"No," Mom repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time, shaking her head firmly. "No, I will not allow it."
It was three days after our departure from Manticore, and Mom, Dad, and I were all gathered at Logan's-who was present as well-in the late afternoon. Outside, the sky was dusted with a hint of gray night approaching, and raindrops pooled in the exterior window crevices, which signaled the definite approach of a rainstorm. A few fat birds, somehow knowing that spring had arrived a few weeks early-in February, this year-were gathered on the wire lines outside of Logan's penthouse, twittering to themselves pleasantly. Seeing the birds, my feline DNA provoked me into wondering how much longer Logan's garlic chicken was going to be in cooking.
To recap the past events, Lydecker's body had been buried in the ashes of the Manticore building. Dad insisted that we might as well leave the corpse there to rot, but I-still containing a trace of 415-argued that we at least show some pity for the dead. So reluctantly, we assisted James in lugging his father's body over to the smoldering part of the facility that wasn't leaping dangerously with flames, and gently throwing the mass into the ashes, which quickly engulfed the added weight. Of course, Dad hissed some harsh words behind James' back, which no one but I caught, and even then, I made no sign that I had even heard them. Dad, was, of course, rather difficult to deal with at times.
After a quiet moment in which James alone wiped away a few tears concerning his father's death, we-excluding James-gathered together and discussed how to get back home. There was, after all, only one motorcycle, and all of the other transportation machinery had been destroyed in the fire. Naturally, I volunteered myself to drive into town with James-since he would probably be killed by the others when I left him-where we planned to pick up an extra car from the rental place at the airport.
He said nothing to me on the entire trip there and grabbed onto the bottom of his seat instead of looping his arms around my waist. I fought between the notion of bucking him off the motorcycle, killing him, and allowing him to live with the knowledge of what he had done. Unfortunately, my more angelic side won out, and he was allowed to stay on.
Yet, it wasn't until he had hopped into the large van that would be able to carry everyone back to the airport that James spoke.
"You know, I was thinking about the first time we came here."
"And?" I asked, arching an eyebrow as I straddled my purring motorcycle beside the car.
"It seems odd that we're suddenly leaving."
Instinctively, I stiffened, not liking what I had just heard. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It's just that…there's this big gap-life at Manticore-that doesn't really exist, and it was more like a bad dream than reality. I mean," he sighed, "it's feels like we were just looking down at the building last night, debating about how to break in."
I stared evenly at him, trying not to glare too fiercely and shot back in a vehement whisper, "If you were to say something like that to the others, they'd kill you, James, no questions asked. A bad dream does not give you scars and unimaginable pain just because 'it's a bad dream'…" I snorted angrily. "Let's just get back and leave here." And, before he could say anymore, I gunned the engine and sped away, spewing up ice crystals beneath my wheel, leaving him to follow me or be killed.
To make a long story short, we clambered into the van, drove to the airport, got tickets after putting a call into Logan-who nearly began to go into hysterics on the phone when Mom called him-and we flew back on the earliest flight. A few extended hours later, Seattle was once again our locale.
When we landed, Mom immediately flew into Logan's arms, where she spent the past three nights, causing some more fuming muttering from Dad that was definitely too profane for his usual mutterings, so I shot him a couple glances, forcing him to realize that I was listening in. He shut up…not as quickly as I would have like, but he shut up nonetheless.
James retreated away into his apartment after a curt goodbye to me. Before leaving, he mentioned something about calling me to 'discuss things'. His call either was accepted by Dad who hung the phone up in his face or James never called. Personally, after two days, I went with the latter choice. Yet, in the back of my mind, I was slightly worried that he had committed suicide after arriving, but the thought of heading over to his apartment brought back flashbacks that I wasn't ready to face, so I avoided the subject altogether.
Everyone else went back to their individual homes, which had all remained intact since our Manticore capture. Jace was reunited with Victor, and Case with Charlie. Parents with kids. Tears upon tears. It was good to see families together once again.
Dad, 416, and I headed back to the apartment where Original Cindy met me with open arms, Dad with frank annoyance, and 416 with instant suspicion. I offered 416 the guest bedroom, which he accepted nervously, but headed on in anyhow. For the past three days, he holed himself up inside of the room, scribbling madly into a notebook that had already been in the sleeping area.
