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Jack Vessalius first met Lacie Baskerville when he was fourteen.
She appeared out of nowhere on the city streets, thin and pale and dressed in a hospital gown, her black hair hanging past her shoulders and her eyes beautifully, brilliantly red, and at the time Jack could not have given less of a shit.
It was cold out, and the girl looked as though a particularly strong gust of wind might blow her over, and yet she still seemed more alive than anyone else Jack had ever met. She laughingly introduced herself as Lacie, and pulled him around town all day, spoiling him with small treats and new clothes and a fresh haircut, her fingers icy against the back of his neck in the first human touch he’d had in years.
Lacie told him to live—to do whatever it took, to steal and rage against the world and give all that he was away so that he would not die, and Jack looked at her and thought: You are life. You are my life.
He had known her for three hours at that point.
When the sun had set—early in the winter afternoon—Lacie pulled Jack up the stairs of a skyscraper, filled with offices that were filled with people with lives Jack had used to envy for their ease, though now he realized that his held a joy theirs never would: he, after all, had been chosen by Lacie. The otherworldly girl took him to the roof, and there they sat, staring at the stars and the moon, the night sky clear despite the earlier snow.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Jack?” Lacie asked, pressed up against him, her head on his shoulder. “This whole world—this whole terrible, lovely world.”
Jack looked at Lacie—her brilliant eyes, her translucent skin, the pure life in her every movement. “It is,” he agreed, and at that moment—at that second—Lacie became his world, his whole entire world.
“You’re a Vessalius, aren’t you, Jack?” Lacie asked.
“...That’s what my mother said,” he said.
“You’re an affair baby?” Lacie said.
He nodded. “Mother believed he’d come back for me…for a time, but.” Jack shook his head.
“Why not seek them out? Force them to acknowledge your existence. You have two older brothers, you know, and the younger one is quite nice. He’s in school to become an ob-gyn, because he absolutely adores babies, and he interns at the hospital on Fifth Street on weekends. Oscar Vessalius. Why don’t you seek him out? I’m sure he’d be ecstatic to be an older brother.”
“You seem to know him well.” Jack suddenly realized that he was jealous of the brother he had not known existed until this very moment.
“I mean, yeah,” said Lacie. “I’ve got cancer. Terminal, they say. I practically live in the hospital at this point.”
At Jack’s shocked look, Lacie laughed, standing up, pulling off the black hair that Jack only then realized was a wig, and spinning around on the rooftop, her hospital gown doing its best to flare around her.
“You look shocked. Life is so short, Jack! Short—and beautiful—and precious. That’s why you must do your best to preserve yours—just like I’m doing my best for mine.” She laughed again. “Come see me again before I die, Jack! I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Lacie…”
She leaned over him, pulling a teardrop earring out of her ear and pressing it into his hand. “If it’s what you truly desire,” she said, “then you can make it happen. You are the only one with the power to make your wishes come true, Jack, so don’t waste it.”
And then—quick as a wink—Lacie vanished into the stairwell, and by the time Jack got the door open after her she was gone.
He went to the hospital on Fifth, and found that since he did not know Lacie’s last name, he was not able to visit her. He left, and cleaned himself up, and returned on a weekend asking after Oscar Vessalius. Lacie had been right about him being excited to be a brother: the young man was annoyingly enthusiastic, though it was a breeze for Jack to match it, and after a few days of pretending to be interested in Oscar’s life, Jack had learned that Lacie’s full name was Lacie Baskerville, and then a few hours later that only Baskervilles were allowed up to see her, due to her ticking off a serial killer once and very nearly getting murdered in her bed.
So Jack would need to find another way.
Oscar officially got him in contact with their father, and one DNA test later Jack was taken in by the Vessalius family to avoid a scandal, and very quickly learned that Oscar Vessalius was the only warm and friendly member of that family. The oldest son, Xai, hated Jack on principle, and the wife hated Jack for being an affair baby, and the father hated Jack for being evidence of one of his many, many affairs.
Oscar loved Jack for being a little brother, and, since this love made him most useful for Jack’s purposes, he faked it right back at him. Oscar Vessalius was so pathetic, so desperate for love and a family that it made Jack’s stomach turn. But it made him a very useful tool for Jack, despite the fact that he and Lacie only really knew each other in passing and thus would not be very helpful in getting Jack reunited with her.
But Jack had other avenues open to him, now that he had the Vessalius name and money behind him. He had already made sure that he had quite a fat bank account—enough to live comfortably all his life even if he was somehow disowned now—and it was growing every day, both with the cushy job his paternal bloodline had landed him and Oscar’s habit of giving his new favorite brother gifts that pawn shops swooned over.
Jack didn’t sell all of them, of course—whenever Oscar saw Jack using his gifts he got even more stupidly attached—but he sold enough to make a pretty penny, and as the next few years passed, and Jack made more and more connections, he grew closer to his goal of seeing Lacie again, hoping to Lacie herself that she wouldn’t die before then.
It was only once he made Miranda Barma that he drew really close.
“Oh, Lacie Baskerville ?” she said. “Oh yes, I know her. Her brother’s a hot piece of ass.”
“Well,” Jack said cheerfully, “I’ve never met her brother. Also, I’m straight, but only for Lacie.”
“Are you gay for other people? Oswald looks like Lacie, but hotter.”
“I’m only gay for Lacie, too,” said Jack. “I’ve never loved anyone else, and I never will.”
This was a lie, though Jack was unaware of it: he did not love Lacie, either. He merely wanted to possess her. She was the sun his world orbited around, and though he had no desire to control her and wanted only to be by her side, he had already done damnable things to get there with no remorse. There was nothing in particular he wanted her to do or be, other than allow him to exist in her vicinity. Lacie was beautiful, Lacie was brilliant, Lacie was his goddess, and Jack could not live without Lacie. After all, it was through her that he had begun to live, and for her he was living still. He could not have cared less about her own thoughts, personality, and desires. He would learn that in time, he was sure—for now, it did not matter. All that mattered was that he found her.
After all, he was certain that when he met her again he could shape himself into whatever he pleased, if his default personality wasn’t good enough for her.
Miranda, who had professed herself deeply in love with Oswald in general and his bone structure in particular, was far more helpful in reuniting Jack with Lacie than Oscar was. After all, she ran in similar social circles to the Baskervilles, and after only a few short months (and a tiny little promise to assist Miranda in Oswald’s eventual decapitation) Jack, now seventeen, ended up at a party that Lacie Baskerville would also be attending.
He hid his face and allowed a confident smirk to rest there for a moment. He would see Lacie again soon—soon, Jack Vessalius would truly be able to live.