“What, like grafts?”
“If he does, I have skin.”
“You… have skin?”
Zilch held out one hand, the dark grey with red nail polish. They gingerly pulled at a loose flap of skin that hung off their wrist, and it peeled off in a strip. If it hurt, they didn’t make a sound, and their serious, earnest expression didn’t change a bit. “I can get more.”
“This is the best day of my life,” Lisette whispered. “Can you—how does this work? Like organ donating? It looks like you can receive parts from just about anyone, but does this mean you can give them too? Like, universal giving, receiving—and the actual parts coming back to life, how does it—I just have so many questions…” Slowly, she reached out to touch the detached skin—then shook her head, like snapping out of a daydream. “Sorry! No, keep your skin. He’ll be fine, we got this.”
Zilch pressed their skin back against their wrist and said nothing more, turning back to Finn as his face screwed up, and his eyes slowly opened. “Finn.”
“Please don’t leave…” Finn reached out to curl a weak hand around their bony wrist.
“No. Never.”
“I didn’t say anything. I—I don’t think I did, anyway. I…” his eyes widened and a look of panic broke through his exhaustion. “I don’t know for sure. What if I said something—”
“Shhhhh.” The soft hush was the first sound any of them had heard Zilch make that sounded absolutely ordinary. “You survived. That’s enough.”
Finn’s mouth stayed open but he couldn’t answer. His eyes filled with tears, then closed. Slowly he relaxed, but didn’t let go of Zilch’s wrist; if anything he pulled them closer.
“Sleep.” Zilch whispered. They raised their free hand like they wanted to touch Finn’s shoulder or face, but didn’t quite make it.
“Be here when I wake up?”
A strange expression spread across Zilch’s face. Finn knew it as a smile. Slow and tired and not devoid of pain, but that could be said for everyone in this room.
“Good night. Dream sweet.” Evelyn glanced up, hearing the familiar words. They sounded so strange in Zilch’s rough and murky voice. But not frightening. She thought after this, she wouldn’t easily find the hooded figure frightening again. “In the morning, I’ll be here.”
Finn sank back down onto the bed with a deep sigh, eyes closing—then opening again as they fell on Evelyn. “Wait,” he whispered, reaching past Zilch and catching Evelyn’s sleeve. She stepped closer and took his hand. “In there, they said—they said you and Regan… you killed someone. Is that true?” He looked terrified of the answer.
Evelyn made herself look steadily into his bright, feverish eyes, and keep her expression calm and reassuring. She shook her head, stroked the small undamaged area of his hand. “No, sweetie. It’s more of SkEye’s lies. Please don’t worry.” After he let her go, satisfied, Evelyn stood up; she only let the worry enter her face after she turned away.
Zilch waited for a moment, until Finn’ breathing slowed, became more regular. Then they looked up at Lisette. “No Chrysedrine,” they intoned; this time it was the intensity that sent shivers down Danae’s spine instead of the guttural rasp. “He’s clean. Years. Not going back.”
“Don’t worry,” Lisette said quietly. “I wouldn’t do that. Not without any other choice, and definitely not without asking him.”
“Thank you.” Their thin shoulders rose and fell over the pantomime of a deep breath. Then they seemed to sense someone staring, because he turned around to meet Danae’s thoughtful gaze.
“You’d do anything to keep him safe, wouldn’t you?” she asked quietly. Zilch’s eyes widened, but they didn’t answer. “It’s okay,” she went on, fingers curling around Rose’s hand. “I get it, I do.”
Zilch didn’t reply, but they did give her a very slow nod. Progress, she thought.
Wren tapped Danae on the shoulder. She turned to see the androgynous, white-haired youth smiling at her, and holding something in front of her face—a big purple lollipop. Their scrubs had no pockets, there were no drawers or boxes in the room, and she genuinely had no idea where they could have gotten it. For some reason she remembered the elevator from the day they’d arrived, but was too tired to grasp the thought.
“Thanks…” she croaked, slowly unwrapping the paper and sticking it in her mouth. Wren gave a bouncy nod and turned around, revealing a fistful of more colorful treats for everyone like a bouquet of flowers. For a dizzy moment, Danae wondered if Wren’s ability was magically producing candy out of thin air. Even Zilch took one in a thin grey hand. A surreal ending to what had been a terrifying and bizarre night; Danae couldn’t really make sense of any of it.
