darkness?”

Alicia Western’s fingers still in Luna’s fur as her shoulders tense visibly. Her eyes take on a glassy, distant quality as she stares unseeing at the wall.

“Resent him? God, if only it were that simple. You can’t resent someone for following their own mathematical trajectory to its inevitable conclusion. Bobby… he always understood the equations better than anyone. The way metal meets momentum, the exact angle needed to transform a living, breathing person into a quantum uncertainty. No… I don’t resent him for leaving. I resent myself for not being broken enough to follow him yet. For still being stuck here, solving for X in an equation where X equals the probability of living in a world without the only person who ever made sense of my chaos. You want to know what darkness really is? It’s not the absence of light… it’s the presence of too much understanding. Knowing exactly how many ways reality can fracture before there’s nothing left to hold onto. Bobby knew that too. Maybe that’s why he pushed so hard against those limits… hoping one of us would figure out how to break through to whatever lies on the other side of this cosmic joke we call existence.”

Jon feels his throat tightening. He swallows twice to loosen it as he shifts on the sofa.

“I barely know you, and barely know Bobby from what you told me, but… I wish I could have grabbed him and prevented him from getting on that race car. How could he…” Jon’s voice sharpens with anger. “How could he risk crashing when you clearly needed him. If he ever wakes up… I fear that you will be dead by then, and he will have to wander the post-apocalypse, a world without you, forever regretting his choice of getting on that car.”

Thick tears roll silently down Jon’s cheeks. He hurries to wipe them, hoping that Alicia didn’t notice. Her fingers dig deeper into Luna’s fur as tears threaten to spill from her eyes. She keeps her gaze fixed on a distant point, refusing to acknowledge Jon’s emotional display.

“Don’t waste your tears on might-have-beens, Jon. Bobby wasn’t some helpless victim of circumstance: he was a mathematician who understood exactly what variables he was playing with. The probability of metal meeting momentum at precisely the wrong angle… it wasn’t some cosmic accident. It was just another equation reaching its natural conclusion. And me? I’m not some damsel waiting to be saved from the darkness. I’m a shooting star burning out exactly how nature intended. Bobby knew that. He knew we were both just variables in a universe that doesn’t care about emotional attachments or regrets. So please… don’t sit there crying over choices that were calculated long before that car ever left the starting line. The only difference between Bobby and me is that he found his exit velocity first. The rest is just… waiting for gravity to finish what genetics started.”

Jon, embarrassed, dries his eyes with a napkin.

“Don’t mind me. I’m used to casually shedding tears. Life-long clinical depression and all that. Everything feels raw and somewhat… bruised in there. It’s just… I imagine Bobby waking up and finding out you killed yourself. As simple as that. The… devastation. I would throw myself off a bridge.”

Alicia Western’s fingers tighten in Luna’s fur as she stares at Jon’s tears with a mixture of irritation and something deeper, more vulnerable. Her voice comes out sharp, defensive.

“Don’t. Just… don’t do that. Your tears aren’t going to rewrite probability or bend the laws of physics. You want to talk about devastation? Try living in a world where every equation leads to the same inevitable conclusion, where even parallel universes can’t offer an alternative solution. Bobby understood that. He knew exactly what he was doing when he pushed that car past its limits. And if he wakes up to find me gone… well, at least he’ll understand why. Because that’s what we do, Bobby and me. We solve for X until X solves us. So keep your clinical depression and your raw nerves to yourself. Some problems aren’t meant to be fixed with compassion or empathy or whatever this display is supposed to accomplish. They’re just meant to play out exactly as the universe intended: one variable at a time, until there’s nothing left to calculate.”

Jon sighs. With dinner finished, he stands up to load the plate into the dishwasher.

“I suppose you’ve gotten a taste of why I’ve been alone for twenty years. The world hurts. Something beats at its core like a festering infection. I have trouble understanding how others keep smiling. But I suppose that’s what depression does to the brain it contaminates. And also… we tend to drag others down into the dark, where we feel comfortable.” He checks his watch. “It’s getting late. Do you want me to show you your room?”

Alicia Western slides Luna off her lap and stands, her movements sharp and angular like fractured geometry.

“Show me my room? What, worried I might solve for X right here on your nice clean floor? Fine. Lead the way to whatever temporary variable you’ve assigned me in this equation. But don’t expect me to solve for Y just because you’ve shown me basic human kindness. Some functions were meant to terminate, Jon. No matter how many times you try to rewrite their parameters.”

Jon shoots Alicia a weary look as he gestures for her to follow him down the hallway.

