JIM-008
Barista: Jean-Marc Chausson
Date: Jan-1-2020
Receipt: JIM-008
Subject: Missing
Hardly an hour into the New Year, and I feel as if I’ve lived a lifetime.
We are fine. Julia is—she is fine. I don’t yet understand the full extent of what happened, but the pieces are starting to fall into place. One thing is certain—the flames that erupted from Julia were not the same ones that burned down the First, the Second, or even the Third Cafe. They weren’t flames of ruin. They were flames of light—flames of the Morningstar. Flames of mon amour, reaching beyond the grave.
I told myself I had already lost everything. Yesterday’s funeral wasn’t just for the past—it was for me. No, I wasn’t planning anything drastic. But I saw no future. No light. Even the darkest roast couldn’t rouse what had been taken from me. But I was wrong. There was a deeper darkness still—one I hadn’t yet tasted. And within it, there was light.
This is not the first time I have been wrenched from death’s grasp by a warm and loving light. The light of mon amour. Whatever took hold of Julia—grief, guilt, longing—it carried us both to a place beyond understanding. And in that space, in the thinnest strands of something not quite past, not quite dreams, not quite memory—I saw my light again.
And now, I know where to look for it.
I don’t know if Julia saw what I saw, or if I glimpsed what she did. But she is gone again—though I suspect she is no longer lost.
Julia is safe. I am alive. And the Cafe still stands.
For now, that is enough.