But she could look at Rose. Her wound was completely covered by vines and flowers, the explosion of life obscuring any damage and working overtime to repair it. The color was coming back into her face, and she looked serene.
“She’s doing great, babe.” Evelyn moved from where she stood on Rose’s other side, and put her arm around the near-comatose Danae’s shoulders. “You should rest too. We’ve all been through hell and back tonight.”
“No sleep for me. Not for about a week.” Danae shook her head, and didn’t move. “Soon as I know Rose is okay though, I’m starting on that heat-resistant armor, I figure I can have three sets done in—”
“Danae.”
“Oh, like you’re gonna be able to rest right now,” she shot back, but there was no fire in her look; it didn’t even manage to be a glare. “Not unless you’re sleep-working. Or sleep-worrying. Listen, Rose needs somebody in here for when she wakes up, and if I stand up and take a step, I think I’m gonna crash and burn. So I’ll be in here. And because rushing off to save the day is pretty much how you process trauma—which you have, okay, don’t even—that frees you up to go do whatever you need…to… do.” Danae ran out of steam and stopped then, looking up at Evelyn with an exhausted slow nod, as if expecting her to finish the thought.
“I’m just going to turn on the radio,” Evelyn was surprised at her own level tone. The longer this went on, the more it started to feel like some awful dream. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh and hug Danae, or start to cry from exhaustion and the night’s—trauma was the word, yes—but it was one of those. Or both. “Regan and I are supposed to have… killed someone. If somebody’s actually dead at all, Radio Angel will know. Then I’ll come back to check on Rose, then I’m resting, I promise, and you should do the same.”
“Mmmmm.” Danae just gave her a long stare, chin resting in one hand. “You’re like… everything’s starting to seem surreal and junk, isn’t it?”
“A little, yes.”
“Me too. We are dissociating so hard right now. But you know what? Just go with it. It helps you get through the really bad stuff.”
“I love you.”
“You too. Go do your superhero thing. Process. I’ll be here. Same.”
Evelyn turned to leave, then noticed Zilch still standing where they’d been. They remained perfectly still, staring vacantly at Finn, while Lisette and Wren made small adjustments and did their best not to intrude on them, communicating in their silent way. They’d been so perfectly silent she’d forgotten they were there, something she figured this must happen a lot. “You staying there too, sweetie?”
“I’m here.” They didn’t need to be acquainted with Zilch’s abnormal voice or stoic body language. Exhaustion, pain and borderline-despair seemed to seep out of their dark, ragged form and long, low-hanging limbs like a tangible cloud.
“Yeah, you are. And so is he.” Evelyn looked at them and Finn for a moment and couldn’t help but smile. She turned her soft gaze on Rose and Danae for another few seconds—then headed out the door, shaking off the last remnants of fatigue and embracing her second wind. Some people processed mentally. Some coped through action. Some wouldn’t be able to rest until they had answers. Tonight she felt like all three.
A few moments of relative quiet passed
by, then Zilch’s hooded head slowly turned to look up at the door Evelyn had just exited. When they were done staring after her, they turned back just as slowly—and stopped, replacement eyes actually widening in surprise to see Danae grinning at them through her own exhaustion and worry.
“You don’t get called ‘sweetie’ a lot, do you?”
“No.”
“Should probably get used to that.”
Zilch didn’t answer, and it was admittedly hard to read the subtle expressions of someone whose face was made up of the faces of other people, but Danae would bet her next barrel of water that they were smiling just a little.
❈
Regan stayed successfully out of sight and out of mind until the crisis was over, very late at night, or maybe early morning. When the house was at its quietest, he finally ventured back toward the room Finn, Hans and Rose now shared—but he didn’t go inside. He made it almost to the threshold, hesitated, turned, and walked back down the dark hallway.
A few hours earlier, Danae had slumped forward onto Rose’s bed, slept for a couple more hours, then awakened to the soft noise of Zilch’s slow, reluctant steps as they moved past and out the door. Now she rose stiffly to her feet and stretched her aching muscles. She lingered for a moment, gave Rose’s hand one last squeeze, and followed.
