Author's Note: Wow, two comments already, and on the first chapter alone…? Methinks the tide is turning, my friends…the tide just may be turning! I wonder if I might suggest 'Clockwork Zheena' to you, so that somebody like Dan Sickles could get a steadier stream of comments as I am? I hope so, you might enjoy it as a potentially good read! ;)

In the meantime, before I get too distracted…

2

Georgie's dead.

There we are. Maybe I just came up with my own answer by spitting these words out to my Em.

Georgie's dead.

All I have to do is sign these words, and it's like something in my brain finally comes unglued. That's when some things that I thought had stayed buried start rushing back up like a flood.

We'd almost ran off with some rich old man's watch collection when he showed up armed, and let us know that he'd called for the police the moment we'd broken into his house. That had been ten minutes ago, which meant the police themselves showed up ten seconds later. I'd made it out through the window and after Dim in time, but I couldn't hear Georgie coming along behind me.

Instinctively I had turned my head just to make sure, only to see him fall down one moment and…and then watch that old man raise and lower his crowbar like an executioner swinging his axe, and then see a spray of Georgie's blood spill onto the white walls where Georgie himself had stood a short time before. That sight alone had been enough to pull me back to that house, to make me want to go back and save him from whatever that old man was doing…but something stronger and much more painful had yanked me in the opposite direction, forcing me to do it his way as always, and ignore my own wants to my greater depression and agony.

It had always been so easy for someone else to shove their way into my life, convince me to put my own thoughts, opinions, and desires aside, and just keep my mouth shut and go along with whatever they wanted me to do for them. I'd always tried to live up to what I thought they expected of me. I'd always tried to give them what I thought they wanted from me, but it wasn't enough for them. It was never, ever enough.

That was the kind of life that had dragged me into misery and pain; then three months of silence in the sanitarium; three more of silence in my own home and on the streets together; and finally here to the hospital. I felt it dragging me back into silence as surely as I had been dragged away from saving Georgie, and I felt the old panic about to erupt inside of me as it had earlier that morning.

This time, though, I was lucky to no longer be by myself. This time, I had Em there to pull me back, and soon I could safely realize that her hold on me was so much stronger than all the others. Where everyone else had died, disappeared, or walked out on me, she was one of the few people who had dared to stay behind. That was the one thing I must have needed, because there she was to give it to me without question or second thoughts. And so, even though I felt myself tearing up and crying again, I did it fully aware of my surroundings this time; not caught in my own little silent world where no one else bothered to see me or talk to me.

I could feel other, sweeter things alongside my own pain now—the touch of Em's hands against my back, stroking my hair, patting my shoulders to let me know everything was going to be all right. The usual smells of cold air and dirty streets had vanished, and in their places I smelled lilacs and hospital cleaner. When once I might have felt myself seize up and start breathing too fast, now I could just breathe easy, and not worry about throwing up or passing out again.

Not only was I someplace much cleaner, the people here seemed a lot more welcoming to me so far. I felt warm all over, too—not just because of the hot water they'd washed me with, but also because I'd been covered up with warmer clothes and thicker blankets. My eyes were a bit clearer as well, for I could see light filtering in through the windows where I'd once seen bright, blurry spots. Could I rest easy here as I now breathed, and enjoy its unexpected comfort as long as I could? This place didn't look like home, but it felt a tiny bit like it, and I hoped that might be enough to keep me relaxed.

I liked knowing that feeling again. It promised me that I might not have to wander around by myself anymore; that I might get to go home later on and be with Em like I'd used to do. Maybe it was just as well that I did, because the streets were just too damn quiet these days.

Maybe it was also a good idea that I stopped wandering altogether, and started paying attention to more important things…like helping Em keep our small flat clean, for example. You didn't have to hurt any other boys or old men to do that, and neither could you risk your own life besides falling down a few slippery stairs.

On the other hand…there was always that chance I could just get distracted again; led astray much too easily by the next strong-willed malchick with a rotten agenda or some hidden score to settle. Someone like that could worm his way into my life with a few well-picked words, and then with one more clever, convenient word at a time, talk me into doing whatever he wanted me to do to someone less strong-willed, whenever he wanted such things to happen, and all for his personal pleasure rather than the good of everyone else.

To make sure this sort of thing did not happen to me all over again, I would have to be careful. I would have to take a good look at some new person's behavior and background before I decided to go hang out with them. Once I started, I would have to keep an eye out for words like 'They'll be sorry', 'He'll wish he hadn't done that', or 'She's about to get a big surprise'; especially if those words were spoken with total seriousness. And, most of all, I would have to remember that anyone wanting to solve a problem with a sharp object couldn't be doing so out of the goodness of their hearts. Some unexpected new way had just appeared to me, and I would need to follow such a way correctly if I wanted to enjoy it to the fullest.

In the meantime, there was Em, and Em prodded at my hand before asking if I'd had anything to eat this morning.

Not a crumb, I told her, letting out a small sigh. It's been kind of a weird morning, I mean. I've talked to so many people, I had no time to munch on anything.

Do you feel like you could, though? Do you want to have breakfast?

I could only shrug and fiddle with the edge of my blanket, because at that time, I could only feel like sleeping for a week, if not longer. How would I be able to feed myself if I had trouble lifting my hands? How could I stop Em from worrying, if I felt too exhausted to pick up a spoon to feed myself? Would she have to do it instead, pushing the fork into my mouth like I was a year old again, and unable to do much else besides let it dribble down my face?

I didn't want to find out the answer to that, but a nurse came anyway, knocking on my door to let us know she'd brought a tray of food in for me. I took one look at the eggs and toast she'd given me, and soon felt my stomach turn in protest. Some part of my already-exhausted brain told me that trying to eat those eggs would be like trying to swallow glue, and that biting into that toast would be like biting sandpaper.

Em, I'm too tired, I complained, letting my face wrinkle in disgust. Can't I get some more sleep first, maybe?

First this, then that, Em insisted, taking the tray from the nurse and then holding one of the toast slices up to my face.

I'm not hungry!

Just a LITTLE bite, then…?

I sighed, held up my hands in defeat, and finally allowed myself to take two bites of the toast, because I wasn't sure how long I could handle Em giving me that puppy-eyed look or begging me just to taste it. It made my gums ache a little, but I did like tasting melted butter again, and the fact that it was still warm didn't hurt me all that much, either.

There, see? No harm done! The special juice next, if you can.

My tray included a glass of something pink and slightly fizzy, which reminded me almost of some fruity soda save for the fact that it was foggy like juice was, and not clear like the other drink. I leaned my head forward until I was able to reach the straw, and then took three or four weak sips. It tasted faintly of strawberries, which was probably a good thing for me. I might have not been so eager to drink it if it hadn't tasted any good.

There you go, Em signed, giving me a smile so like my own, one that included a small gap between her front teeth. You keep that up, Petey. You keep that up, and then you'll be well again, and then—

There was another sudden knocking at my door, and soon afterwards, a pair of dark brown eyes peered curiously inward at us.