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Evangeline didn't know how to feel.
Relief? That her home, the city she loved, stood after all this time? Sorrow? At the crumbling bricks and faded paintwork of the casinos she held dear? Or fear? That the man she had spent the past six weeks travelling with, who taught her everything she knew about this world, was gone? Forbidden from entering the new, imposing gates that surrounded the Vegas Strip by her father's Securitron guards.
She should feel relieved, no? She would no longer have to suffer his cruel methods of "teaching". There would be no more fear. No more pain. No more sleeping outside, being awoken to raiders and geckos. No more drinking that bitter whiskey instead of water. She could return to her comfy bed, warm bath, and hot food. And...her family? Somehow, Mr. House, her father, was still alive after the supposed 200 years that had passed. He had communicated with her on her Pip Boy, inviting her to return home. And what of her husband, Victor? He was supposed to be in the family vault cryopods with her. What if he was safe this entire time, waiting for her return? Or what if the subject of her most recent nightmares was true?
When Evangeline first met Alex, she assumed he was just another veteran who was refused healthcare from the US government, and had developed mental health problems as such. His past was a mystery, but his faded black military uniform intrigued her. She couldn't believe 200 years had passed, and had only agreed with this statement to humour him, and not provoke his anger. Though the more once-familiar settlements they passed through, the more she began to accept that he might have been speaking the truth. When they arrived in Freeside, all of her suspicions quickly faded away. The sight of the dilapidated buildings, covered in flags of groups she did not know, all but confirmed that.
Taking a deep breath, Evangeline waited patiently as the doors to the Lucky 38 opened with a deafening screech. How long had it been since these doors had opened? Surely her father would step outside now and then? He must still live here, or else he wouldn't have invited her in.
It took every ounce of her willpower to suppress the emotions threatening to overwhelm her as she stepped into the lobby. A thick layer of dust hung in the air, mingling with the bittersweet scents of tobacco and aged whiskey that once thrived within these walls. The lobby, once a spirited symphony of laughter, now lay eerily silent.
Where there should have been the clinking of glasses and the lively chatter of patrons discussing the current news over a perfectly crafted Sidecar or a robust Old Fashioned, there was only stillness. The air, once electrified by the shouts of triumphant gamblers celebrating large wins, had been replaced by an unsettling quiet, punctuated only by the soft, mechanical hum of electricity and the occasional distant chime of a slot machine. Why was this place closed? All the other casinos seemed to still be open.
After pausing for a brief moment to contemplate the journey ahead, Evangeline felt a surge of renewed purpose. She steadied herself and walked toward the elevator, its metal surface slightly corroded and bearing the marks of time. A woman of high standards, Evangeline had always prided herself on her appearance, a trait honed in the polished halls of Hollywood. Yet, her recent travels had stripped her of that luxury. The absence of a mirror had left her unaware of how she looked.
She could feel the gritty residue of dirt caked onto her skin, while the tangled strands of her hair were stiff with dried blood, a haunting mark of her experiences along the way. This dishevelled state was certainly not how she envisioned greeting her family when she arrived. She imagined her father, with his warm smile, her husband’s protective embrace, and the soft, welcoming presence of her stepmother, Jane. All she wanted was to be enveloped in their arms, to feel their love and support after the harsh journey she had faced.
As she approached the elevator, a flutter of anxiety mixed with hope filled her chest. Were they waiting for her just beyond those doors, ready to whisk her into their loving embrace? Or perhaps they were preoccupied with other matters. A nagging idea crept into her mind, one she quickly attempted to banish from her thoughts. The possibilities swirled around her like the dirt that clung to her clothes. As the elevator doors slid open, she drew in a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever awaited her on the other side.
The elevator jolted upward with a groan reminiscent of the ageing front door, causing her to draw in a sharp breath, a small gasp escaping her lips in response to the sudden jolt. Each second seemed to stretch painfully as the ascent dragged on, amplifying her dread and the weight of her fatigue. When the metallic doors finally hissed open, revealing the familiar space beyond, a wave of emotion crashed over her, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Everything stood precisely as she had left it, untouched by time, and the sight stirred a bittersweet ache within her.
