Deleted Chapter: Ev's Alternate Death

AN: you may have noticed Eddie mentioning he would soon find out how Ev had felt as she waited for him to heal even though she died before the ambulance arrived. Small plot-hole, right? Well, I'm here to fix that…

"I can feel you falling away. No longer the lost, no longer the same. And I can see you starting to break. I'll keep you alive if you show me the way. For ever, and ever, the scars will remain. I'm falling apart. Leave me here forever in the dark." ~Breaking Benjamin, 'Give Me a Sign'

How the hell do I translate the events of this one night into words? Ten years had passed since we met, three since I first kissed her underneath the fireworks, two since we first made love underneath Our Oak. One night. One fucking night was all it took to end it all forever. She was THE E. Nygma. MY E. Nygma. Do I really want to remember how I felt back then? Do I really want you to know what I am like at my weakest? Riddle me this, Eddie: what do you get if you never take a chance? Answer: Absolutely nothing.

This entire tale is full of could-haves, would-haves, should-haves: I could have insisted she stayed with me; I would have fought Nygma to the death to protect her; I should have noticed all was not right in the Nygma household and carried her away before it got this severe. But I did not. I could not. There had been nothing to suggest what Everett Nygma had in mind.

I suppose you think that, after devoting so much of your precious time to hearing my saga, I owe you some kind of setting. Very well, then – I will slate your thirst for such detail. The end of the school year, final exams are drawing near and no matter what you see or hear: life goes on. Does it not, dear?

By now, Ev and I had grown bored with education. Half of what they tried to teach us we already knew, as a result of our own lust for knowledge. The rest? Well, it didn't really seem worth knowing in the first place. This was the time of the year when the idiotic brutes would seek out the likes of us: students much higher than them on the intellectual scale. They would offer us bribes: protection, a share in their dad's pornography stash and the like. A particular group of girls I recall from middle school sought tutoring from my Evelyn. They offered her makeovers and invites to the best parties and dates with the prettiest boys. Ev snorted into her Lift at the prospect, walked towards the girls and directed their attention to the group of boys on topic and began pointing to them all one-by-one. "Idiot… moron… momma's boy… closet homosexual… fuckwit… dipshit… aspires to be a Chip 'n Dale… ignorant… gullible… still believes in the tooth-fairy… and when someone asks who his favourite Beatle is replies with 'there's more than one?' In other words:" she looked at me and grinned before turning back to the Bitch Bunch, "No thanks."

The Alpha-bitch – Macy? Margaret? Ugh, who cares? – turned to me, adopted one of those gestures her kind revert to to express disgust and offered her wholly unwanted opinion: "Ed Nashton? You're settling for him? He's such a dork!"

"Yeah, well, at least he can spell it," Ev retorted. "Now shoo – you're making me stupid. And it's Edward, you Bitch!" She shouted after them before returning to the caff table.

"Well played, my dear," I raised my Coke to her and she met it with her own drink.

"Being a hand of karma never gets old," she shrugged and suddenly turned serious. "It makes me think, though: those kids over there," she gestured to a small group of teens that we always see scrambling their way through the educational system, "they work hard and what do they get? Fs? Ds? The occasional C-minus? They pay attention, struggle to complete their homework on time, do their best and they still manage to slip through the cracks. What do you say to giving me a hand tutoring a few of them before the exam pressure slips into the red?"

"I'd say you're a genius but you already knew that," I miss seeing her blush. Evelyn Nygma was one of the few people I'd ever met whose inner beauty matched her outer shell. Sure, she could be a bitch if she wanted. But only if you deserved it.

That little group became her pet project, her own personal riddle, if you will. Was it possible to save these kids from getting crushed by America's shitty educational system? Who am I kidding – if she'd been given the chance they would've passed with honors. As it were, in the end they only had me.

When The Last Night came, Ev and I had only been tutoring them for four days. Even so, a couple of them were already beginning to grasp the notions we passed on to them. On The Night in Question, Ev was supposed to phone me before our little study group would commence, we'd go over the schedule for the night, voicing any concerns we had if a particular student was falling behind the rest. It's funny the things we remember isn't it? I was sure Declan Glover was about to find the secret of unlocking algebra tonight, he'd come so close yesterday. I wanted to tell her that more than anything else. Why? I think that in an alternate world, perhaps one where Evelyn Nygma is now Evelyn Nashton instead of 'The Late' Evelyn Nygma, maybe – just maybe – another Edward Nashton has found his purpose in teaching the un-teachable. Just maybe.

The phone never rang once That Night. Not even a bored telemarketer let alone Evelyn herself. Alarm bells rang instead.