Regan saw them leave, but they didn’t see him. He was getting better at controlling his invisibility shroud reflex; it kicked in when he was scared, and even though his heart was pounding now, he at least was fading because he wanted to. He certainly did want to disappear.
Just looking at the back of Danae’s head was bad enough. He couldn’t imagine her face. Or her voice. Watch her back. She’ll have yours.
Silently, Regan slipped into the now-still room. He stared at Rose’s sleeping form for a long time, and held very still.
He reappeared slowly, over several seconds. It was almost harder to un-fade now than it was to turn invisible. Maybe it was because he’d disappeared the moment she needed him. It played back in his head, over and over, but he still couldn’t believe it; it was like someone else’s memory. He’d seen the gun. He’d seen the kid aim it, at him, he’d frozen, he’d faded… then Rose was bleeding. Regan might not have pulled the trigger, but he was responsible.
Who was he, really? A person just beginning to hope, standing up with these people he’d found in this terrifying world of fire and despair? Seeing the strength of heroes like Evelyn Calliope, and Rose, right here—and believing in them with his whole heart? Or the frightened lizard who skulked in the shadows and vanished the moment anyone depended on him? For the first time, the dark recesses of Regan’s own brain frightened him. If this was who he was, maybe it was better that he didn’t remember.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” he whispered at last, in a faint, dry voice. She didn’t stir, deep in the wound-healing sleep that was more like unconsciousness. He shut his eyes, feeling them begin to sting.
“She’ll be fine, you know,” Hans shrugged, appearing to float cross-legged beside him. Regan didn’t look up or acknowledge his presence. After a while, he got bored and drifted up toward the ceiling.
“I don’t want you here,” Regan said at last. “I don’t want me here. I don’t want any part of this anymore.”
“You do if you want your memories back.” Hans said, levelly, rotating to hang upside-down. “And hey, bright side! We saw what Danae can do, right? That’s some firepower right there. Just needed a little jumpstart, that’s all. Great job!”
Regan’s eyes snapped open, his nostrils flared… but he clamped his mouth shut, gritted his teeth. When he spoke, his voice was low and calm. “It’s gone too far, people are getting hurt.”
“Well, yeah. That kind of happens in Parole.”
“It was supposed to be just you, me, and Zilch. And now everyone else is caught up in this.”
“Uh, correct me if I’m wrong, but it was your choice to go with everyone tonight. I didn’t do a gosh-darn thing, Rose got shot and that Finn kid got burned all on their own. Oh, and the whole little crisis you’re having right now, you’re doing that all on your own too.”
“You’re right, Finn was tortured. Rose did get shot. And Danae did break down. Because of me.” He glared at Hans. “Because a scared kid at the detention center recognized me, because I knocked him out and scared the hell out of him, because I listened to you.”
“Oh, so you kicking the crap out of some kid, who later shoots someone else, is my fault?”
Regan shook his head. “I’m done.”
Hans stared impassively back, head tilting and pale eyes narrowing into a squint. He studied Regan like an incomplete jigsaw puzzle, where none of the remaining pieces fit. “I’ve… never seen you like this before.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” Regan actually smirked. He didn’t like the way it made his face feel. He didn’t like much right now. “I’ve never seen me at all.”
“You will. Just keep doing as I say, and I promise—”
“No.” Regan folded his arms and shook his head in a decisive jerk. “I don’t like the guy you’re showing me. I don’t think he’s who I want to be.”
“Well that’s kinda too bad, isn’t it, Regan? You are who you are. I can’t help it if who you are turns out to be—”
“You erased my life. You violated my brain, and you did take over my body without my permission. You took Zilch’s heart.”
“Yeah, which I still have. I have your memories too, so maybe it’s not a good idea to—”
“You’re not going to do anything to us. Not even if we walk away right now.”
Hans stared at him, mouth open like a fish out of water. “That’s a pretty big assumption for a guy who literally doesn’t know how anything works here.”
“I know how you work, Hans. And that’s enough.” Regan was almost smiling now, but it wasn’t a pleasant one. “You’re all about leverage. You have to have something on people to make them do what you want. You’ve got Zilch’s heart, but if you destroy it, you kill the one person you can actually control. Because once they’re gone… I walk. You got nothing on me.”
