Chapter 11: A Little Bird

Dr. Carlotta Guidicelli clacked her lacquered nails against the glass table. She'd recently had it installed in place of an old wooden desk. She thought it was appropriate; glass windows, glass table…glass chess set. And a glass, postmodern-styled clock, just for the fun of it, though she'd never actually be able to tell the time on such a twisted sculpture.

"So you're telling me that you have no idea where she could have gone?" De Chagny shook his head and looked outside, where the SkyRail ran past every few minutes. They were on the top floor of his charity organisation's headquarters, one of the taller buildings in the downtown area.

"I have no idea." The scientist smiled cruelly.

"I wonder, what would your girl do if I…reclaimed one of those little boys she's grown so fond of?" Philippe glared hatefully. "I could do anything I wanted to him. After all, all three of them are under my legal care." She stood up. "Enough games, de Chagny. Where have you taken her?"

"Somewhere safe, if that's what you're worried about." His stare never wavered. "I'm not afraid of you."

She just waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, I know that. But if I want something from you, I'll have it." Her manicured hands shuffled a few papers about on the transparent desk. "I can still hurt you indirectly, you know."

"Have you realised how mad you are?" he asked, incredulous.

"Not mad, my dear Philippe, enlightened!" she exclaimed. "I know where the human race must go in order to stop all evils, and that is, evolutionarily speaking, up." With languorous steps, she strode to look out the window at the sky and the city with all its perches and parks and bridges. "I'm going to do a great lot of good," she determined, smiling. "And if little people like you and yours get caught in the crossfire, what does it matter in the long run? It means all the more entertainment for me."

Philippe listened. He had suspected all this before, but now she readily confessed.

"And what, pray tell, do you have in mind for the human race?" His voice was even, but contemptuous. Don't turn around. Don't turn around.

She didn't turn around. "Baby steps, advertising. You already know, because you have been ever so helpful to me." She paused. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you're a sadistic bitch," he answered cooly. An ugly snarl knotted her otherwise symmetrical face.

"History will thank me for cleansing the world of infidels! You have no idea what-" Then she seemed to catch herself. "Well, you won't rile me. I already have everything I need to begin the revolution, including patience."

"What you're doing is wrong, not to mention illegal," Philippe said softly. "And as long as you carry on with this, I will stop you."

"But the government won't. You forget, our current president is completely in favour of my programme."

"Because he doesn't want you to expose everything that the government has done," he shot back.

"Well, in every good deed there are some bad things that will be inconsequential in the long run," she acknowledged guiltlessly. "I have seen beautiful things, Philippe. Things you will never understand." She walked back to her desk, heels clicking. Her eyes flicked downwards to the display on her sleek laptop. "Now, I must be ready for my appointment on that reality show. And don't worry about the girl. If she goes out, it'll be all over the media, and I'll know exactly where to find her."

Philippe took that as a dismissal and left the room. The guard who had been assigned to him for the day nudged at his back with a handgun. "All right, we're going back to your place." His face was covered. After all, if anyone found security footage, Carlotta didn't want any of her faithful minions to be caught with her. Maybe that's why they follow her so faithfully; because they know she pays well and will never leave them to the authorities.

He followed the corridors to the set of elevators and pressed the appropriate button. The camera above him was round, nearly impossible to evade. His eyes followed the lines of the doors and met the sleek, grey corners of the descending box. Maybe if I can get him in front of me… He tracked the thought to its end and took a swing at the guard.

The other man was startled, to say the least, dropping the gun. With a yell, he retaliated, shoving Philippe into the corner. His heart rate jumped as the back of his head knocked against the steel wall. Did he catch on?

His legs were pinned, and a black-clad arm came up and pressed him back, hard. His arms weren't pinned though, and though he struggled, he kept them tucked. His hands scrabbled for his coat pocket, and the arm against his chest hit and choked.

A voice recorder fell into his left hand, and he hurriedly slipped it down the guard's thick shirt. The guard just slugged him across the jaw and retrieved his gun. Philippe did his best to look offended, but on the inside, he was dancing victoriously.

"Don't try that again," the thug growled, "or the next bullet from this thing goes into your girlfriend's head." He just grimaced as an answer. The elevator stopped and slid open, and Philippe walked out, straightening his jacket and collar.

The young man on the table was completely, utterly broken. She was alone with the broken man, and her task was to break him further, analyse everything that he was.

He was strapped down with metal, tight enough to restrain, but just loose enough that no circulation would be cut off. His eyes were glazed, and he was tired. Carlotta had never imagined this would be her first job just out of medical school. She unwrapped the sterilised metal plates and placed them, balanced over the man's vital organs. His soft breathing made his ribs slide back and forth under his skin.

