Chapter 30: Moonrise

Alexander stood on the second rail of the Observation Walk.

It was only eight at night, but it still felt like the hour of the wolf. That hour from three to four in the morning when every doubt and mistake ever made comes back to haunt, when you see all those chances to turn back that you didn't take, all those opportunities you let slip by, forever irretrievable. When you look down into that deep and dark well and know that you can throw the whole damn world in and it would barely make a splash.

Adrian had gone, Alexander didn't know where, and he hardly cared. Why had he expected anything else? What sort of monumental self delusion had caused him to think that this was a problem that could be solved?

Earlier, Alexander had been going through the night of the wolf, with sips of Comfort now and then to keep the wolf at bay. It hadn't worked. It never would. He knew now that the wolf was insatiable, and at the moment the wolf was very, very hungry.

The Neptune River churned below, the only sound he could hear apart from his own racing heart.

Miranda laced up her shoes as tightly as she could, but her fingers were shaking too much for her to get them tight. She bit the inside of her lip, hard, and managed to tie a good knot.

The thing had came together, at last, once she had found out from Alexandria that her brother had been taking the brews for a while. The missing piece.

As long as there's life, there's hope, the woman had said, in Adrian's tape, so long ago. If there's life, then there's hope. But that implied a terrible logical necessity: if there's no hope, there's no life. And Alexander had been without hope for a while, for too long.

She had done her best to give it to him. But the best idea she had turned out to be a path long discarded, a path that lead to no where. She didn't know what she could offer Alexander anymore.

But she intended to find out.

Alexandria's feet hit the ground in a relentless pace. Grove Cemetery rushed by. It had been a place of comfort, a place of safety. A place where she could drink in the cool air and the morning sun like wine, and remind her that she was still alive and fresh. But in every tomb, she imagined the man from the lighthouse, abandoned, forgotten, and each man had Alexander's face.

She had once felt that she didn't care how people died, she could respect and care for their bodies equally. It wasn't true. If Alexander just gave up like this, she couldn't handle it, she didn't know what she would do.

Cliffside Library loomed into view, blocking out the pale stars in the back. She leapt onto the Observation Walk, and saw her brother, feet on the second railing, hands on the third rail. She threw her arms around him, and pulled him to the ground, hard.

She gasped, her side feeling like it was about to split open. “Are you okay?” she managed to say. As soon as she did, she wanted to hit herself. Of course he wasn't okay.

Alexander did not respond, but just shook in her arms.

“You scared me,” she said. “Damn it, Al, what were you thinking? How could you think of doing this to your friends, your family, to me?”

Alexander stopped shaking. “Self centered to the end, Lex.” His voice was low and cold. It frightened her, and she felt Alexander pull away. Alexandria put her back to the railing, intending to grab him again if he made a move for it.

But Alexander did no such thing. He just stood in the shadows, hidden, more or less, from Alexandria's sight.

“How could I do this to you? Did you ever stop to consider what I was doing to myself? You didn't. Because there's no room for anyone in your story but you.” His voice softened. “And that's okay, Lex. I don't mind anymore.”

Alexandria couldn't say anything. She was still breathing too hard. But she inwardly, she was cursing herself for saying what she said. She was trying desperately to think of the right thing to say, the right thing to do, but she couldn't come up with anything.

“At this moment, perhaps, you're trying to think of what you can say to change my mind,” Alexander said. “But it's all mapped out. I've read those sort of stories, I've seen those sort of programs. I've heard it all before.”

“It will hurt you terribly. Well, people avoid doing those sort of things that hurt because we hate feeling guilt, we hate feeling bad. And if I'm dead, I can hardly feel anything at all, can I? No, Lex, that one won't work.”

“But there's so much to live for,” he continued. “So much. But it doesn't last forever, does it? Where there's life, there's hope. Miranda used to say that. Hope for what? The next pleasure, the next piece of entertainment? It's all just a jolt, all just a temporary chemical surge in the brain, that's here one moment, gone the next.”

“For your own story, then,” Alexandria said. “Is this the way you wanted it to end? Is this the kind of death you read about, or dreamed about? What sort of story will this make?”

Her brother paused at that. “Does it matter?” he said, softly. “I won't be there to see my story.”

“Others will be,” she said.

“Back to yourself, again.” He chuckled. “But let me consider it.”