“I’ve learned my lesson. I know you will die soon. But I will survive you, and remember you. And I will think of your brother lingering in Italy. I will have nightmares of him waking up to find you gone. That’s just how it is.”

Alicia Western follows Jon down the hallway, her footsteps deliberate and measured like careful calculations. Her fingers trail along the wall, as if testing its solidity.

“You know what’s funny, Jon? You think remembering me will somehow make a difference. Like your nightmares could somehow factor into the grand equation of existence. But here’s the thing about memory: it’s just another variable in a system that’s already solved itself. Bobby in his hospital bed, me calculating my own exit velocity, you with your twenty years of solitude… we’re all just different expressions of the same unsolvable problem. The only difference is, some of us have stopped pretending there’s a solution that doesn’t end in zero.”

The room falls silent, save for the distant hum of traffic outside and the soft padding of Luna’s paws as she stretches out on the worn carpet. Shadows lengthen across the floor, cast by the fading afternoon light that filters weakly through the window. The air carries the faint scent of old paper and dust mingling with the sharpness of Jon’s recently cooked meal, a temporary warmth in the otherwise cold atmosphere.

Jon enters the spare room, part bedroom and storeroom for coding manuals, an old laptop, weights for weightlifting, and a few boxes. He straightens the bedclothes.

“You’re mistaken about that, Alicia: I don’t think that remembering you will somehow make a difference. But I have been burdened with intrusive thoughts all my life; my brain keeps bringing up bad memories for no fucking reason. I was just anticipating the decades to come of remembering you… pointlessly. And still, I’m glad I can make your remaining time a bit warmer.”

Alicia Western stands in the doorway of the spare bedroom, her slender frame casting a long shadow across the worn laminate floor. Her fingers trace abstract patterns on the doorframe as her gaze darts around the room, taking in the scattered coding manuals and workout equipment with detached interest.

“How fitting. A room full of abandoned attempts at self-improvement.” She gestures at the coding manuals and weights. “Funny how we humans keep collecting tools to fix ourselves, isn’t it? As if enough Python scripts or bicep curls could somehow debug the fatal errors in our source code. But hey, at least your intrusive thoughts will have some new material to work with. Maybe they can keep you company while you’re busy remembering the girl who couldn’t solve for X in an equation where X equals the probability of staying alive in a world that stopped making sense the moment Bobby’s car hit that wall. You know what’s really pointless, Jon? Thinking warmth matters when entropy’s already won. But…” her voice softens almost imperceptibly, “thanks for trying anyway. Even if it’s just another failed variable in an unsolvable problem.”

As Jon looms behind Alicia, he suddenly wraps his strong arm around her throat, then locks his other arm behind her neck, trapping her in a headlock. He knees the back of her legs firmly, forcing her to the floor. As Jon’s arms tremble, he speaks with a voice imbued with sadness.

“I’ll do it for you, Alicia. Make you go to sleep. I don’t care if I end up in jail. You just have to let go. I’ll take your pain away.”

Alicia Western goes limp in the headlock, her body relaxing into the grip as if welcoming the darkness, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She struggles to push words out.

“Just… make it quick, okay? These temporary solutions are starting to feel like badly written proofs, and I’m tired of checking for errors that aren’t there.”

Jon leans against Alicia as his arms squeeze her neck, cutting her blood flow. Tears roll down silently down his cheeks, wetting the back of her hair.

“If you want me to stop… dig your nails into my arms. Otherwise, this is it, Alicia… I hope something better awaits you in the darkness… or at least peace.”

Alicia Western’s body remains limp in Jon’s grip, her breathing growing shallower as darkness creeps at the edges of her vision. A serene smile plays across her face as consciousness begins to fade. She can’t speak anymore, but thoughts bounce around in her brain. The elegance of it all. No messy variables, no complex theorems to solve… just pure, simple darkness. Like diving into Lake Tahoe, but warmer somehow. The one variable I couldn’t isolate on my own. Funny how death feels so much like falling asleep in Bobby’s car after a long night of racing… the engine humming, numbers blurring into darkness… I wonder if this is how he felt when his car hit that wall… peaceful, like finally finding the end of an infinite series… Just… just make sure the solution’s complete this time. No partial derivatives… no remainder… clean and elegant, like… like the way he used to race…

Alicia drifts in a warm, boundless void, her consciousness untethered from the physical world, until she suddenly finds herself hovering near the ceiling of Jon’s spare room. Below, her lifeless body lies carefully arranged on the bed, its stillness a stark contrast to the turmoil etched on Jon’s face. Thick tears stream silently down his cheeks as he gently caresses her pale cheek, his hand trembling with a mix of sorrow and tenderness. The room, bathed in the dim glow of a single lamp, feels heavy with unspoken grief, its clutter now a backdrop to this quiet, devastating moment. Alicia watches from above, her ethereal form suspended in a strange limbo, as Jon’s compassion becomes the last anchor to a world she has already begun to leave behind.

