So there are some pretty bad swears here (my first time dropping the F-bomb for this story, and it's dropped a grand total of five times), but… it's a good chapter! You might be mad at me for it, but well… you'll see. ;)
Also, all the information I got for Pippin is straight from the website, translated into my own words. (You'll know it when you get there.)
The theme song for this chapter is "Diamond Eyes (Boom-Lay Boom-Lay Boom)" by Shinedown.
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Incredible
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Rated T for language and violence.
She could no longer hear the voices. He ceased to repeat them. Her abundant voice lost all meaning. He didn't know what to listen for anymore. She was beaten of her will, her Voice having left her for dead. His voice was lost forever to the violent wind.
But the ones who created them made a crucial mistake when taking apart their miraculous creation. Now their experiments are getting minds of their own, and they're pushing at the time-weakened, crumbling walls. How much longer will they stay standing?
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Chapter Twenty-Two: Fan the Flames
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The fourteen-year-old beamed, rocking back onto her toes as her heart soared. "The North Park Mall, of course!"
Monday, November 22nd, 2010
Clara grinned, glancing back at Ms. Hyatt and Danika as they climbed out of the Suburban that afternoon. "Really? We're here?"
"There might be some cute guys here," her friend teased, crossing her arms and pretending to look aloof. "Why else would we be here?"
"I love you, Dani!" Clara exclaimed, squeezing the air out of her best friend before skipping off to the entrance to the Blackland Prairie Raptor Center.
Once they had paid and walked on in through the entrance, the girls followed a crowd of about two dozen people, mostly children, into an open sunroom with a stout stage at the far end. Long benches were arranged in rows, and the group moved to sit in the first three.
"Hello, everyone!" a girl said as she walked out of a door near the one they'd just entered, clad in blue jeans and a black t-shirt that proclaimed Blackland Prairie Raptor Center in green cursive. One of her arms sported a thick glove that hit her elbow. "My name is Sarah," she continued, hopping up onto the stage, "and I'd like to teach you about birds today. How do you feel about that?"
Some kids Ooh'ed and Ahh'ed, and Sarah frowned. "I know you can do better. Don'cha want to see some birds?"
The kids cheered this time, but they dropped to an awed murmur when a middle-aged man walked out the same door from which Sarah came, a red-shouldered hawk perched on his gloved arm. "This is Craig with one of our hawks, Pippin," Sarah introduced, giving the kids a small smile. "Pippin is a red-shouldered hawk, but unfortunately, he'll die out in the wild. Some people thought they were doing the right thing and raised him up when he was a baby. But because they did this, he never learned how to hunt. We're very lucky that we found him, otherwise he would have died…"
Clara gradually tuned out the speaker, her vision pin-pointing on that bird. It was clearly agitated, flapping its chestnut wings ever few seconds, picking up its talon-ed feet and repositioning itself on Craig's arm. It's lived its whole life in captivity… Clara's hand shot up, her head spinning.
Slightly startled, Sarah nodded and asked, "Yes, miss?"
"Are the birds allowed to fly outside?" Her words were stiff, as restless as the hawk on the stage.
The girl nodded again, replying with confidence. "Of course. We have a very large area of the forest caged off—"
"Caged off?"
"Yes." Sarah blinked, taking a small step back; Clara was standing now, her eyes blazing. "Most of the birds here cannot survive in the wi—"
"How do you know this? Have you let them try? Have you given them any freedom? No!"
"Miss—"
Danika grabbed her friend's hand and hissed, "Clara!" Then she, too, stood, though her comment addressed to Sarah was apologetic. "Sorry, we'll just be heading out." Danika was convinced they'd have to drag Clara from the room, but her friend spun on her heels and stalked out, head held high.
Just as Clara looked up, a darkly-clothed figure leaning near the door met her eyes, making her stop in her tracks. His black eyes shone in amusement, but there was slight approval in the way he nodded before he slipped from the door. Could it be…? She didn't stop to think before she ran after him.