Rain pelted down around me as I traversed the two blocks to Ev's apartment building. I took no notice – my focus was set on reaching her, no other thought could possibly intervene. I prayed to every god I could think of, begging them to let me reach her in time. The moment I saw the figure shrouded in shadow burst from the front door of the complex, I knew my prayers had been left to the answering machines. For a split second, I contemplated chasing Nygma, running him down and clasping my hands tightly around his neck until his struggles ceased. The fantasy was shattered by a six-year-old memory: An eleven-year-old Evelyn looking down the barrel of a revolver to a nervous Howard Nashton. If I had given her a nod of the head instead of a shake, she would've pulled that trigger without mercy. Revenge is a patient emotion, fuelled by pure hatred until it ripens to perfection. Love, however, is fleeting, here and gone without warning. I must get to her before all else.

Mrs. Carrey, the old landlady, must have read the desperation in my face as I ran past her, she called out to me: "Master Nashton, I was just about to ring you. Slow down, please. The ambulance is on its way—"

"Just tell me what happened. Is she alright? God, tell me she's okay."

"Slow down, lad," she said again. When was the last time she called me 'lad'? "You're apt to send yourself into a stroke. Did you see Mr. Nygma?"

"Briefly. What the hell did he do to her?"

A few rubberneckers had opened their doors to the commotion, Mrs. Carrey shooed them away with the air of a politician dispersing reporters after a government scandal. "Come, lad," she took my arm in her withered hands and gave it an elder's pat-of-comfort. "Be strong for her."

The moment I saw her, I thought she was already dead: surely no living creature could possibly look the way she did. Her fiery hair was matted with blood, her right eye was swollen shut. A pool of thick crimson encircled her head, oozing from the corner of her mouth. Bruises in the process of blooming darkened her temple and encircled her throat. She lay curled in a fetal position, perhaps to hide her shame and nakedness.

I knelt next to her, bent forward to kiss the corner of her left eye and felt her lashes flutter beneath my lips.

"Ev," I whispered. "It's me, it's Eddie."

She smiled when she heard my voice; her eyes told me that even that small movement hurt her.

I was afraid to move her even though all I wanted was to take her in my arms and feed her my warmth until the paramedics arrived. Instead, I settled down next to her and caressed her cheek, whispering words of reassurance, repeating a familiar promise that I would never leave her side.

Mrs. Carrey heard the sirens before I did, admitting the paramedics. Everything after that was lost in a haze: there is no way this could've been reality. The ambos gently dragged me away form her, I heard ev call out to me, I'm still here, sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere, a disembodied voice that could only have been mine replied.

Her vitals are dropping fast, we have to get her out of here.

Call the E.D; make sure they have a bed ready.

We'll need more than that, Sir: her lungs are flooding with blood. Some of her ribs must be broken.

The O.R. then. Stop wasting time, you fools! Get her on the goddamn stretcher!

Pray for her, lad. God may be all she has. That was Mrs. Carrey. She had taken my hand and was stroking it softly like a grandmother would.

God's not listening to me tonight, Mrs. C. – I've already tried…

We're good to go! Load 'er up!

Suddenly we were outside, the street flooded with rotating red lights. it looked like a cheap lighting effect in a b-grade horror flick.

Get in, Mrs. Carrey urged me into the ambulance. You promised her, don't you dare break it, lad…

Nashton, was it? I nodded automatically. I need you to hold this steady for me. Don't let it move too much. She your girlfriend? I nodded again. We're doing all we can, kid. There's still a chance she'll pull through so don't go giving up on her just yet…

For the longest hour of my life, I waited outside the operating theatre at Gotham Mercy Hospital. For the first time in my life, Charlotte Nashton actually acted like my mother. She arrived with my father about ten minutes before Evelyn was wheeled out of the O.R. Oh, honey… the old lady from her apartment complex called us with the news. We're so sorry. No you're not! I wanted to spit at her. You NEVER liked her being around! Why would you start now you heartless bitch! You just want to make me feel worse!

It was her dad… I answered instead, avoiding my own father's gaze. If she dies… I'll… I'll kill him! hunt him down! Gut him like a fucking fish! He… he can't get away with this… I won't let him…

Calm down, Edward.

Calm down? CALM DOWN? You didn't SEE what he did to her… they said her lungs were filling up with blood! How the fuck can ANYONE live through that?

Watch your damn language, boy. I didn't raise you to be no pottymouth.

Raise me? You didn't fucking raise me, 'dad'! I raised myself thank-you-very-fucking-much!

Howard, this is a hospital, keep it down!

And let him speak to me like that? No one speaks to me like that let alone my own damn son!

Howard, if you can't control yourself—

What, Charlotte. 'If I can't control myself' what?

