“Well then!” The host clapped her hands together. “Ghost or not, I think it’s time to get this party started. Nour, I’ll give you a few minutes to say goodbye, give your last words. Okay, sweetheart?”
With that, Nour turned to Kefilwe. “Kefilwe, there are no words to express how sorry I am.”
Kefilwe stood up, for the first time towering over Nour, who was still seated. “I don’t want you to be sorry,” she cried. “I just don’t understand. Why did you do this? I don’t… Just, why? I thought we were going to get out of here, together.”
Devorah drew in a breath of air between her teeth. Promising to get out together? That never ended well. That was the heaviest death flag you could raise in the Champions’ League. She would know- Devorah had once promised to introduce Anna to her family. Mistake!
Nour sighed, and stood up. They raised their hands and pulled off the long bird mask that was emblematic of the plague doctor costume. With the mask on, Nour had almost seemed inhuman to Devorah. A statue or figure more than a person. It hid whatever little movements Nour could make, and it successfully hid their face from everyone.
Without it, Nour was just a person in funny-looking robes. The majestic figure that they had cut walking into rooms and looming over others was gone. Left behind was a person with tired eyes. Nour had brown skin and a long, arched nose that was vaguely reminiscent of the mask they had worn.
When Nour moved their head just so, and the lights of the candles shone particularly brightly, they were lovely. And so, so hurt. From the tears welling in their eyes to the now visible, countless scars that decorated their skin, Nour seemed so much more touchable.
They held out their arms, and Kefilwe pushed forward, embracing them. The rest of the cast watched, silent, until Lupe cleared her throat. “You two only have a few minutes. It would be best to make it count. I’m sorry.”
Kefilwe nodded into Nour’s shoulder. She sniffed. Nour removed one of their gloves with their teeth, then wiped a tear from Kefilwe’s cheek with their bare hand. Kefilwe leaned into it with a shaky sigh.
A few of those in the room looked away. Clearly, they felt like they were intruding. But as a historian and a ghost, Devorah honestly didn’t care to fake humility or modesty. She wanted to watch.
Eventually, Kefilwe spoke again. “Why did you do it? Why did you kill Mathilde? And even accuse me?” She didn’t seem angry, based on the way she still clung to Nour. That, or anger wasn’t her current prevailing emotion.
Nour closed their eyes and buried their face in Kefilwe’s hair. “I did not want to hurt Mathilde. It was never about Mathilde. Kefilwe, she… She was very sick and very contagious. I had to protect you.”
“She wasn’t going to hurt me!” Kefilwe said, leaning back.
“She slept next to you for weeks!” Nour snapped. “Shared from your table, embraced you… The entire time, Mathilde knew she was sick with a disease that has no cure. I don’t know if I truly believe such a thing to be a reflection of her soul, but to risk your own soul? Your body? To have been betrayed by one I cared for in such a way… There was no other choice. Can’t you see, Kefilwe?” Nour pleaded. “There was no other way.”
“There is always another way,” Lupe interjected. “Thank you for trying to protect Kefilwe- and protect all of us. But there was always another way. Quarantine, for one.”
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Along with something Lupe didn’t say- leprosy was curable in the 3000’s. Even the damage it did to nerves and skin, that too could be reversed thanks to modern stem cell research and regenerative creams. It was the same with Georgie’s tuberculosis. If they really had been in here for months, by Devorah’s guess, at least one other person in here should have caught it. It didn’t seem like anyone had.
It was likely that when they were taken, from wherever they were taken, the members of this cast were vaccinated against many diseases, if they hadn't been in their own times.
The makers of the game hadn’t cured Georgie’s tuberculosis, or Mathilde’s leprosy. Even Xiao Li, if she was wealthy enough, could have been given a new arm that was a perfect genetic match, regrown from her own cells. But they could have. That wouldn’t have been dramatic though. It seemed that the Champions’ League had gotten exactly what they wanted. Mathilde and Nour had fallen right into their trap.
Lupe had to have known this too. She was compassionate, not to tell them about the cure.
“Lupe, it’s too late now to think about other ways. There’s always another path that’s more obvious when we look from behind.” Xoco said. Then she smiled gently at Nour. “Thank you for your kindness and wisdom. I will miss you, but thank you for giving your life for our safety.”
Georgie burst out crying. “Thank you for trying to help me!” Gabe put his hand on Georgie’s shoulder, and lowered his hat so that it covered his eyes.
“Thank you for helping to stabilize me after Brad threw me into a wall,” Faith said in a rather resigned manner.
“Thank you, Nour, for being such a good teatime companion,” Budi said with a watery smile.
“We’ll miss you, Nour.” Anna said.
At that, Nour’s proud face crumpled, and they pushed their head into the junction between Kefilwe’s neck and shoulder. Kefilwe put their arms back around Nour and squeezed, tight.
“Kefilwe, I-” Nour started, then was interrupted by the doll clapping just once.
“Alright, time’s up! Kefilwe, you might want to take a step back.”
Kefilwe reached up and cupped Nour’s cheek. They closed their eyes, leaning into the soft gesture. “I’ll stay,” she whispered.
“Your choice!” The doll chirped. “Now, in three… Two… One!”
There was no loud bang. No burst of blood, no writhing and gurgling. In one second, Nour was alive. Eyes closed, yes, but aware and breathing as they soaked up what last bit they could of their life. And just a second later, they collapsed, like a marionette with its strings cut. Kefilwe was strong enough to support Nour’s body, and so there they stood for a few more seconds. Together.
“Nour,” Kefilwe cried. “Are you still there? Can you hear me?” She lightly shook the body in her arms.
“Kefilwe-” Brad said, clearly intending to provide some sort of comfort though he, too, was crying.
She cut him off, likely not even hearing him. “Nour? Please. It can’t end like this. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone.”
The doll approached Kefilwe, arms outstretched. Its back was facing Devorah. “I know it’s hard,” she said in a very low voice, so low it was softer than even a whisper. “But you have to let go. I have to take them now.”
“Just a little longer?” Kefilwe begged.
“I can’t.” The doll moved its arms around Nour’s waist. “Please don’t make this difficult, Kefilwe. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Kefilwe looked as if she wanted to protest, but whatever was on the doll’s face, it stopped her. She let the doll take Nour into her arms, and lift them over her shoulder.
Kefilwe stood there, arms up, for another moment before she dropped them without a word. Both Brad and Georgie had moved to embrace her, but it seemed like she barely noticed.
The doll exited the room, and no one attempted to follow it. Devorah was curious, honestly. Where was it going? What did it even do with the bodies? Had Mathilde already been recovered, too?
But Devorah came to realize she had more pressing matters to be concerned with. Some people were staying behind to comfort Kefilwe, or to talk amongst themselves, but other members of the cast were beginning to leave.
Anna was going to leave her.
The unfairness of it all hit her like a brick. She had been able to be with Anna, even if just for a brief moment, but she had barely been able to pay attention to her. Watch her move, hear her talk. What a privilege it had been, just to be seen. To have been her confidant and to have been sought out and known and cared for…
But that was it. The people she had been bound to were loitering in this hell, and Anna and the women she chose to replace Devorah with were gathering their things and planning next steps and walking away-
No. Not walking away. No!
“Anna, please don’t leave me,” Devorah said. “I’m here. I’m here!”
She had disappeared down the hall.
How lucky Devorah was that she couldn’t cry, not really. But it just felt like another small betrayal when her knees hit the hardwood floor and it made no sound.