I'm not sure what I expect when I open the door. The door to this house that I haven't entered in so long. I only know that my father waits inside. I swallow once, hard. Summons from my father never bode well. The past few days are proof of that. I rub at my shoulder almost subconsciously where a fresh bruise is blossoming. I hide the marks left by my father with a dark, well-cut suit, and I am as good as new. On the outside at least. My mind, of course, has been reeling ever since I left. Ever since I left her. I flinch, involuntarily remembering that night. No. The feel of her hands on my bare skin, the taste of her mouth, the sound of her voice. No. No. I wrench my mind away from the path that these memories will inevitably take me down, building walls. The walls are harder to find, and I worry that soon I will have lost them completely.
I take a deep breath. Blank, white walls. I reach up. And I open the door.
The sight that greets me shocks me so deeply that it is almost debilitating. My father is there, yes. And so is Juliette.
"Nice of you to join us, Aaron," he says, but I barely register our voice. "Come, greet our fine guest. You kids remember each other, right?" I can hear his barely suppressed laughter, but I don't respond. I have eyes only for her.
She is standing there, not looking at me, wearing large shorts and a boy's shirt. The walls in my mind come crashing down. Those clothes. I know those clothes. Finally, she looks up, her dark hair falling back to reveal her face. I flinch at the sight that greets me.
Large, ugly bruises mottle her throat, splotched with purple and angry red. I know those bruises. I have seen them before. I have felt them. I can feel my hands clenching into fists, but I don't care. A white-hot rage is building inside of me, threatening to block out everything else. I can't think. I can't focus. I want to scream at her and shake her and take her in my arms and hold her. I want to kill my father. I'm breathing quickly, too quickly, and I have to struggle to regain some semblance of composure before I can speak.
"What is she doing here?" I demand, my voice coming out considerably weaker than I had expected it to be.
"I've had her collected for us," my father says. I want to hit him.
"For what? You said you didn't want her-"
"Well," he says, considering. "That's not entirely true. I could certainly benefit from having her around, but I decided at the last minute that I wasn't interested in her company anymore." He shakes his head. Looks down at his legs. Sighs. "It's just so frustrating to be crippled like this," he says, laughing again. "It's just so unbelievably frustrating. But," he says, smiling, "at least I've found a fast and easy way to fix it. To put it all back to normal, as they say. It'll be just like magic."
My eyes will not tear themselves away from her face. I see the color drain from her cheeks, the bruises standing out even more lividly against her pale skin.
"What do you mean?" she croaks. I can hear the fear in her voice.
"I'm surprised you even have to ask, my dear. I mean, honestly- did you really think I wouldn't have noticed my son's brand-new shoulder?" He laughs. "Did you think I wouldn't find it strange to see him come home not only unharmed, but entirely healed? No scars, no tenderness, no weakness- as if he'd never been shot at all! It's a miracle," he says. "A miracle, my son informs me, that was performed by two of your little freaks."
The two healers, of course. I'd forgotten their names. They were friends of Juliette's. And now my father is going to use them. I feel sick, sick to my stomach, and I'm afraid that I might fall over. I lean slightly against the wall, not comprehending why my legs do not want to support my weight anymore.
"No." That solitary word sends a jolt through me. It contains pain. Too much pain.
"Oh yes," my father says, glancing smugly at me. "Isn't that right, son?" I grit my teeth, holding my facial expression intact. I must not let him see how her distress is affecting me.
"No," she gasps again. "Oh, God- what have you done- WHERE ARE THEY-"
"Calm yourself," my father says. "They are perfectly unharmed. I simply had them collected, just as I had you collected. I need them to stay alive and healthy if they're going to heal me, don't you think?"
And then he'll kill them, of course. He doesn't mention that part. No one who sees him in weakness can be allowed to live.
"Did you know about this?" She addresses me for the first time, her frantic eyes boring holes into me. "Did you do this? Did you know-"
"No- Juliette," I say forcefully, willing her to believe me. "I swear- this wasn't my idea-" I can't tell if she can see the truth in my eyes. If she can tell that this is tearing me apart, as well.
"You are both getting agitated over nothing," my father says, waving a lazy hand in our direction. "We have more important things to focus on right now. More pressing things to deal with."
