[ Is this how she thought it would be when she finally found me again? Why does it feel as though every time we find each other, one of us ends up disappointed? I know she's been disappointed too many times because of me. Will I ever stop disappointing her?
As he waits for something, anything, from her side of the door, his thoughts begin to run away from him, running towards the doubt that's always lurking in his mind. He knows that he loves her and he always will, even if he never finds his way home again. He doesn't regret anything that's happened between them, and neither does he regret writing them back into the story. Taking them out was a mistake, and he didn't even have to think twice about paying the price to put them back in. It's a price he'd pay again if he had to, without question. He can't know what thoughts are running through Jesse's head, but if he had to move on without her and Polaris, his reason for continuing to push forward would be gone.
Oh, he'd try to keep going, because darkness shouldn't touch their reality more than it already has, but without Jesse and Polaris, what would be the point of it all? He could keep going knowing that Alice had passed on, but if he lost Jesse too, there would be no continuing on for him. Sooner or later, the darkness would catch him, and he'd just give up.
I can't put that kind of pressure on her, but I need to know that they're both there if I'm going to keep fighting. I need them to keep fighting.
He thinks he hears a rustling sound, but it could just be inside his head. Jesse might be on the other side of that door, but who knows how many miles separate those doors? Can the distance between realities be measured in miles? Again he waits, holding his breath, waiting and watching and hoping to just get one more message from her. Each time could be the last time, and then... and then who knows when he'll see her again?
Desperation causes him to push his fingers beneath the door, ignoring the way they protest because his hand is too big to really fit. He's not just reaching for a reply from her; he's reaching for her, to feel her, to touch her even if it's only for a second. Sometimes if he closes his eyes and really thinks, he can feel her hands sliding onto his shoulders, but when he opens his eyes again, the feeling disappears and the image of her that he has in his head fades as well.
He can't hear her hitting the door or feel her fingers pushing the note back to him. Maybe the distance is greater than he thought. Maybe there's no physically crossing that distance.
I miss you, Jesse. I wish... I wish more than anything that I could see you. That I could come home and stay with you.
The note slides through to his side of the door, and he reaches for it and unfolds it. His heart seems to stop and his breath catches in his throat. He knows this page, he's seen it and held it and he remembers writing it. He remembers why he wrote it and what it means to Jesse: how much it means to her.
The pencil is immediately in his hand and he writes a single word, followed up by another sentence. ]
why?
No, I know why, but- if I keep this, I'll only lose it. The story won't let me keep it.
Jesse...
[ The letters of her name are pressed heavily into the paper as though Alan leaned all his weight into writing them.
Seeing the manuscript page made him forget what he was going to tell her, about the terrible revelation that he learned and the equally terrible truth about Alice's death. It's still there in the back of his mind, but it's not what he's thinking about.
He moves to push the page with his response under the door, and that's when something unexpected happens. The door creaks- it's never creaked before, and Alan's heart jumps right back into his throat. He slowly, tentatively reaches out with his hand and gives it a small push. It moves, and a sliver of light spills out into the darkened room. It barely cuts through the darkness, because there's so much of it, but Alan's eyes fixate on that sliver.
He slides forward on his knees until he's closer to the door, the paper with his reply still clenched in his hand. This is impossible, but the door's never done this before. I have to try.
With a voice that's hoarse and containing a note of something else like grief, Alan tries speaking through the crack in the door. ]
Jesse. Jesse, can you hear me?
[ Please, I hope she can hear me. I need her to hear me. ]
no subject
As he waits for something, anything, from her side of the door, his thoughts begin to run away from him, running towards the doubt that's always lurking in his mind. He knows that he loves her and he always will, even if he never finds his way home again. He doesn't regret anything that's happened between them, and neither does he regret writing them back into the story. Taking them out was a mistake, and he didn't even have to think twice about paying the price to put them back in. It's a price he'd pay again if he had to, without question. He can't know what thoughts are running through Jesse's head, but if he had to move on without her and Polaris, his reason for continuing to push forward would be gone.
Oh, he'd try to keep going, because darkness shouldn't touch their reality more than it already has, but without Jesse and Polaris, what would be the point of it all? He could keep going knowing that Alice had passed on, but if he lost Jesse too, there would be no continuing on for him. Sooner or later, the darkness would catch him, and he'd just give up.
I can't put that kind of pressure on her, but I need to know that they're both there if I'm going to keep fighting. I need them to keep fighting.
He thinks he hears a rustling sound, but it could just be inside his head. Jesse might be on the other side of that door, but who knows how many miles separate those doors? Can the distance between realities be measured in miles? Again he waits, holding his breath, waiting and watching and hoping to just get one more message from her. Each time could be the last time, and then... and then who knows when he'll see her again?
Desperation causes him to push his fingers beneath the door, ignoring the way they protest because his hand is too big to really fit. He's not just reaching for a reply from her; he's reaching for her, to feel her, to touch her even if it's only for a second. Sometimes if he closes his eyes and really thinks, he can feel her hands sliding onto his shoulders, but when he opens his eyes again, the feeling disappears and the image of her that he has in his head fades as well.
He can't hear her hitting the door or feel her fingers pushing the note back to him. Maybe the distance is greater than he thought. Maybe there's no physically crossing that distance.
I miss you, Jesse. I wish... I wish more than anything that I could see you. That I could come home and stay with you.
The note slides through to his side of the door, and he reaches for it and unfolds it. His heart seems to stop and his breath catches in his throat. He knows this page, he's seen it and held it and he remembers writing it. He remembers why he wrote it and what it means to Jesse: how much it means to her.
The pencil is immediately in his hand and he writes a single word, followed up by another sentence. ]
why?
No, I know why, but- if I keep this, I'll only lose it. The story won't let me keep it.
Jesse...
[ The letters of her name are pressed heavily into the paper as though Alan leaned all his weight into writing them.
Seeing the manuscript page made him forget what he was going to tell her, about the terrible revelation that he learned and the equally terrible truth about Alice's death. It's still there in the back of his mind, but it's not what he's thinking about.
He moves to push the page with his response under the door, and that's when something unexpected happens. The door creaks- it's never creaked before, and Alan's heart jumps right back into his throat. He slowly, tentatively reaches out with his hand and gives it a small push. It moves, and a sliver of light spills out into the darkened room. It barely cuts through the darkness, because there's so much of it, but Alan's eyes fixate on that sliver.
He slides forward on his knees until he's closer to the door, the paper with his reply still clenched in his hand. This is impossible, but the door's never done this before. I have to try.
With a voice that's hoarse and containing a note of something else like grief, Alan tries speaking through the crack in the door. ]
Jesse. Jesse, can you hear me?
[ Please, I hope she can hear me. I need her to hear me. ]