Bathed in the warm light of the setting sun, she finally felt a sense of safety enveloping her, allowing tears to roll down her cheeks. Each drop seemed to release the weight of all she had endured, as if the nightmares of the past weeks were slowly fading into echoes of a distant bad dream.
On the sturdy oak table by the door, several unopened letters lay scattered, their crisp envelopes emblazoned with her name, waiting for her attention. Next to them, her car keys glimmered faintly, a reminder of the freedom that now felt so distant. A half-full bottle of Nuka Cola stood nearby, its label catching her eye.
Without hesitation, she reached for the bottle, feeling its coolness against her skin. She lifted it to her lips and drank hastily, the liquid rushing down her throat, momentarily distracting her from the unrest within. The sweet taste was familiar and comforting, a small oasis in a world that had felt so chaotic for far too long.
She recalled the moment she opened that bottle. Victor stood framed in the doorway of their bedroom, a vision of rugged elegance. Sunlight poured in, casting a warm glow around him, highlighting the sharp contours of his jaw and the tousled waves of his hair. Clutched in his hands was his hat, a familiar accessory that made him even more captivating. He looked breathtaking in that early light, as though he were carved from the very essence of dawn itself. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, greeting her with his gravelly voice. She drank half of the drink before walking over to kiss him. Everything felt so normal in that moment. Neither of them could've expected what was to happen in a few hours.
She pulled herself from the depths of her memories, her gaze dropping to the empty glass bottle cradled in her hands. The dim light caught the surface, illustrating cracks and dust that had settled over the years. As she twisted the bottle, studying the faded label, once vibrant but now nearly illegible, a chilling realisation washed over her. This room was untouched for over 200 years. The absence of life within these walls meant that no one, not even her husband, had entered in all that time. The weight of this truth pressed heavily on her heart, making her shudder at the thought that he had likely met his end in the devastating blaze of nuclear fire long ago. After six weeks of mourning, she was not unfamiliar with the situation. Rather, this information served as a confirmation of the difficult reality she was facing. Despite this awareness, her tears continued to flow.
Evangeline found it deeply unsettling to be enveloped by such opulence once more. The crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, while the lavish gold-plated furniture gleamed as if mocking her. A wave of nausea washed over her, a stark reminder that she had not always been ensconced in such extravagant luxury.
Growing up, Evangeline had known poverty all too well. Her very existence was a carefully guarded secret from her father. It had been just her and her mother, Maria, in a small, cramped apartment that often felt more like a prison than a home. Maria, with her unwavering determination, had taken on the weight of the world, believing she could bear the burdens of both their lives. She never once wanted to reach out to her old love, Robert, for help. Her fierce spirit and resilience were admirable, but they led to her downfall.
The haunting memory of that fateful day still lingered in Evangeline's mind. She could vividly recall running home from school, her heart racing with the excitement of passing an exam, only to be met with the chilling sight of her mother collapsed on the floor. The world around her had frozen in that moment, the laughter of her friends outside fading into silence as the stark reality of loss descended upon her.
It seemed that was all her life was destined to be. Loss.
Evangeline stood in the dim hallway as she tried to gauge how long she had remained rooted in place. A heavy fog of uncertainty swirled in her mind, and she knew she needed to gather her scattered thoughts. The mere thought of confronting the sight of her marital bed, once a sanctuary of intimacy and warmth, filled her with dread. With a shaky breath, she turned away and headed towards the bathroom, seeking solace in its familiar walls.
As she entered the room, her gaze inadvertently fell on the opposing sink, cluttered with a slightly dishevelled collection of masculine grooming items: a well-used beard comb, a shiny tin of pomade, and a cologne bottle that still bore a hint of his scent. The sight was both endearing and painful. Shaking off the emotions that threatened to break her, she focused on her own sink, which stood more or less pristine in contrast. She had always been the tidier of the two.