“That man in the lighthouse,” he said. “What was his story? Do you think he thought about that, before the end? Do you think he thought about what sort of impact he would leave? That didn't work out well for him, did it. We can't even decide amongst ourselves what he felt like, why he did what he did. Because we don't care about what he felt, what he was thinking. You said it was a depression because of the brews. Did you ever stop to think what he actually thought? Or did you just use his death as a way to put forth your own desires?”

“No, Lex, it doesn't matter to other people what I do. They'll think what they want to regardless, in the end.”

“Why haven't you done it, then?” Tears streamed down her face; the question came out raw.

“You're standing in front of me,” Alexander said. “And you're much faster and stronger than I am.”

Her voice broke. “That's the only reason?” she whispered. That couldn't be it. He had been standing there for at least some time, she had seen him from a bit of a distance, there had to be something that was holding him back. “That can't be the only reason. You would have done it by now.”

Even though her brother's face was in darkness, she saw something in that iron cold mask of his break slightly. His mouth twitched; his eyes blinked a couple times, rapidly. And then he steadied himself.

They heard the sound of footsteps, fast from around the corner. As Miranda raced around the Cliffside Library toward them, Alexander held out his hand into the light to stop her. She did, an astonished look on her face as she took in the surroundings.

“I know, Al,” Miranda said. “I understand. It's okay.”

Alexander cocked his head to one side. “Do you? You haven't before. You've been mistaken this entire time. What do you know now that you didn't before?”

“You're sad,” she said. Alexander chuckled, but she went on as best she could. “You're sad because you can't see any genuine pleasure in life, anymore. You have tried...” she closed her eyes, and did her best to remember. “You have loved, Al. And you have tried your best to live the good life. And you found out that it can't be done. You found out that any sort of happiness doesn't last, that it will all be washed away, in time.”

“Yes,” he said, simply.

“But that doesn't matter. If you really thought that, if that was all this was about... you'd be happy, now. Because you would know that you're just going to sleep after a very long and very tiring day.”

“No more wolves,” she said, and reached out her arm. “No more doubts and despair. If you really felt that this was soon to be the end, you would be happy.”

“But you're not.” Alexander had not moved, and Miranda laid her hand gently upon his arm. She continued. “You're still not happy. Because you still believe there's some way out, there's some path, there's some escape you haven't tried yet. And you want it so, so badly. You just can't see what it is.”

“I told my sister,” Alexander said, “I've heard it all before. I've explained to her why all those stories, why all those arguments aren't true. They've been said before, they're not new. Would you like me to explain it to you, too?” The words were confident, but his voice shook even as he said it.

“No,” Miranda said, softly. “Because I don't believe it. Just because you can't think of it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. You think you have every story, every argument, everything all perfectly mapped out. But you don't. There are moves untried; there are paths not taken.”

“And you know this,” she said. “That's why you're not happy right now. That's why you're not at peace. You just want to hear one.”

“Yes,” Alexander whispered. “Yes, I do.”

“Look,” Alexandria said.

Far in the distance, far beyond the rushing anger of the Neptune River, far beyond the barren expanse of the Great Wyoming Plains, the stars were blocked from the horizon by a black shadowy ridge. And on one of the peaks of that black ridge, there was a lone star. It was slowly, ever so slowly, blinking. Going on, and going off. It was the lighthouse, still spinning.

“I don't know what those paths are,” Miranda said, softly. She felt Alexander's muscles clench, and him start to shake under her hand. “I'm not that wise.”

She pulled Alexander close to her, and embraced him as tightly as she could. “But you should never stop searching for them.”

Miranda felt Alexandria join their embrace, and together they knelt down, holding Alexander together as he shook and sobbed.

In time, they got up, and broke apart.

“You alright?” Alexandria asked.

Alexander nodded. “Yeah, I'm alright. I'm not happy, but I'm alright.”

“You don't need to be,” Alexandria said. She took a deep breath. “Happiness is over rated, anyway.”

She took a deep breath, and held her brother's hand tightly. “Let's go home.”

As the trio walked away, Alexandria thought she saw a shadowy figure, from the grove of trees beyond the library move away. But when she shook her head to clear her eyes of tears, she couldn't see anything.

The three of them walked together, arms around each other, back towards the twins' apartment. The slim crescent moon had risen in front of them, slight and faint, but barely visible. And as they walked, the lighthouse spun on behind them.

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