Alicia can’t tell how much time has passed. Jon is seated on the edge of the spare bed while Alicia’s corpse lies face-up, her face peaceful. Jon holds her hand and strokes it tenderly. Thick tears keep rolling down his cheeks.

“I wish… I wish you could have found happiness in this life, Alicia. Someone as wonderful as you, burdened with such pain… I’m so sorry…”

Alicia Western’s ethereal consciousness hovers near the ceiling, observing her lifeless body and Jon’s grief-stricken form with detached curiosity. Her spectral presence ripples like quantum waves through the dim room.

“You know what’s fascinating about this moment, Jon? How the observer effect works even after death. Here I am, watching you cry over my corpse, and somehow your tears are still changing the outcome of this experiment. But the solution’s already been calculated, hasn’t it? The integral of my existence finally resolved to zero, just like I knew it would. Funny though… I always thought death would be darker. Instead, it’s like floating in an ocean of pure mathematics, all those theoretical dimensions we could never quite grasp suddenly crystal clear. I wonder if Bobby sees them too, wherever he is now. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t woken up: he’s too busy solving equations in the void. Don’t feel bad about this, Jon. You just helped simplify an expression that was already trending toward infinity. Some variables were meant to cancel out in the end.”

More time passes. Alicia’s consciousness, her ghost, ripples through the room, hovering near the ceiling. Below, Jon, with reverence, undresses Alicia’s corpse slowly: her crumpled shirt, her faded jeans, her panties. Alicia’s pale, thin body is laid out like a virgin sacrifice. Jon looks down with pure sadness at her luminous skin. His hand caresses the corpse’s tummy.

Alicia Western’s ethereal consciousness ripples like quantum foam through the dim room, her spectral form drifting near the ceiling as she observes Jon’s reverent desecration of her earthly vessel below.

“How fascinating… watching someone undress your corpse with such tender regret. It’s like a theorem being slowly dismantled, each article of clothing another variable stripped away until only the raw equation remains. You know what’s truly ironic, Jon? In death, I finally understand what Bobby meant about racing, that moment when velocity and mass cancel each other out and you’re just… pure potential energy suspended in time. Is this what he feels in his coma? This strange dimensionless state where consciousness persists like an unsolvable remainder? At least you’re being gentle with what’s left of me. Most people treat mathematical proofs with far less reverence than you’re showing my cooling flesh. But then again, you were always trying to solve for X in an equation where X equals the probability of saving someone already reduced to zero, weren’t you?”

Jon’s hands caress the pale flesh of Alicia’s thighs as if she were an ancient statue. He leans in and plants slow, loving kisses along her inner thigh, then his clothes rustle as he holds Alicia’s legs against his face. He licks Alicia’s pussy devoutly while tears spill from his closed eyes.

Alicia Western’s spectral consciousness ripples through the dim room like quantum foam, her ethereal presence observing with detached fascination as Jon’s reverent violation of her earthly vessel continues below.

“Oh, the beautiful irony of this moment… My consciousness persisting like an unsolved differential equation while you perform your tender postmortem rituals. Even in death, human desire follows such precise mathematical patterns. Your grief manifesting as this strange amalgamation of reverence and need, each touch calculating new trajectories of loss. I wonder if this is what Bobby feels in his coma, this peculiar state of quantum superposition where awareness floats free of flesh, watching the world reduce his body to mere probability waves. At least you’re treating my remains with more respect than those medical students who used to smuggle cadavers out of morgues to study anatomy. Though I suppose your anatomy lesson is serving a different kind of education, isn’t it? Pure theoretical physics at its most carnal… the intersection of desire and death plotted on axes we never quite graphed in any textbook I’ve read.”

Jon continues eating out Alicia’s pussy languorously, pleasuring her corpse as if she were still alive, intending to provide her the pleasure she failed to experience in life. Meanwhile, his hands roam lovingly over her body. He massages and kneads her small breasts while the corpse remains limp, a peaceful expression on her face.