She hastily reached for her toothbrush, the bristles feeling firm and welcoming against the filth that filled her mouth. A fleeting thought crossed her mind about the importance of oral hygiene, especially since she felt as if she had been chewing on sandpaper. With toothpaste applied generously, she started scrubbing her teeth, but as her eyes drifted up to meet her reflection in the mirror, a jolt of shock coursed through her. The face staring back at her was nearly unrecognisable.
Her skin was streaked with remnants of sand, gritty particles clinging to her cheeks like a testament to her strenuous journey, and there were splotches of dried blood. In her efforts to maintain some semblance of order, she had tried to run her fingers through her hair each morning, but all her attempts had proved futile. Her locks appeared wild and unkempt. Dark circles under her eyes hinted at the sleepless nights she had endured on her travels, each one stretching longer than the last, marked by anxiety and weariness. She could barely recognise the woman in the mirror.
She gently closed her eyes, her heart racing as she succumbed to the fleeting hope that she might awaken at any moment, as if this was all just a terrible nightmare. The darkness behind her eyelids enveloped her, providing a brief respite from the reality that seemed too horrifying to confront. But when she finally opened her eyes, a sharp gasp escaped her lips, a squeak of genuine fear, as she found a figure looming ominously right behind her. The man standing there was all too familiar, his presence sending a chill down her spine, igniting the unsettling memories and emotions she had tried so hard to suppress.
"A-Alex. How did you...?" Her voice trailed off, caught in a web of disbelief and confusion. She felt a knot tighten in her stomach, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around. Instead, she fixated on his reflection in the mirror, her gaze locked onto his piercing eyes that seemed to hold an entire universe of secrets.
"It doesn't matter how I got in here, right, Angel? What counts is that you're stuck all alone in this nightmare, totally unsure of what to do next. How does that make you feel?"
Evangeline scoffed. "How do you think I'm feeling? I go into a cryopod for a so-called 'test,' and I emerge 200 years later completely lost! I get dragged through this wasteland with you for a month, dealing with all of your cruelty for a chance to get home. All to discover that everything I loved is gone! That's how I'm feeling!"
Alex chuckled below his breath. "You're cute when you're angry. Anyway, how's that husband of yours? Victor was it? You were adamant he would be here, so where is he? Wanna let him know he's a lucky man-"
"Shut up!" she yelled, her voice ricocheting off the tiles with furious intensity. "I'm sorry, Alex, but for once, just stop talking!"
Alex's reflection froze, a mix of disbelief and amusement crossing his features. But the laughter that followed was mocking, infuriating her even more.
"You want me to shut up? Then make me shut up. You really think that I'm actually here in the flesh? Oh dear, you really have gone insane, haven't you, Angel? And you thought I was the one who was nuts?! Though I'm not surprised. Someone like you could never survive a place like this"
With that thought, the toothbrush slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor, forgotten as she leaned heavily against the edge of the sink. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Had she truly conjured him from the depths of her imagination?
She turned slowly, her heart racing as she scanned the room for any sign of him. The silence that met her was deafening, amplifying the emptiness that surrounded her. As she stood there, breathless and trembling, the truth settled heavily upon her. She was utterly alone, left to grapple with the stark reality of this world. She questioned her sanity as she struggled to catch her breath.
But why was it Alex? Why not Victor? Or even her father? It was perplexing that her mind kept drifting back to the man who had caused her so much pain over the past six weeks. The very thought of Alex stirred a flurry of emotions within her, leaving her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. How could her heart yearn for him more than for her own husband? The confusion was almost overwhelming. She should feel nothing but animosity toward him. After all, he had exploited her naivety and vulnerability, wielding them like weapons to inflict pain. Yet, as she reflected on his lessons, a strange clarity emerged. The more she pondered his harsh methods, the more they seemed to resonate within her mind.
It became clear to her why he didn’t simply offer her water. The precious resource was scarce in this barren desert. In a world where survival was a constant battle, he understood that being accustomed to living without such vital resources was a necessary tactic. It was a harsh reality, but one that made sense.