He wasn't struggling. He couldn't struggle anymore, not after months of harsh examinations and near-dissections and stitching. And there was still more to learn. There were MRIs to take and models to build off of him, an anomaly in nature.

She hated her job, but she loved it too. Here she was, making groundbreaking strides in her field, but at the same time breaking the oath of 'do no harm.' He stirred, and his heavy head rolled weakly to place his horrible, powerful gold eyes on hers. The cuts she had made months earlier were now like great welts over his cheeks.

"What are you?" The voice was torn velvet in her ears, over her skin. He was speaking, yet everyone else treated him just as an animal. He had never spoken before. They assumed he was a different sort of creature, alien, animal, another species to exploit. But I see far more than that. Carlotta secretly thought him as human as she.

She did her best to ignore his question, but he would not be ignored. "I am human. What are you?" This stopped her short.

"I… I'm human." A strand of straggled black hair fell over to be pushed this way and that by soft, rasping breaths. A terrible and echoing laugh gurgled up from his chest.

"You! …A human! You're all monsters, like- like me!" The words sent a shudder down her spine. She had been correct in her suspicions. She and her colleagues had been cutting open a being that was self-aware. Suddenly, the memories of blades cutting into his flesh made her want to retch. "I know what you are. And you are beneath me, all of you!" the man snarled.

The plates over his organs shifted and slid with the violence of his breaths. "I am the first savant in centuries." Carlotta stepped back and leaned weakly against a thick steel column, one that held the structure up under tons of rock. Yes, she'd heard of legends like that, but they were fiction, were they not? And none of them ever looked like this man spread out on the table. None of them had been as mentally capable, they were all mystic, mentally disabled freak show exhibits.

They weren't real.

But this man was.

By heaven, he was barely a man, barely fifteen; and yet, he had already killed. They'd released him after a short, experimental 'reprogramming,' right into the president's personal hunting grounds. The reprogramming had been successful, but it seemed that it was only temporary.

She reached for the alarm button. "Stop!" And try as she might, she could not resist that voice. Her hand shook over the red circle, her mind strained, but her body would not obey. Sweat began to show on her forehead and beneath her surgical mask. She could feel her mind slipping, sliding into a state of involuntary bliss. "Release me."

No! her subconscious mind screamed. You'll lose your career! He is manipulating! But she could not resist. Her feet paced to the controls that kept him bound, and she undid them all, one by one. They slid away.

"Help me up." She did. Or rather, her body did. Her mind had stopped functioning in amazement and admiration as he commanded her limbs just as easily as she did. It seemed to take a monumental effort to lift himself off the metal platform and place bare feet on the smooth floor. "Get me clothes," he said, and of course she had to. The other scientists had not thought to give him garments, or even a simple hospital gown.

This was what the near-comatose Carlotta fetched the monstrous teenager. His hand-wings did not quite fit the cut of the gown, but he reached back with skinny, famished arms and adjusted it so he was modest.

Then he staggered towards the door, humming this terrible, resonating song. At times, his voice cracked. She had no choice but to follow him. The scientists in all their rooms and labs and tests heard and obeyed what the song meant to them. Tables and torches overturned, emergency axes were hurled into consoles. She walked by, unscathed. They didn't notice her, or the prisoner that had turned jailer. There was beauty in it, in this skilled, effortless destruction.

He is power.

Many halls and turns later, there was an elevator. "Get me in." Her well-cared-for nails clicked together as they pressed the 'up' button, and when the doors opened, she pulled him in. He could barely walk at this point; going further without assistance was impossible. He looked frustrated by this, and by her, for some reason she could not comprehend at the moment.

"Get in." The simple commands were all her stiff body could manage. "Take us up." His fingers curled and uncurled with pain and anger when she could not respond. Then those same fingers stretched out from where he slumped on the floor and tapped the 'G' for 'ground floor.' She was too slow-witted.

The elevator shot up, and he huddled further to the floor. His wings were limp and useless, practically in shreds. Carlotta could only stare dumbly at him, for he had taken her will. When they reached the surface, he crawled forth, shakily, into the small building that marked the only entrance and exit. Two buttons hid under a locked plexiglass case- a fire alarm and an instant self destruct.

His gold eyes flashed. "Open it." She did. She had to. She loved that voice. "Destroy this place." She did that, too, and watched as he crawled away into the darkness.

The shaking of the earth beneath her feet jolted her mind back to full consciousness. Something exploded with more than a bang, and she knew the bunker and everyone in it was dead. And then she was left to wonder why he had left her alone alive.

Christine finished putting the dishes away and headed towards the entertainment system. "So, since Erik has almost no taste in movies, I'm going to pick one." She opened the cabinet and began to set up Netflix. Nadir raised an eyebrow from his seat on the fold-out couch.

"Since when did he have any taste in movies whatsoever?"