In the entrance, he was nowhere to be seen. The fourteen-year-old rushed up to the cashier and asked, breathless, "Have you seen a guy?" She held a hand six inches above her head. "Yea tall, black hair, dark jeans, black t-shirt?" The man gave a short nod, pointing to the door that lead out to the short trail to the birds' observation area.
Clara was out the door before he could do anything more.
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Owen almost chuckled to himself. His business-man father had no time for him today, so after a breakfast of champions (a protein shake and an energy bar), Mr. Ashwood had released his son to the outside world. And honestly, Owen couldn't be happier. He'd done some research when his mother had first introduced the idea of the trip, and he was surprised to find a raptor center in the Dallas area. Now, he headed out to the raptor observatory, were visitors could "marvel at the astonishing beauty of these reclusive creatures in the privacy of their natural habitat." Or rather, that's what the pamphlet said.
He crunched along the trail, pulverizing the leaves that lay on the cement with each step. As he walked, he couldn't help think back to that girl, the one who'd nearly beaten the instructor to a pulp. Had she gotten her way back in there, poor Sarah would be unconscious on the floor by now. Thank God her friend had stepped in when she had.
He could see where that girl was coming from, though. He didn't like cages or the thought of any small space any more than she seemed to, which was very little. But… she probably hadn't considered that, maybe, the cages weren't there to keep the birds in… they were built to keep everything else out.
Maybe it was for the birds' benefit that they were caged. Maybe, just maybe, they were safer that way.
"Hey!"
Owen spun around, only to get rammed into by a flurry of curly brown hair. He stumbled backwards but stayed standing, carefully pushing the figure upright.
"Sorry," the mocha-skinned girl said, rolling her eyes in embarrassment, "I tripped. And I really didn't mean to, it's just sometimes I trip over my own feet and—"
"I can tell," Owen interrupted, sensing that she wouldn't slow down if she got going. "But it's no big deal."
"Really?"
Owen gave a short nod and continued his way along the path, raising an eyebrow when the girl's footsteps crunched behind him.
"You like hawks, too?"
She caught up with him, her brown eyes curious, and a little excited. "I've always been supremely jealous of hawks. They're just so… badass and awesome. We don't have many where I live. But… sometimes I just watch them, and I feel this sticky déjà vu thing. Like I've seen it before. Them swooping across the sky in big arcs, and calling out and dancing around in the air. Almost like they're—"
"Talking to each other?"
The girl nodded swiftly. "Yeah. Hey…" She dug into her jeans pocket, extracting a worn piece of paper, its creases going soft from heavy fingering. Her shoulders tensed up, as if she wasn't sure whether or not she should continue. "Um, I saw you inside earlier, and I thought maybe… um…" she blushed furiously, unfolding the paper and handing it over. "Is this you?" She pointed to one of the smiling figures. Clad all in black with a crooked half-smile, sarcastic black eyes, and dark hair hanging lazily in his olive face, the boy looked exactly like a younger version of… Owen. Then he glanced at the girl in that boy's arms.
His heart stopped beating.
Max.
It had to be her. It looked just like her, with those warm, confident brown eyes partially hidden by the strands of dark-blonde hair curtaining her face. Only Max could pull off that easy, teasing smile; the one that said, 'I'll smile and look happy, but I won't admit that I actually am.' Only Max could stand like that; straight and confident, but leaning slightly into his side, a promise that they would forever be a team.
"Where did you get this?" Owen's own voice surprised him; he sounded hoarse, urgent.
"I found it." The girl shrugged. They both looked up, and excitedly curious eyes met urgent, frenzied ones. "I'm in the picture, too," she supplied, pointing out her own smiling form. That's when Owen saw the tip of a tawny wing peeking out over her shoulder.
A wing.
"We… we have…"
The girl nodded again, a slight crease appearing between her eyebrows. "I'm still confused about that part. It doesn't make any sense, but at the same time, that's the youngest picture I've ever seen of myself. And it's the first one that actually looks like me."