“I have your entire life in the palm of my see-through hand!” Hans said very slowly, holding one up like he was swearing an oath. “Or don’t you want to know who you are? Or where you’ve been, what you did, who you love—”
“Maybe I don’t care where I’ve been.” Regan’s voice was sharp, but it didn’t shake at all. “Maybe I only care about where I’m going. And maybe I don’t need what you can give me, because I have something of my own.”
“And what do you have now?” Hans asked in a whisper that reverberated through Regan’s skull. He leaned in closer, staring directly into Regan’s eyes, unblinking. He never blinked. Mental projections didn’t need to.
Regan didn’t blink either, but he was looking past Hans, not back at him, watching the peaceful rise and fall of Rose’s chest. “A new life. People. Who have my back, even when…” He shut his eyes. “Even when I disappear.”
“Well, that’s great,” Hans’s voice was like a breath of icy air through his mind. Regan shuddered, but didn’t move or open his eyes. “But it’s a little late for guilt. She’s down. It’s done. You’re not gonna un-ruin anything by crying about it. And this is just what you know. This is one night eating you up inside. What do you think an entire lifetime is like? You don’t need that, let it go. Let them go. We got work to do.”
“I can’t go back and change what happened, but it’s not too late to stop this right here.”
“You stop this right here, you’ll never know how much you even need to make up for.” Hans’s unnerving, dry whisper continued, seeping through the cracks and wrinkles in Regan’s brain like cold water. “If you really want to wallow in a lifetime of guilt and broken promises, then by all means, go ahead. But I’m the only one who can help you do that. You want to upgrade your trial-version struggle for redemption, Regan? Great, I’ve got the key to the real thing.”
<
br /> “Keep your key.” He opened his eyes. “These people are getting their lives back… and I’ll make my own from here. My own life. Maybe it’s not the one I had before, but it’s not whoever you want me to be. And that’s worth it.”
“Knowledge is power, Regan.” Hans’s furious voice rattled in his head like bones on stone, crackled like a surging current in a live wire, flared like a firecracker with a very short fuse.
“And ignorance is bliss.” Regan smiled, and turned away. “Goodbye.”
Before Regan could react, Hans reached out and touched his forehead.
Not afraid. Up here there’s no fear, no doubt, no pain; there’s air in his lungs and solid ground beneath his feet. When he runs, it’s not because he’s running away from something. Up ahead, everything ends in empty space, but instead of stopping he speeds up and charges toward the rooftop edge, not away. He leaps into the open air and holds his breath as he hangs in empty space. He doesn’t need to be invisible to feel invincible. He can trust that the ground will be there when he gets back, the air will come when he needs it. Then gravity reminds him he has to land, and keep running through the fire.
Not alone. A crooked smile with stitches around the mouth, stretching so far they might rip right out. The features are different, they change all the time, but he’ll always recognize them. A hand on his chest, another supporting his back, and when his heart beats faster it isn’t because of panic. He more feels the rough voice than hears it, it vibrates in his own chest. He sometimes wonders if re-animated, stitched-together flesh remembers being still and cold, if it ever feels itself come back to life when it joins the other pieces, if it regains a kind of life, and breathes again. He wonders if it felt like this.
Not silent. The constant tapping of a computer keyboard fills his ears, a reassuring background sound that becomes white noise. The room is small and illuminated only by the glow of dozens of computer screens, but this hidden place is comforting instead of claustrophobic; his sleepy eyes follow, hypnotized as long fingers in black gloves rapidly weave lines of brilliant, enemy-befuddling code, building walls and setting snares to keep them safe. Regan smiles, chin in his hand and chest warm and full. A whole shadowy syndicate couldn’t match the cyber-victories that happened in this room. Then there’s an even louder rumbling purr and something warm and furry bumps against his hand. He looks down into a pair of bright green gently spinning gyroscope eyes and murmurs soft words, pets the cat’s synthetic ears. He doesn’t notice the typing’s stopped until he looks back up into another pair of much softer, darker, human eyes, and a smile filled with triumph. Warm arms pull him close and he relaxes into a slow kiss that asks nothing from him except for him to remain. He can’t remember what fear is, or pressure or rejection or tension or worry that any of this will disappear even if he drifts off again, and closes his eyes.
Chameleon Moon Page 22