"Since our movie marathon about a week ago," she said, casually flipping her messy hair out of her face. Erik found himself staring at the slender jaw that was now exposed. The Iranian waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but he just flipped him off and went back to drinking the black coffee he'd prepared after the meal. "I think I ruined him for action movies, honestly," Christine called behind her.

"Well, what do you suggest we watch?" She turned around and the look in her eyes could have been interpreted two ways in Erik's mind. He forced himself to stick with the more…decent interpretation.

"Oh, I'm not suggesting, remember? My house, my rules, especially regarding cinema."

"Looks like we have no say in this, old friend," Khan sighed. "Though I do believe she has good taste in just about everything."

"Almost everything," added Erik. He didn't want to make any assumptions while he felt so exposed. After all, without a coat and a shirt, she could see absolutely everything.

"No, no, everything," she corrected. Netflix popped up and started to load. "After all, I am highly selective."

Nadir grinned and wiggled his eyebrows again. See?

Erik rolled his eyes and shook his head. You're insufferable.

"There!" Christine bounced back and landed smack between the two men. The more physically exposed of the two had to hold back a shout of elation as she leaned back against his membranous wing. He wanted to cry again- just not with Nadir in the room. Said third wheel just smirked as if he was the source of all happiness.

Erik found he liked the feel of her warm body against his. She wasn't quite leaning back, not with a still tender right wing, but her left wing touched his, and he could almost feel a pulse under those smooth feathers. "Well, if I have no taste in movies, what are we watching?" He almost wished he could remove the splint early so that she could be fully within his grasp.

"I'm in the mood for something fantasy…" She scrolled down through the movies and clicked on one with a Japanese look to it. "Hmmm, Studio Ghibli's always pretty good…" She selected 'play' and Erik proceeded to wonder just what drug the maker of the animation had been taking. It couldn't have been something very tame.

About halfway through, Christine's cell rang. "Oh, crap… It's Meg." Erik made to reach around her for the remote (really an excuse to pull her in closer), but she stood up. "You don't have to pause it. It's fine, I've seen it a thousand times…" Her unintentional rejection stung a bit, but he motioned for her to go off and answer the call from her roommate.

His attention strayed from the screen in favour of a focus on her voice. "Hey, what's up… No, not really. We were just watching movies again. Speaking of which, you should meet someone… No, just Erik's friend from a long time ago." At this, Nadir looked up with interest.

She walked around a bit, and her restless fingers settled on the stem of an apple recently bought from the market. "He's not as isolated as you think, you know." If only she knew… Then I would truly be isolated. "Anyway, what time's…all right, I won't say it. What time?" At this point, Erik's attention was fully on her and not on the movie. The slight sway of her hips was indeed very distracting, and the animated visions of a shinto-based cartoon were not all that intriguing. Would she object if I touched her? Probably.

Christine laughed, and he wondered at what. "Okay. Bye. Oh, wait- can you get Nadir a ticket too?" His eyes widened and he shook his head, waving his arms in denial. No! I will not have that man chafing and nagging at me all night! I will not! The girl just grinned at him, and Nadir crossed his arms with a smug little 'hmph.'

"You can? Great, I'll pay you back later, no excuses, I am perfectly capable of paying. I have an inheritance to draw from, remember?" Nadir jumped up off the couch in exultation. Erik dropped his face into his hands, wings drawing close around him with embarrassment, and groaned.

Christine came over and shared a high-five with Nadir. "Right, I'll make sure. Bye." She clicked the phone off and stopped the movie. "Alright, boys, who's up for clothes shopping?"

Erik growled warily. Nadir just sat down again and pretended to be very interested in the movie.

She grimaced. "Okay, wrong question. How do I get you two to go at least semiformal? Because you," she pointed at Nadir in his business attire, "are far too dressed up, and you…" she looked at Erik, currently topless, with a certain air of smug success on his features, and her words shrivelled up and died.

He watched her gaze raking up and down his torso, and for once, he was not ashamed. How could he be when her face showed nothing but admiration? After a moment, she regained her words.

"I mean, the coat would be fine, but you could go in anything…" Or just like that, supplied her brain, which caused her to flush a deep red. "Gah! Never mind. Semiformal, yes, semiformal is good."

A nonplussed Erik looked at Nadir. "What exactly is semiformal? Is it some deranged trend I have somehow missed in my hiatus from society?" His friend sighed.

"I border on yes, but semiformal was around long before you or I. Good luck, Erik," he said, sincerely shaking his confused companion's callused hand. He stood and looked to Christine. "Where and when shall we meet again?" Ever aware, Erik raised an eyebrow. Christine looked closely at it and realised there was a pale scar running through it and over his eyelid. There is so much more for me to know about him… Maybe he'll tell me the story behind every mark, one day. But that day was in the future, so she saved her curiosity for later.