My heart stops. Time seems to have slowed down. There is something in my father's voice. Something that tells me that the worst is coming, and my mind frantically tries to build walls around itself, to shield itself, but it is too late, and they are crumbling even as they are being built.
"What," I ask, the word barely making it past my lips, "are you talking about?"
I don't want him to answer my question. But he does.
"Justice, son." He turns his attention to Juliette. My heart is beating again, all too rapidly. No. No. This isn't happening. "I'm talking about justice. I like the idea of setting things right. Of putting order back into the world. And I was waiting for you to arrive so I could show you exactly what I mean. This," he says, "is what I should have done the first time." He glances at me. "Are you listening? Pay close attention now. Are you watching?" I am listening. I am watching. My feet are frozen in place. I can't move as he draws a gun. I can only watch as he points it at Juliette.
He fires.
The world drops out from under me, and I am falling. I see her drop to the floor, see the red stain spreading rapidly across her chest. She doesn't make a sound. I think I'm screaming.
My mind has all but shut down, and I can't process the scene in front of me. It is too surreal. Too like one of my nightmares. There is no way this can actually be happening.
I think I hear laughter. My feet unfreeze as the world suddenly rights itself, jerking to a halt so suddenly that I am left dizzy. I stumble forward, falling to the floor next to her. Everything is spinning. There is too much blood. Too much blood. Her eyes are open, those incredible blue-green eyes that have always fascinated me. She can't see me. She is staring straight at the ceiling, the light almost gone from those eyes. A sudden jolt of rage pulses through me, and I rocket to my feet, whirling around. There is nothing left. He will pay.
But he is gone. The door is swinging behind him. He has already left, returned to the battle, left me to clean up his bloody work.
A cry wrenches itself from my throat as I collapse to the ground again next to the spread-eagled figure of Juliette. Her chest is still moving, fluttering rapidly like that of a tiny bird. Her eyes are flickering, still unseeing, her hair sticky with her own blood.
My hands find the wound, and I press down frantically. Blood bubbles up between my fingers, and I am taking short gasping breaths in time with hers. Nothing I can do will be enough. I have to save her. I have to. She can't die. I can't think for a moment what would happen if she died.
Think. Think. The healers. The two girls. My father had them. I am instantly on my feet again, my gaze tearing around the room frantically. He had them collected, he said. Like her, he said. I reach down, gathering her into my arms as gently as I can. Her blood stains my suit. She isn't moving, and I try not to think as I tear up the stairs of the house, kicking down one of the doors. This house. They are in this house.
I stumble into the room, searching desperately for the two girls. At last, my gaze rests on two huddled figures in the corner of the room, behind one of the beds. They are clutching at each other for support, staring up at me with such terror that I flinch, momentarily stunned into immobility. Then I spring into action again, walking quickly toward them.
"Please," I choke. "You have to heal her. Please."
"Oh, my god. Juliette," one of them gasps. The other is glaring at me accusingly. "You did this. You brought us here, and you killed her, and now you're going to kill us too-"
"No!" I cut her off impatiently. There is no time. No time for any of this. I deposit Juliette on the bed, rounding on the girls. "Look, I didn't know anything about the two of you getting kidnapped, that was my father, that-" I run my hands frustratedly through my hair, turning it sticky with blood. I have to make them help me. I know that my recently discovered gift will save her. I know it.
"We don't have time for this. You can heal her- you can save her- I can use my gift, we can save her together, please. You have to!" My voice has risen to a shout, and I can hear my own wild panic.
"But we can't- we can't t-touch her," one of the girls says. She has begun to cry. I feel sudden overwhelming disgust for her. How could she be crying- how could she just be standing there? "There's no way for us to help her-"
"I can't believe she's actually dying," the other girl gasps.
"She's not dying!" I shout. I want to slap her. "She is not going to die! Please listen, I'm telling you, you can help her- I've been trying to explain to you. All you have to do is touch me and I can take your power- I can be the transfer, I can control it and redirect your energy-" I can hear the desperation tingeing my own voice.
"That's not possible," one of them says. "That's not- Castle never said you could do that- he would've told us if you could do that-"
"Jesus, please just listen to me," I beg, my voice breaking. "I'm not trying to trick you-"
"You kidnapped us!" The both shout at the same time.