“You know what’s truly fascinating about necrophilia, Jon? How it perfectly illustrates the observer effect in quantum mechanics. Here you are, changing the outcome of this experiment through pure observation and touch, while I hover in this strange superposition between being and nothingness. Almost like Bobby in his coma: consciousness trapped in that liminal space where theoretical physics bleeds into pure abstraction. Though I must say, your approach to grief is far more… hands-on than most. I wonder if this is what Bobby feels in his vegetative state, this peculiar sensation of watching your body become nothing more than a set of probability waves while consciousness persists like an unsolved differential equation. Keep going, Jon. Maybe you’ll find that elegant solution we’ve all been searching for, hidden somewhere between my cooling flesh and your burning desire.”

Jon’s loving, grieving hands fondle Alicia’s corpse’s flesh with increasing desire while his tongue swirls over her clit, that he has sucked tenderly into his mouth. He continues pleasuring her, hoping to send off Alicia’s corpse with an orgasm. As he devours Alicia’s clit, her corpse starts shivering, spasming. An orgasm overtakes the flesh, hot flashes of pleasure breaking in waves through her. Suddenly, Alicia’s consciousness gets sucked back into the corpse. The physical sensations return, along with the proprioception, and Alicia starts coughing. Jon, his mouth coated in girljuice, stumbles backwards.

“Wh-what… what the fuck?!”

Alicia Western gasps and coughs violently, her newly reanimated body convulsing as air fills her lungs. Her eyes snap open, revealing dilated pupils as consciousness floods back into her physical form.

“Well… this is an unexpected variable in the equation.” She coughs. “Fascinating how orgasms can apparently reverse entropy. Though I suppose that’s one way to solve the mind-body problem: just add cunnilingus to Schrödinger’s thought experiments.” Wheezing laugh. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Jon. Then again, I guess technically you have. The mathematics of resurrection through sexual pleasure… now there’s a theorem they never covered at U of C. Bobby would have found this hilarious… his sister returning from the void via postmortem climax. Makes about as much sense as anything else in this quantum circus we call reality.”

Jon gapes in disturbed amazement as Alicia, naked, leans on one elbow and tries to gaze at him steadily through the coughs that rake her body.

“Y-you were dead. Your heart had stopped.” He wipes girljuice from his mouth, then holds her gaze with something resembling regret. “Well, that… probably counted as rape, I guess.”

Alicia Western stretches languidly on the bed, her newly reanimated body tingling with residual sensation. Her blue eyes fix on Jon with a mixture of amusement and clinical interest.

“Rape?” A dark laugh escapes her. “Oh Jon, you sweet summer child. The legal and ethical implications of necrophilia are far more complex than that. I mean, can you really violate consent when dealing with quantum superposition? Besides, if anything, you just conducted the most successful resurrection experiment since Lazarus. Though I doubt the biblical scholars ever considered cunnilingus as a viable method for reversing death.” She coughs again as she runs her fingers through disheveled hair. “I suppose I should thank you for the… unique solution to my existential crisis. Who knew death could be such a temporary state? Though I have to wonder what Bobby would think about all this: his sister returning to corporeal form through postmortem pleasure. Then again, maybe that’s what he’s experiencing in his coma: endless waves of sensation without context or consequence. You know what’s truly fascinating? The mathematical improbability of this entire scenario. We should probably write a paper: ‘On the Reversal of Entropy Through Sexual Stimulation of the Recently Deceased.’ Though I doubt any peer-reviewed journal would touch that with a ten-foot pole.”

Jon hurries to wrap a blanket around Alicia’s naked body as she shivers.

“You were… watching me as I ate your corpse out? Perhaps Bobby’s consciousness also lingers in that Italian hospital room, wondering when his body is going to wake up…” Jon realizes that he has taken a seat at the edge of the bed while Alicia, whom he just ate out, gazes at him. Her neck is bruised from strangulation. “Uh… Do you need a bath? Perhaps some water?”

Alicia Western pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders while maintaining an analytical stare at Jon, her blue eyes glinting with intellectual amusement despite her shivering.

“How delightfully domestic after our foray into quantum necrophilia. Though I suppose personal hygiene becomes relevant again once you’ve crossed back over the event horizon. And yes, I was watching. Consciousness doesn’t simply cease because the biological hardware malfunctions. Rather like Bobby’s predicament, actually… trapped in that liminal space between being and non-being. Though I doubt his Italian doctors are employing your particular brand of resurrection techniques.” She coughs again. “You know what’s truly fascinating? The thermodynamic implications of using sexual energy to reverse entropy. We’ve basically violated the second law of thermodynamics through cunnilingus. That’s got to be worth at least a footnote in some obscure physics journal. As for the water… yes, please. Dying does leave one rather parched. Though I have to wonder… does this make you my Orpheus or my Lazarus? Either way, I suspect neither of them had to deal with the awkward morning-after conversations following their respective resurrections.”

