Meanwhile, Marshall was driving through the streets of New York with no fixed destination. He passed the bar where the five of them always hung out several times. He passed the park where Lily once drew the three of them together twice—that drawing was probably tucked away in some drawer in the apartment, if she hadn't taken it. And he passed the museum Alyx once dragged them to for a modern art exhibition that Lily had been excited to see.
Then, without planning it, he found himself turning onto a street that led to the Kellett Hotel, an elegant building with large, well-lit windows, its interior clearly visible from the car.
He gripped the steering wheel upon seeing the hotel sign, and in his mind echoed the promise he made to Alyx before leaving, accompanied by Ted's voice: you're the miserable ghost of Marshall.
He took a deep breath, thinking about getting out and searching for the room. He remembered Alyx again and, instead, found a spot to park, comfortable enough to watch the hotel entrance.
As he turned off the car and sat staring fixedly at the hotel door, he didn't know what he expected to see. Lily walking out arm-in-arm with someone else? Lily entering alone? Maybe seeing George Clinton walk in with his pet ferret and her waiting for him at the door?
What he actually saw, nearly two hours into his vigil, was something he couldn't even have imagined. A guy dressed in a cheap suit, skinny, with dark glasses, came running out through the revolving door, pursued by hotel security guards and what looked like a cliché movie detective in a dark trench coat. He saw a clear scuffle as they handcuffed him and led him to a patrol car that had approached silently from the other corner of the hotel up to its entrance.
The arrest lasted less than five minutes before the patrol car left and everything on the street returned to normal.
Who was that guy? Marshall was still processing what he'd seen when his phone buzzed with a message.
From: Alyx: Everything okay? Getting air? The silence is suspicious, Marshall.
Marshall looked at the hotel, then at his phone. His determination wavered with the confusion of the situation.From: Marshall: Yeah, I didn't go to the hotel. But I saw something weird. I'm heading back.
When Marshall returned to the apartment, the first thing he saw was darkness, the only light coming from the living room lamp. Alyx was on the sofa with two blankets, and on the coffee table were two mugs—one of tea and one of coffee that she was already drinking.
"What did you see?" she asked without preamble.
Marshall slumped down beside her on the sofa. For the first time in weeks, there was no tension between them as he told her about the strange man being arrested fleeing the hotel.
Alyx listened attentively and in silence to his story. When he finished, she murmured, "A thief or a scammer."
"You think..." Marshall swallowed hard before continuing, "that Lily could be mixed up in something?" he asked, fearing a positive answer.
Alyx shook her head quickly. "No. Lily is... many things, but not a criminal.But what if it wasn't her making the purchases? What if that guy stole her credit card?"
The simple yet logical idea was like a bucket of cold water. The possibility, which clearly existed since he saw the arrest, dawned on him.
"The guy with the raspy voice," Marshall started slowly. "He wasn't with her now. He was a thief."
Alyx nodded. "It's a possibility. A very strong one."
An immense relief began to flow through him, mixed with a new wave of concern for Lily. "My God, we have to call her... We have to warn her about this!"
"I already did," Alyx began calmly. "While you were out, I called the hotel. I asked to speak to Lily Aldrin, and when they put me through—when that guy answered—I simply said I was from the bank reporting fraudulent activity. The guy who answered hung up immediately. As soon as he did, I called the police and anonymously reported a possible scam, giving the hotel details and the room number."
Marshall looked at her in astonishment. Amid his own chaos, she had acted with impressive coldness and efficiency.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, confused.
"Because you needed to come to that conclusion on your own. Or at least, you needed to calm down enough to hear a reason that wasn't so painful." Alyx took a sip from her coffee mug. "And also because I needed to do something useful that wasn't cleaning and caretaking."
Marshall continued to look at her with a concentration as if he were unraveling the secrets of the universe. And there, he saw a pain just as deep, the absence, the feeling of having failed to keep their family together, similar to what he felt. Only he saw that she handled it in her own way, building walls to protect or lock away her emotions.
"Thank you, Alyx," he said, and this time the words weren't a formality. They were a deep acknowledgment. "For... for being here. For keeping things together. For thinking when I couldn't."
Alyx nodded, a glimmer in her eyes that hadn't been there for so long. "I couldn't do less. I love you both." This simple, direct declaration hung in the air between them. It wasn't a reproach or a demand. It was just an acknowledgment of her feelings for them.
Marshall reached out and covered her hand, the one holding the mug. It wasn't a romantic gesture, but one of camaraderie, of mutual recognition on the battlefield of a broken heart.
"I love you too, Alyx," he whispered softly. "And I miss our Lily."
"Me too," she admitted, and a single tear—the first she allowed herself to shed in front of him—traced a path down her cheek. "But now we know one more thing."
"What?"
"That she's most likely not in the city. That she probably doesn't have a funky boyfriend. And that her credit card was stolen." Alyx sketched a faint, almost imperceptible, sad smile. "They're just data points. And data, even when it hurts, is better than ghosts."
That night, for the first time since Lily left, Marshall didn't lock himself in the bedroom, and Alyx didn't stay alone on the sofa. Instead, they stayed together in the living room in silence, watching an old movie. This moment, beyond just sharing the physical space, was their way of sharing the pain, accompanied by a mug of tea and coffee, until both succumbed to exhaustion.
It wasn't a happy ending. Nor was it a beginning. It was their fulcrum, the point from which they might start rebuilding something together, even if they didn't yet know what that was or if Lily would be part of it.