"That wasn't me! I wasn't the one who kidnapped you-"
"How are we supposed to trust you?" one says. "How do we know you didn't do this to her yourself?" The suggestion strikes me as so odd that I find myself battling an insane urge to laugh.
"Why don't you care?" I can hear my breath coming out in short gasps. I am so angry. So angry at both of them. "How can you not care? Why don't you care that she's bleeding to death- I thought you were her friends-"
"Of course we care!" she says, her voice catching on the last word. "But how can we help her now? Where can we take her? Who can we take her to? No one can touch her and she's lost so much blood already- just look at he-"
As the girl turns to gesture at Juliette, all three of us turn to follow her gaze, and my heart stops. I can hear one of the girls gasp behind me. She is so still. Her eyes are closed. Blood stains the starchy once-white covers of the bed, and her hair is spread out around her head like a dark fan. Her chest isn't moving.
"Juliette?" Without making the conscious decision to do so, I am running over to the side of the bed, my hands frantically dropping to her chest, her neck, feeling for a pulse, for some sign of life.
"Juliette? JULIETTE-" I don't even realize that I'm shouting her name until the ringing in my ears informs me that I am. Everything is falling down around me, and the world is breaking into pieces. No, I can't have been too late. I can still save her. My fingers find the delicate skin at her throat, and I feel it. A slight pulse. I can see her chest moving ever so slightly, too rapidly to qualify as breathing. Wild hope blossoms inside me, and I spring onto the bed, straddling her body.
The scene is so similar to the one experienced by us both so recently, but this time the whole tableau is colored by horror and blood. I am careful not to crush her, positioning myself so that none of my weight falls on her body. I grip her arms, pushing up her shirtsleeves frantically.
"You are going to be okay," I hear myself say. I don't know if she can hear me. I keep speaking anyway. I am talking more to myself than her. "We're going to fix this- they're going to help me fix this and you- you're going to be fine." I take several deep breaths. "You're going to be perfect. Do you hear me? Juliette, can you hear me?" Her eyes flutter open, and my heart flies into my throat. She blinks, and blinks, and I am so sure that she can't see me, and yet she seems to be staring into my very soul. So many times I have been paralyzed by those eyes.
"Each one of you, grab my arms," I shout to the two healers. I can feel her growing fainter, her energy dimming, her eyes fluttering closed-
"Now! Please! I'm begging you-"
And for some reason, they finally listen. I feel their small hands wrapping around either one of my arms, and I reach for the part of my mind that I know controls my gift. It takes me a few moments to find it, as it has only just been discovered recently, but when I do, I feel the immense power building there. A power of healing so overwhelming that I am sure I will not be able to contain it. A feeling of intense exhilaration courses through me as I reach for the power, directing it through my hands as I had done only days ago in the hallway of Omega Point. I pour every ounce of that immense power into the still figure of the girl lying beneath me, and pour all of my being into her, too. I pour every day spent reading her journal, every hour spent watching her, every thought spent on her. I pour into her my awe at her power, my respect for her, and most of all, I pour my love. The love that she never returned to me, that she will always have for someone else, the love that will never leave me. I pour it all into her, willing her to understand, to come back. Because I know in that moment that I will not survive if she doesn't.
At first, she is immobile. But then she twitches. Her arms jerk beneath my hands, and suddenly, her body is arching off the bed, her eyes flying open, a scream torn unwillingly from her mouth. I am horrified at first- could it be that I am using my gift wrong, channeling the wrong power into her? But then she relaxes back onto the bed, the features in her face, previously drawn tight with pain, relaxing. A sigh escapes her lips, and she is still.
My hands leave her arms, fly to her face, her lips, her neck. It can't be too late, it can't be.
"Juliette-" I whisper, my voice ragged with anguish.
And she breathes. A long, steady breath that reaches into me and allows me to breathe again, too. She is alive. She is well. With shaking fingers, I unbutton the ruined, bloody shirt that covers her chest, and am confronted with smooth, unmarked skin. I rest one hand there, reveling in the feel of it, the feel of her life and vitality beneath my palm.
I drop my head, suddenly exhausted. I barely have time to roll off of Juliette before darkness reaches up and draws me in, and I sink gratefully into the oblivion of sleep.