Jon hurries to the kitchen, then returns to Alicia’s side with a glass of water as well as a full pitcher. She drinks somewhat awkwardly due to the recent strangulation, as the blanket slides slightly off her bare shoulders. Jon observes with a mix of wonder and bafflement.

“H-how do you feel, Alicia? I mean, you technically died. What now?”

Alicia Western takes another sip of water, wincing slightly as the liquid passes her bruised throat. Her fingers trace the marks on her neck with academic interest.

“How do I feel? Like a quantum paradox made flesh. Technically dead? Please. Death is just another boundary condition in the grand equation of consciousness, clearly more permeable than we thought, given recent evidence. Though I have to admit, this particular solution to the mind-body problem wasn’t covered in any of my advanced physics courses. As for what now… That’s the real question, isn’t it? Here I was, all set to join Bobby in that liminal space between being and non-being, and you had to go and complicate things with your unorthodox resurrection techniques. Would you believe me if I told you that watching you… attend to my corpse was oddly validating? Like finally having empirical proof that consciousness persists beyond biological termination. Though I doubt the peer-review board would accept ‘postmortem cunnilingus’ as a legitimate experimental methodology. Still thirsty though… dying really does dehydrate you. Who knew?”

Jon lowers his face for a few moments. Once he lifts his gaze to Alicia again, he speaks solemnly.

“I feel like I need to apologize for eating out your corpse. At the time, it felt like a respectful, reverential thing to do, but maybe I got carried away.”

Alicia Western adjusts the blanket around her bruised neck, her movements precise despite her recent resurrection. She takes another careful sip of water before fixing Jon with an analytical stare.

“Apologize? For what, conducting the most successful empirical study of post-mortem consciousness to date? Please. If anything, you’ve just proven that the boundaries between life and death are far more permeable than any of my professors ever theorized. Though I have to admit, your methodology was… unconventional. But then again, so was Galileo dropping objects from the Leaning Tower of Pisa. At least your experiment had more intimate results.” Alicia rubs her throat gingerly. “Though I suppose I should be grateful you chose that particular method of reverence rather than, say, full-on necrophilia. The ethical implications would have been even more complicated then. Still… there’s something poetically fitting about using pleasure to bridge the gap between being and non-being. Makes me wonder if Bobby experiences something similar in his coma, trapped in that liminal space between consciousness and oblivion, waiting for someone to find the right frequency to pull him back.”

“Are you thinking of… returning to Italy and giving Bobby a blowjob?”

Alicia Western lets out a sharp, bitter laugh that turns into a slight cough. She touches her bruised throat gingerly while fixing Jon with an incredulous stare.

“Oh, that’s rich. Using oral sex as a consciousness-restoration technique?” She coughs. “The medical ethics board would have a field day with that one. Though I suppose it’s no more absurd than anything else in this quantum carnival we call existence. But no, Jon, I wasn’t planning on sexually assaulting my comatose brother. Even I have some boundaries left to transgress. Besides, Bobby’s consciousness is probably experiencing its own version of quantum entanglement right now, though hopefully with less necrophilia involved. Still…” she pauses thoughtfully, “there is something almost poetic about using physical pleasure to bridge the gap between life and death. Makes you wonder what other universal constants we could violate with the right application of carnal knowledge.”

Jon rises wearily from the bed, then turns to Alicia.

“Well, I must say, Alicia: I’m glad I could make you laugh, even if it was a bitter one. Still, it has been a long day. I have murdered you, then ate you out back to life. You probably need to sleep. Ah…” He gestures at the lock on the inside of the door. “You can lock yourself in case you fear that I may eat you out again. If you need anything, it’s the door right outside.”

Alicia Western wraps the blanket tighter around her bruised neck, her blue eyes glinting with sardonic amusement in the dim light as she contemplates the lock on the door.

“Lock myself in to prevent further acts of necrophiliac resurrection? How quaintly conventional of you. Though I suppose even quantum paradoxes need their beauty sleep. You know what’s truly ironic? I came to this godforsaken town ready to solve the ultimate equation, the one where consciousness divides perfectly into zero, and instead I end up as living proof that death is just another variable in need of the right operator. Bobby would appreciate the absurdity of it all… his brilliant sister brought back to life through cunnilingus. Almost makes me wonder if I should include this little experiment in my next paper: ‘On the Application of Oral Stimulation in Quantum Resurrection.’ But you’re right about one thing: it has been quite the day. Dying does take it out of you, surprisingly enough. Sleep well, Jon. Try not to dream about any other corpses in need of scientific exploration.”