Likewise, his insistence on keeping her awake throughout the night was rooted in practicality. In an environment where danger lurked in the darkness, seeking comfort in sleep was not just unrealistic, it was a luxury that could cost her life. She could be picked off by raiders, taken by the Legion, or even eaten by local wildlife...or local people. Slowly, she began to rationalise his seemingly cruel methods, recognising the twisted logic behind his actions and the lessons they imparted.
Though his other teachings, if you could even call them that, still caused confusion in her mind. It troubled her that despite the confusion, she would occasionally seek out these teachings, almost yearning for them. Evangeline had only ever been with one man, Victor. The man she pledged her life to. The pair had both agreed to wait until marriage to even consider any activities like that. Yet she was willing to allow the man who, for all intents and purposes, was holding her hostage, to experience those intimate and sacred moments with her. She pondered their practicality in the wasteland, but felt her stomach tighten as those moments briefly flashed in her mind.
"Too late for that, Sugar. I gave you a choice: Stay with me or go running back home to your daddy and your definitely-not-dead husband. You chose the latter. You can kiss those moments goodbye." He leaned against the doorframe, almost like how Victor used to do every morning. He studied her face for a reaction until she huffed a simple,
"Good".
Before he could utter another word, Evangeline started to collect her belongings in preparation for a much-needed refreshing shower. She carefully reached for her fragrant coconut shampoo. Next, she picked up her assortment of soaps, unsure of which one she wanted to use. Finally, she grabbed her plush towel, its soft fibres inviting against her skin, embellished with her initials elegantly embroidered in shimmering gold thread.
Evangeline paused for a moment to test the shower water, joyfully exclaiming when the warmth hit her hands. She had to practically peel off her clothes, deciding they were too stained with blood, dirt, and knife marks to salvage. She discarded them on the floor as she hurried toward the shower.
The sensation of the warm water over her skin felt like a comforting embrace, a gentle blessing amid her turmoil. She pressed her back against the cool, smooth tiles, seeking solace in their solidity as tears streamed down her cheeks. Each droplet mingled with the water, as if the shower was washing away not just the dirt and grime, but also the weight of her sorrow. Memories swirled around her like a tempest in her mind, each one more vivid than the last, making it nearly impossible to grasp hold of a single thought. She found herself lost in the chaos of what had transpired, the echoes of laughter and the shadows of heartbreak intertwining, leaving her feeling both overwhelmed and achingly raw.
She lost track of time, enveloped in the steam and solitude, but one thing was certain: despite her heartache, she had never felt this clean before.
As she emerged from the shower, droplets clung to her skin, and she revelled in the sensation of the soft towel as she patted herself dry. Each touch was a gentle caress, a reminder of her own vulnerability. Her long hair, now a silky cascade that fell down to her torso, felt heavy and oppressive. Too long for her taste.
Wrapping the towel securely around herself, she took a deep breath, attempting to gather the courage she needed. She opened a nearby drawer and pulled out a pair of sharp scissors, their metallic gleam reflecting the dim light of the bathroom.
With a steady hand, she positioned the scissors beside her ear, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. The sight of Alex, standing silently in the mirror, watching with intense eyes, made her heart race. She could somehow feel his gaze burning into her, yet she focused on the task at hand, determined to transform herself. Carefully, she began to snip away the excess length, envisioning how freeing it would feel to sever the ties with the past, one lock of hair at a time. She settled on cutting it to around the length of her shoulders. She took her time applying all of her well-expired face creams and moisturisers, hoping that despite their age, they would still provide some care for her neglected skin.
"You can't ignore me forever, Angel," Alex finally broke the silence, his gravelly voice cutting through the stillness like a knife. The unexpected sound made her jump, her heart racing.
"Come on, you know you miss me already, right? You like to say you can’t stand me and everything I did, but deep down, it felt comfortable, didn’t it? It gave you a sense of direction. Now you’re just out there all by yourself in this city."
"That isn't true," she retorted, a hint of playfulness lacing her tone. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned slightly closer to the mirror, a smirk dancing on her lips. "My father is waiting for me upstairs, and I wouldn't dream of keeping him waiting." She paused dramatically, allowing the weight of her words to settle in, then added with a wry grin,
"It has been 200 years, after all."