The seventeen-year-old felt himself nodding. His mother didn't have any baby pictures of him either, and he'd never found any ancient photo albums in the recesses of the Dinardo's dusty old attic. The earliest pictures Owen had seen of himself were when he was about fifteen. In this one—because he couldn't deny that it was he who stood with his arms around Max—he looked younger, different. His eyes were darker; they'd seen too many obscenities to possibly be legal. He was unbelievably thin, as if he hadn't ever had a good meal.
And when he looked over Max with this new scrutiny, he was surprised at what he found. Her shoulders sloped downward; who ever had been in control of her had put her under too much pressure. Those eyes, those mesmerizing eyes, were alert, calculating. She didn't trust a soul. Her chin was tight, and she was fighting off a scream of frustration behind her easy, teasing, lying smile.
"She misses you."
Owen's head snapped up. "What?"
"She misses you," the girl repeated. "A lot. Well, either that, or she wants to rip you to pieces. I couldn't really tell. But she definitely felt something when she saw that picture."
She gave a squawk of surprise when Owen sprang forward and squeezed her shoulders, shaking them violently.
"You saw her?" he demanded, eyes wide and insistent and almost… insane.
The girl nodded carefully, overcoming her sudden fright. Then she smiled. Apparently, she'd come to an important conclusion, because she asked gently, "Would you like to talk to her?"
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Riley stiffened when her cell phone buzzed in her pocket, sending the vibrations down her leg.
Izzy frowned from her perch on the Wallace's kitchen counter, taking a bite out a juicy slice of watermelon.
After the swing incident and nearly choking Sarah, Riley had texted her eldest sister to say that Rachel swung by to pick her up on her way to the grocery store, giving Rose no reason to worry when she came outside to find her car abandoned.
In reality, she'd ridden back to the Wallace's house with the group, where they'd explained her presence to everyone as an old friend of Aiden's, and Izzy and Mike's cousin.
The rest of the Wallace's had scattered after that, still scared and still worried about Riley's sanity. She'd tried to apologize to Sarah, but Mike had advised her just to leave the sixteen-year-old alone. Now they were all stationed around the kitchen in various poses of boredom, munching on the forgotten sandwiches.
But right now, it was killing her how little she remembered. Izzy, Mike, and Aiden all brought memories crashing to the front of her mind, but they were all distorted. A feeling here, a sight there. None of it added up. It didn't help at all that Riley knew for certain that she'd grown up with the three of them, and that Clara was also somehow apart of the jumbled mess that was her memories.
"Who is it?" Aiden asked now as Riley flipped open her cell.
Izzy's eyes widened. "It's Nudge," she said softly. The four in the kitchen all crowded together, gazing at the cell phone, or listening intently, with a reverence fit for visiting dignitaries.
Answering the phone and putting it on speaker, Riley asked, "Hello?"
Clara's voice came out soft, and excited. "Hey, Max. I've got someone here who'd like to talk to you."
"Who is it?" Her whole body went rigid against the kitchen counter. Mike stiffened as well, his gaze at the offending device hardening dangerously.
Riley could practically feel the girl's grin through the phone. "Why don't you let him tell you?" A pause.
"Max?"
The sudden realization made her blood run cold. Everything in her body froze. This is him. This is Fang. Nudge has found Fang. Nudge found Fang! Nudge. Found. FANG!
Her breath stopped in her chest,
and she dropped the phone,
and collapsed.
Aiden held his arms out automatically, stopping a stricken Riley from hitting the ground. He pulled her into his chest as she shook with silent, dry sobs.
It was Mike who caught the phone, and he took one of Riley's hands with his free one and growled menacingly, "What do you want?"
"Who's this?" The deep voice sounded suspicious, confused.
"It's none of your business."
Izzy sent a glare at her brother. "Stop it, Gazzy." To the phone, she said with a furrowed brow, "Hiya, Fang."
There was another pause. Then, "Angel?"
Izzy's gaze softened and she took the phone away from her brother, turning off the speaker and placing it to her ear.
