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“Give me the coordinates,” Jasper said. Not a command, as he’d never demand anything of Sybil. But a bold plea.
Sybil could no longer be confused for human. Her mottled skin had been alarming, but not outside the realm of a medical marvel. The way that her veins began to twine up through bloated tissue, that was a bit more unusual. But now, with her skin holding together viscera like a sausage bursting from its skin, she ought not be alive.
She was, somehow. Changed, but still Sybil. He clung to that—that she was still herself.
“I can’t.” Sybil sagged in the corner of the room. She’d settled near the telescope he’d given her, which was no longer pointed out the window but instead stored neatly with stacks of notebooks filled with star coordinates. If he opened one, he’d just as likely see his haphazard scrawl alongside her neat notation.
“Please,” he said. He was not above begging if it meant understanding what was happening to her.
“You don’t need to look, Jasper.” Sybil’s breaths were hypnotic, rippling across her great bulk like ocean waves. He watched as the waves moved faster, deeper. He’d upset her.
“I…” How do you explain to someone that you’d rather fall into the same pit as them if it meant they wouldn’t be alone in their suffering? Not that Jasper wanted to suffer, mind. It wasn’t so long ago that he had no one at his side, and then he’d met Sybil, and now… now he had friends. He didn’t give them up so lightly.
But how can I help if I don’t understand?
“We’ve hit a wall in our research,” he tried. “It’s nearly impossible to study that which cannot be observed.”
“Nearly, but not fully.”
He nodded in acknowledgment. “But you looked without precautions. Like staring at the sun during its eclipse. There must be a way to view things safely.”
She considered this. He used to be able to read Sybil like a favorite book: the slight frown she wore while working through a problem set, the slight tilt of her smile before she corrected him. This new Sybil was a book in translation, and he was diligent in his studies.
“Maybe,” she finally said. It was the furthest he’d gotten in his arguments with her. “Going with your analogy, we’d need some sort of filter.”
“Edwin might be able to lend one.”
“It’s less if the filter exists so much as if Edwin does,” said Sybil.
It was a fair point; Edwin still responded to texts, but they were rife with mistakes, and he was always gone when Jasper stopped by his apartment. Jasper had begun to suspect he’d been changed like Sybil.
“You don’t want this,” Sybil said. She’d been thinking along those same lines, then.
“I don’t.” He didn’t. “But if I’m to help you—if we want to figure out why this is happening… I don’t believe there’s another way.”
“There are ways to observe non-observable phemomo- phem- phenomem—” She huffed. “Non-observable things.”
“But are there ways to do it from an ill-equipped planetarium?” It was impressive what they’d managed to build, deep in the recesses of the then condemned apartment. Even more impressive that Mr. Henderson hadn’t noticed the uptick in the electrical bills. But it was hidden for a reason.
“We could bring in more equipment…”
“And bring in more attention?”
Sybil’s sigh was resonant, a deep hum that thrummed in Jasper’s chest.
“If you get the filter, I’ll give you the coordinates. But you have to look away immediately.”
Jasper’s heart leapt. “I swear to you, I will.”
Sybil stood. It was difficult, even with the cane he’d given her. He stepped over in long strides, grasping her arm to lead her to the couch. His hands sunk into her, bits of Sybil squeezing through his fingers. Like grabbing a fistful of oatmeal.
“How can you stand it?” she whispered.
“We promised to figure this out together.”
She huffed. “I wouldn’t hold it against you. You or Edwin or Beryl.”
He didn’t ask what she’d do if their positions were reversed. Frankly, he didn’t care. What Sybil felt for him mattered less than how he felt about her.
The couch sank under her weight. She was getting too large for it, her mass increasing each day, but it let her hold on to vestiges of humanity. Jasper sat beside her, mentally reminding himself to do the laundry later that evening.
“I couldn’t bear it,” Sybil said, “if this happened to you.”
“It won’t,” Jasper said.
“It will.” Sybil spoke with weary confidence. It was hard to argue against it. It stood like worn stone, withstanding the years she’d spent getting doubted for her work, the years of dealing with chronic pain.
Her belief was inevitability. If she said it, it would happen.
“Even if it does,” Jasper allowed, “we will make it worth it.” He tried not to fall against her as she shifted in her seat and the cushions bowed inward.
“We’ll need to update Beryl,” Sybil finally said.
“No,” Jasper replied. “She’ll want to look as well.”
“Hypocrite,” Sybil breathed, but there was no real heat. She knew she’d lost after giving Jasper ground. They were stubborn, and curious, and it would doom them both.
Jasper couldn’t sit still for long. Now that he had the chance to do something, relaxation was anathema. He stood, wiping his hands on his pants. “I’m going to pay Edwin a visit.”
“Wait until morning!”
He stilled. That made sense. It was late, and Edwin wouldn’t appreciate him stopping by without notice.
If he’s there at all.
He had to do something.
“I’ll do some research, then. See what filter would be best.” A solar filter, perhaps? One for UV radiation? Before stepping out her front door, he looked back. He met Sybil’s eyes and said, “Remember your promise.”
She looked away. “I’ll give you coordinates.”
“Thank you,” he said, and headed to his room to grab some laundry. He would be up for a while.