"If that was your attempt at quoting the Scottish play, it was very poor."

"What?"

"Here, at 6:00pm. Unless you'd prefer to take a cab to the concert hall?"

"Ah, no, thank you." He picked up his heavy case and made for the door. "Goodbye, and thank you for the wonderful morning. Oh, and Erik: not everyone is a highbrow like you." He went out and closed the door behind him.

Erik strode to the door and poked his head out. "And not everyone is an uncultured swine like you, Khan!" The man just laughed, and Erik moaned. "Stubborn idiot! Nothing fazes him!"

"Gee, I wonder who he gets that from," Christine muttered. She giggled, just to let it out, then her eyes turned serious. "So, how about it? This whole taking in the other…people." She stretched the sentence, unsure what to call the individuals of whom she spoke. "I postponed the question, it just didn't seem right to talk about them with Nadir here."

"Well, that I can agree with," he grunted back. He turned away, looking for something to occupy himself with.

"What? What did I do?"

"Nothing, Christine." She crossed her arms and let out a short, frustrated exhalation.

"You're not telling me something."

"You are correct." His wings were beginning to contract again. He is so open, and yet so closed.

"Erik, please… Just tell me. Yes or no." He didn't turn around. She almost thought he was afraid to. "You don't have to say yes. Raoul can find someplace else to hide them from…from the scientists."

"If one could call them that."

At this point, her patience had run quite thin. "Dammit Erik! I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong!" And then she had broken through and he was looking at her again, in amazement. The thrill of being cared for was ever new to him, and she kind of loved that.

"And you… You would care for them as your own. You would take them in, have them stay here…" Here he was sad, though she knew not why. "You would be…affectionate, as with me, I daresay." His eyes were shining in the late morning light. And suddenly, she understood.

"Oh, Erik…is that what you're worried for? That I'll be with them more than I'll be with you?" He was sweet, he was, really, but she wished that he wouldn't think so much. It gave him too much anxiety to be healthy.

"Yes! After all, children require more attention. And then you… You would not have enough room for me." He shook his head. "Please understand. For the first time I am accepted as I am, and…liked. But it terrifies me to think of losing…" You. "…all this."

"But you won't, Erik. And you'll have company when I have to be away."

He shuddered. "But they would be like me," he protested, "at my darkest hours. Or if they aren't, they certainly would hate me for providing the foundation for their cruel upbringing." She reached and took his hand.

"Do you want me to be there if they do come here?" For a moment, he just stared at the hand. It was gong to take a long time before he got used to contact like this. Especially from her.

"I don't deserve you," he said, but she wondered: You don't deserve me as what? As a friend? Roommate? "You would not tolerate me if you knew everything."

"It's true, I don't know everything, but I know you as you are now. The past can be the past."

"Not with them coming! Christine, they probably know about me!"

"Erik…as long as you try to hide, you'll never be able to heal. And I should know." He scoffed a bit defeatedly.

"And what would you know about healing?"

"My father died because of me." He looked at her, startled. Surely Christine, in all her sweetness, was incapable of killing. And she was. "There was a mixup when he gave blood, and he got AIDS. I didn't know any better," she said, shrugging as her eyes watered. "I ran into his room all dirty after school, and the infections from that killed him."

"I…I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say.

"But- the point is that he loved me. He forgave me when I went back to see him again. I'd been so ashamed when I found out what had happened, but he loved me so much, he forgave me. And if he could forgive, then maybe this girl can too."

There was a long pause.

"If you wish, Christine, if you think it best…then they should come here."

Raoul toyed listlessly with the recorder his brother had slipped to him. It was a rather primitive device, which was probably why Carlotta hadn't thought to check for it. On it was a record of the conversation, and while listening to it several times, he realised that the things said only implied criminal doings. Could he really put it up and not be shot down for libel or framed as a fake? After all, Dr. Guidicelli and Philippe were well loved as philanthropists.

It was his lunch break, and he'd come back to his apartment to ensure that Eveline hadn't destroyed anything. Much to his surprise, everything was much cleaner than it had been, including Hippocampus' various perches.

She watched him move the device from one hand to the other. "Are you going to post that somewhere, or send it to the police?" The recording was a reveal of her true life, and she wanted people to know. Already, in her short time at the apartment, she had discovered more freedom than she'd ever been allowed. "I want you to put it up. It's the only way people will know Guidicelli is up to something." Her dark eyes were on him, and he liked those eyes. It would be nice to see them filled with wonder, with laughter, even. She needed to know happiness, and he wanted her to have it, for the sake of humanity.

An idea came to him. "You know, I think I will put it up. But I need to make a call first." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, the look of someone tricked once too many times.

"Who are you going to call?"

He grinned and palmed his phone from his back pocket. "An expert named Meg Giry."