You can get out. Mom finished shortly. I'll get a cab for me and Edward. Go home.

I don't want a cab, I said quietly. I'm not leaving until Evelyn does.

Honey… she led me to the row of chairs lined against the wall and forced me to sit, my father must've grown annoyed and left because that was the last I saw of him before Ev died. I truly am sorry, Edward. I know how happy that girl makes you. You probably don't remember this but when your father… no, when YOU went into hospital back when you were children, –even now she blamed me, go figure – she never left your side. Even then she loved you, even at an age when she didn't know what love is. Tonight you need to return the favour, Eddie. Stay with her for as long as you can. God can't help her, the doctors can't do anything else for her. All she has left right now is you. Don't worry about school, I'll call them and say you won't be in for a few days, okay? Same goes for those kids in your study-group.

The theatre doors burst open and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in a bright, sterile room watching Evelyn sleep. The double-blip rhythm of the heart monitor seemed to harmonize with the constant buzz of the harsh neon lights overhead. How long did I wait with her? Long enough for the sounds to blur into white noise, that's for certain, for I only heard them again when they began to change. Mom came in a couple of times bearing food and coffee from the hospital cafeteria, but whether she went home or waited for me I have no idea. She stayed away from me most of the time – I suppose she knew how much I despised anyone with the job description of 'parent' right now.

At some point, the doctors advised me that, should she wake, I must dissuade her from speaking lest the stitches in her lungs came undone. Yes, I said it. are you pleased? Lungs. Plural. Not just one of them, both had been pierced by five separate ribs. Another two of her ribs were broken, the rest had suffered hairline fractures. Bar none.

She awoke once. And I am forever thankful for that. A part of me knew that it would be the last time I'd be able to speak to her, or hear her speak to me. I loved the way she said my name… Eddie… Edward… Ed… she would always utter it with such care, as though it could break if you spoke too harshly and to break my name was to break me. Even now, I say her name, as she would always say mine. As though if I say it just right, I could summon her back to me.

I had moved forward onto my knees next to her cot, with my right arm over her body clasping her hand and my left holding up my head. It wasn't until I read the coroner's report in conjunction with her case file at the police station, that I discovered the reason for Mr. Nygma's initial outburst was struggling to thrive beneath my right forearm. Thus I fell asleep and thus I awoke with Ev's living hand stroking the stubble on my jaw.

The moment she whispered my name, I immediately forgot the doctors' counsel and scrambled to my feet, stooping to smother her with kisses. I stopped as soon as I saw through her smile to the sorrow beneath: she was already resigned.

"Don't give up, Ev," I told her. "We'll get out of here as soon as you're good to go, I promise. Until then, just hold on, okay? I know you can!"

"Eddie…" she said again, still smiling. "My Eddie… Don't… try not to… don't mourn me too long. And don't go blaming yourself – I know you will."

"No! Ev, you're not dying! Not tonight, not ever! You… you can't…"

"Why, Eddie? We're all mortal. The human body can only take so much. And… mine has reached its threshold. I don't want to leave you, but…" she trailed off, inhaling deeply, trying to fend of the sleep that was overcoming her. Trying as hard as she could. And failing.

Ev! Don't leave me now! Wake up! Goddamit! Come back!

I don't want to leave you, but… I just can't hold on anymore…

Within half an hour her heart-rate began to falter and before I realized precicely what was going on, I was overwhelmed by doctors. I stepped back to make way for the crash-cart as the heart monitor rose to an amplified tinnitus, sitting with my face in my hands as the doctors tried to shock her heart back into action. But I think even they knew their efforts would be in vain.

Miss Evelyn Nygma – Time of death: twenty-three-hundred and forty-six hours.

The head surgeon that was working Evelyn's case – Dr. Finger? Digit? Palm? Something like that – stood before me and waited until I lifted my face to him. His sympathy was clichéd, hollow, rehearsed, "I'm sorry, son. We did all we could for her but she's gone. Would you like some time to say goodbye?"

Goodbye! We never said goodbye! I nodded silently, walking slowly to Ev's bedside as the band of whitecoats left, shutting the door behind them. I dropped to my knees, pressing my lips against her cheek before burying my head in the crook of her neck, feeling the last of her warmth against my skin. In that moment everything sunk in at once: when I realized I could no longer feel her pulse. I have never cried so hard as I did that night, and I have never cried since.

"White walls surround us. No light will touch your face again. Rain taps the window as we sleep among the dead. Days go on forever but I have not left your side. We can chase the dark together. If you go then so will I. There is nothing left of you, I can see it in your eyes. Sing the anthem of the angels and say the last goodbye." ~Breaking Benjamin, 'Anthem of the Angels'