While the nine-year-old moved to the kitchen table to speak in a low voice into the phone, her brother gave his leader's hand a squeeze. "Are you okay, Max?"
As she was speaking into her friend's chest, her reply came out muffled. "He left us, Gazzy."
"And he's an ass, Max. Don't let him get to you," Aiden murmured, smoothing down her hair.
"I know, Iggy…" she choked, looking up into his sightless eyes. "But I—"
"He wants to talk to you, Max." Izzy's coaxing voice pulled Max from her safety net that was the two boys. The young woman stepped out of Aiden's arms and stood upright, though her eyes were still red. She held out her hand, and Izzy handed over the cell phone.
"What?" Riley asked shakily as she put the phone up to her ear.
A gust of breath. That deep voice came again, saying, "Oh, my God. Max."
Riley's heart stuttered in her chest. This is him, she reminded herself. So how should be feeling? Definitely not this syrupy mixture of relief and elation and… love?
"Fang." Her own voice sounded feeble, weak. And she didn't like it.
"Max, it's really you, isn't it?"
Then Riley snapped.
"I don't know, Fang! I really don't! And do you know whose fault it is? It's yours!"
Nothing made sense. Not hearing Fang/Owen's voice over the phone; or Clara having that picture; or being so terrified when Izzy had flown off the swings; or nearly squeezing the stuffing out of Mike; or feeling so relieved to find Aiden; or how confused and protective and relieved and elated she felt to see them all again; or Becca's mysterious origins; or her fraudulent parents; or how she was positive that she should be furious with Fang, even though she had no damn idea why. None of it. Made. Any. Sense.
And it was too damn easy to blame Fang. For everything.
By now she was livid with him, and her fury rolled off her shoulders in waves.
"Max…" He sounded placating. Like she would fall for that crap now!
"Don't you Max me! You left us, Fang! You broke us all into a million pieces, and you don't care!"
"Wait a minute!" His sudden exclamation—an angry, aghast shout—almost made Riley jump out of her skin. "Who ever said I stopped caring?" His voice was low, furious, deadly.
But Riley wasn't intimidated by him. "You did, Fang. You did when you left!"
"Who said I left on purpose?"
They were both shouting now.
"You! You and your fucking note! You said you loved me! You LIAR! If you loved me so much then why did you fucking leave?"
"I fucking left to protect your sorry ass, Maximum Ride! What if you were in more danger with me than you were without? Did you ever stop to think that I left because I fucking loved you too much?"
"LIAR!" Riley screamed into the receiver, her blood boiling and her hands clenched so hard around her phone that her knuckles went white. Hot, angry tears sprang to her eyes, but they didn't fall. She wasn't about to cry over him again. She was too far beyond pissed to cry over him ever again. "You're a… you're a lying bastard! And you always will be! So, guess what, Fang? I love you, too! I'd love it if I NEVER HAD TO SEE YOUR FUCKING FACE AGAIN FOR AS LONG AS I LIVE!"
Then she slammed her cell phone shut, and threw it across the room.
Just before it crashed through the window, Mike—who'd backed away along with his sister and Aiden when Riley began to shout—shot out a hand and plucked it out of the air.
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So…? What do you think of that? This is my favorite chapter, hands down. I had so much trouble writing is, but God it felt so amazing to get it done. I didn't change much here, mostly because I thought it originally was pretty seamless. Any thoughts, comments, questions on this chapter? Now, it may not seem like it, but you will get your Fax. (I'm not telling you when, and I'm not telling you how much, but you will get it.)
This is gonna be pretty short today, mostly because I want to knock out the rest of the chapters today, and get to working on Indescribable as soon as possible!
But here's a quick tip, for future reference: Reviews, whether they be good or bad, always get me writing faster! It's like physics. Lea + Reviews = quicker updates. (Generally. Most of the time I stick to a once-a-week schedule. But sometimes you get spontaneous updates!)
Guys, we're almost DONE! I'm so excited. :)
Your faithful author,
Lea