Out of frank curiosity, I had picked one of the fallen papers up so that I could see what he was writing about and found myself greeted with a mad mess of haphazard words and jumbled phrases:"all i want is freedom freedom from this nightmare she says it will end i don't think it will when will it end now never monsters in the basement are in this bedroom what if they come for me…." I didn't continue reading anymore of his drabbles, figuring that he needed to deal with his newfound freedom in his own sense. Besides, he could remain with us as long as he needed to, so my chance to fully "talk things over" would come.
Dad accepted the couch, since Original Cindy definitely didn't want to share her room with him, so I instead took the room with Cindy. Night after night, we stayed up until the morning hours, whispering about what Manticore had done to both Mom and me. Apparently, Cindy had heard it all before from her lack of screaming shock, yet I found it wonderful to have someone besides Dad to talk to anyhow.
So, fast-forward three days and you would find Mom, Dad, and I in Logan's penthouse with Mom sitting on Logan's lap, and Dad looking on with an extremely sour expression.
"I won't let her," Mom said, glaring directly at Dad. "No. That's final."
"Can we discuss this somewhere else?" Dad mumbled.
"What? What's wrong with here?"
"He," Dad shot back with a nod at Logan, "is what's wrong with here."
"Max, I can leave…" Logan began.
"No, I want you here."
"Then, I'm not discussing this with you," Dad replied, rising to his feet.
Heavily, Mom sighed, feeling defeated and rose from Logan's lap, whispering, "Maybe you'd better go," to him. Logan nodded in agreement, kissed Mom on the cheek and departed down the hallway with a light bounce to his step. Seeing his archenemy gone, Dad sank easily back down on the couch, trying not to grin too happily.
"All right, Zack?" she shot back. "You satisfied?"
"Let's just get down to business."
"I already said it: No. This is not going to happen."
"I think so. I mean if you had, none of this would have occurred. None of it," he stressed.
"Well-"
"What about me?" I asked, speaking for the first time in the ten minutes that we had been inside of Logan's living-room. "Don't I get any say in this? After all, we are talking about me, here."
Dad glanced to Mom with an "I told you so" look, before they both turned back to me. "Well, Alanza, what do you have to say?" Mom asked, clasping her hands together as she leaned forward in her chair.
I swallowed, knowing that she would be upset with my answer, but I hoped that Dad would support me nonetheless. "I want the abortion," I replied.
"Alanza-" she immediately replied.
"Let her finish," Dad told Mom, who recoiled instantly with a dangerous glare, but said nothing more.
"I'm only nineteen…I can't have a child now," I stated pleadingly.
"I was about nineteen when I had you. You have to understand what you're doing here, Alanza. You're destroying a life. You don't have the right to play God with something that can't even speak up for itself," Mom told me.
"Well, they didn't have a right to play God with me, impregnating me and all," I argued.
"You should at least act like a responsible adult and take responsibility of the child-" Mom started.
"And what then? What? Diapers, crying in the middle of the night, breast feedings at every half an hour, not to mention the fact that the child will be the ultimate super soldier, capable of wiping out the entire city of Seattle in one swipe."
Dad nodded in agreement. "She does have a point, Max."
"And where you have been, Alanza, if I had chosen abortion nineteen years ago?" Mom asked, trying to force me into succumbing to give birth to a child that I didn't want.
"I would have dead," I admitted, and before she could get a word in edgewise, I held up a finger, "and I wouldn't have met James. He wouldn't have introduced us to Lydecker, who wouldn't have kidnapped us, tortured us, brainwashed us, and nearly killed us. All right? A lot could have been saved by my abortion."
"You're murdering a life," Mom whispered, brushing a dark strand of wispy hair out of her eyes. She had gained about five pounds since escaping from Manticore, but her cheeks were still hallow and eyes still ghastly.
"No," I challenged, "I'm saving a life."
"Whose?"
"Mine. Yours. Dad's. I saving the entire surviving group of Xs in this city from ever being kidnapped again."
"Max," Dad said, lying his hand over hers. Offended, she shifted away and went to stand by the window. He flinched, but continued on anyhow, looking at me during the entire time he was talking. "We have to allow her to make this decision by herself. She is a legal adult, which is precisely why you brought her back to Seattle to begin with. You have to respect her decision."
"And you?" she questioned.
"I support her. Another child-especially one with this high of potency-would destroy all of us."
"Perhaps…" she mused. "But I still think you're doing the wrong thing here."
Slowly, I rose to my feet and walked over to her, resting my hand on hers as we looked down at the dingy city of Seattle together. "Sometimes, Mom," I as she met my tired eyes, "doing the wrong thing, gets you the right result in the end."