January 4, 1905

It seems many resolutions are broken when Alfred Borden is involved. I can say something in my defense, however: I did not seek him out. I came upon him completely by coincidence.

I have long since avoided the busy parts of London at night. The new bright, harsh, electric light shines easily through my transparent flesh, making my whole body glow. And I have become weary of being either a ghost or an invisible man among living people. Instead, because I cannot stand to be in my dingy flat for long, I have taken to roaming the darker parts of London. And the park where I found Borden, while it is a bustling place of activity during the day, is certainly very dark at night.

He was sitting slumped on a park bench, still in le Profeseur garb. His show had ended hours ago, so he must have been sitting there a good deal of time. I might have questioned his sanity for being alone in a cold, snow filled park in the middle of the night if I didn't already know two things of significance: one, that I had already seen the madness lurking in his eyes and two, that this was the meeting place he and his brother would go to when they needed to converse face to face.

His head turned slightly, the only indication that he knew I was there. All his attention was fixed on his hands, which were rolling a coin quickly, expertly between his fingers. I, too, watched his hands. They were pale, but chapped from the cold, and long fingered with closely cropped nails. I watched the muscles flex and release underneath the skin as he passed the coin from one finger to another, from one hand to another, never slowing or faltering. His movements were fast, confident and unconscious. With one flick of the wrist the coin disappeared. With another twist it reappeared in the other hand. The coin continued in its twirling path until one coin became two and two coins became a single playing card: the Suicidal King.

He held the card out to me and I took it, concentrating so it didn't fall straight through my hand. "Tell me, Angier," he said, his eyes focused on the card, "is there one King or two?"

I stared at the card, at the sword the King was thrusting through his own head, at the bright, glossy red that contrasted so sharply against the white of the card, of the snow. I thought of Borden and his twin, of me and my prestige, of wanting to die and not having the courage. "Perhaps it is both," I said. "Both one and two, depending on the person."

He finally looked at me as he took the card back. A mocking smile twisted his lips. "A very diplomatic answer. Quite appropriate for the Lord of Colderdale."

I said nothing.

"It doesn't matter," he said dismissively, "It's only an illusion anyway." A simple movement of his hands and the card was gone and the two coins were back. He flicked one at me, and without a thought I reached out my hand to catch it. The coin passed through my open palm and landed in the snow. It made a small dark hole in the white powder, and for a minute we both stood still, just looking at it. But I couldn't stand to look on it too long, to think about what it meant, what it gave away about this body I was forced with. Instead I turned my gaze to the bare branches of the tress and bushes, the carefully cultivated wild that was now smothered under a layer of white.

I shivered and pulled my dark coat tighter around me. I was cold. It always struck me with a sort of bitter humor that even though I am forced into the wandering life of a ghost I still have the physical weaknesses of a living man—hunger, thirst, sleep and the cold, always the cold. I noticed that Borden didn't seem to mind the cold and wondered if losing half of my body would make me always susceptible to it.

I rewrapped my scarf and took a step back. "You should probably go home, Borden. I'm sure your family is worried about you." He nodded, but his eyes were glazed and focused on something other than the physical, probably memories of his brother. I sighed and walked away. It was not my duty to stop my old rival from freezing to death.

At the entrance to the park I looked back. I could still see him there, a still figure in evening clothes slumped on a stone bench. I wondered if he would go home at all, or if he came here to mourn, came to the one place they were allowed to be two. I stood there for a moment and paid my own respect to the dead Borden twin, though which one he was, I knew not.

January 13, 1905

The landlord came today to collect this months rent for the flat I am occupying at present. The amount I pay for this run down, must filled flat is at least twice the amount it is worth, but Latchet is one of the few landlords I've found that will harbor a suspicious man who always hides his face and disappears at odd times during the night. The extra money doesn't make him anymore agreeable, however: he grumbled and cursed through out his visit. And he didn't appreciate the old money behind the ear trick either.

That was the last of the funds I took from Colderdale. Since I cannot perform and no one will hire a transparent man, I will have to steal to live again.

January 19, 1905

I waited for Borden in his dressing room tonight. He's had a steady stream of bookings, so it wasn't hard to find what theater he was performing at. I started a fire in the fire place, pushed a chair close to it and sat down to wait. I did not have to wait long: I came near the end of the show and it wasn't twenty minutes before I heard the fast approaching footsteps of Borden.

The footsteps slowed when they reached the door. Perhaps because he could see the flicker of the firelight under the door and knew someone was in the room. The door opened slowly and cautiously but was quickly shut when Borden saw me. "So," Borden said, "you're back again."

"Yes."

He pulled the other chair across from mine and collapsed in it. It was the first time since the night I attacked him that I had worn less than my full winter gear, so his eyes studied me, traveling over my face, arms and hands. The firelight gave warmth to my skin and the illusion of solidity, but I knew that if he looked close enough he would see through me to the chair underneath. I only truly appear solid and whole in full, bright sunlight. After just a few moments his eyes came to rest firmly on mine. "You tell me that you are not dead." His voice was calm, even, and unemotional. "Yet you only come to me at night, appearing and disappearing without notice, and even looking like a wraith just escaped from hell. Why is this? Why night?" All signs of madness had left his eyes, and he no longer resembled the fearful, shaking man of months ago, or the dazed and passionless man in the snow that I saw just a few weeks ago. The cool, steady look he gave me convinced me once again that we would have done well as comrades, rather than enemies. This thought, and perhaps my own need for any human conversation, convinced me to tell Borden the truth.

"I am… no longer comfortable in the presence of other people. Or rather, they are not comfortable with my presence. You see, even during the day, when my appearance is most… normal, I still do not appear to be a nice, wholesome human being." I smiled wryly. "So I have taken to going out at night, where I can disappear in the shadows, or avoid people all together."

"That doesn't explain why you seek me out. Why seek the company of your hated rival?" The tone of his voice, I noted with interest, was bitter.

I phrased my answer carefully. "Because… you are the only one I can seek out. The Great Danton is dead, as is Lord Colderdale, so I cannot go to any of my old companions. And besides, I do not know how they would react to seeing me like this. In all likely-hood they would think I had come from back from the grave." I smiled slightly as I imagined their reactions, and then became serious once more. "You are the only one who knows me as I truly am now. So I seek out your company, despite that you are you are my rival." And it was here that I realized that Borden was not, in fact, my rival anymore. Indeed, I held no animosity towards him whatsoever. No need for revenge or triumph over him, no lingering resentment for what he had done. And then came another realization, the real reason I was drawn to Borden. "More than all this, I think you know what it is like. I was ripped in half, in mind, body and soul. Half of me is dead. I feel incomplete, empty. I am not dead, but I am not alive either. You, better than anyone, knows what this is like. That is why I visit you." I paused for a moment, contemplating my next words. "You make me feel alive."

I looked away from the fire, where I had been staring at during my explanation, and at Borden. I saw something in his expression that I never thought I would share with my old rival, the once bane of my existence: understanding.