The Lightning that Jumps Between

Twenty Four

Ethan didn't move much from the bed the next day, and the others stayed true to their word and kept him company. Rose and Karl made him a very messy breakfast-in-bed, with more than a few fingerprints in the pancakes, and coffee with at least six ounces of sugar in it. Rose seemed to understand her father's mood, laying her little head on his chest and patting him reassuringly. But soon she was too restless for the room, so Karl suggested she accompany him with rebuilding a carburetor. She was ecstatic at this suggestion, for some reason.

Conversation flowed casually between the women, and he was content to listen even if he didn't understand most of their language. Some big sewing project was happening between them, and he didn't understand anything about that either. Ethan felt a heavy weight on his chest; closing his eyes meant he saw the night's events over and over. He pondered as the comforting sound of the language cushioned him from darker emotions, allowing him to think.

Was it his fault? Should they not have taunted Miranda? He didn't blame Karl now, for the man's earlier hesitancy toward her. The fear stricken look he'd given when she approached him during Eva's ceremony. But a tiny voice whispered in Ethan's head that it was better this way....Mia was better off not existing, than existing in a prison.

Hadn't she always, though? A self-imposed prison, but a prison nonetheless.

He could not deny that often, Mia seemed unhappy. As if she were playing domestic, not actually being domestic. She was jealous when he trained with Chris, annoyed when he brought up time at the shooting range, or his self defense classes. Mia may have never wanted the life that they had together, and may not have known how to break that to him, he realized. She'd probably even tried, and he'd argued over her.

Considering all of this brought up a well of emotion he could not confront. Ethan had finally understood months ago, when he tossed away their wedding rings, that the betrayal was too much, her lies were too much. He had intended to move forward as a single father. He had still envisioned them speaking , though. Raising Rose as co-parents. Making mutual decisions for her care. Maybe one day, years from now when the hurt went away....talking it over. Seeing how love had made them blind to their issues. Making peace.

Now he saw the futility, even the wild ridiculousness of that idea. The world he'd existed in before seemed like the dream-not this world. This world made sense with all its strangeness and ever-present mystery, while the other world was no more real than the shows that the girls were eager to show Donna. Some fantasy, where two normal humans did normal human things like raising a daughter after divorce. He had traded one fantasy for another, had moved from one denial of truth to another.

When it came time to prepare food, he finally had time alone to shower and get dressed while the others contemplated a feast. Food healed–Maricara was adamant, and Ethan didn't dare argue. Donna promised to return after she too got dressed and ready for the day, and Ethan plodded rather pathetically into the large bathroom.

Water didn't warm him, being clean didn't perk him up. Fresh clothes meant nothing. Brushing his teeth was a chore. Ethan did a double-take in the mirror; had his reflection....moved? Had it been looking at him? Were his eyes black again? With a shaky hand, he put the toothbrush back in its place and stared at the mirror. Normal. Nothing off. Maybe he'd imagined it.

Just to be sure, Ethan blinked to a place he no longer had reason to linger in–the liminal space, the thin veil between the Mold's catalogued world, and the real world. The place where he'd first met Eva, and likely the place he visited in his dreams.

The room around him was glitchy, full of bloom, saturated in unnatural golden light. Everything blurred. But there in the mirror he stood, looking....different. Hollow. Dead? The reflection did move, tilting its head at him. What was he seeing?