"Wait, please, Emily. Just wait," Aunt Cassidy said. "You're ok. It's alright. We'll handle it."
Emily banged her head on the door when the second key was the wrong one and Aunt Cassidy grabbed her arm. She wasn't frustrated – well ok maybe she was – but really she wanted not to relive being scared enough to fight marines while her aunt was right there. She muttered, "It's not real." That kept her sane enough not to backhand Aunt Cassidy. Unfortunately, Aunt Cassidy immediately switched from flustered pleas to consolation, which meant she heard. Emily wondered if she should have just hit her.
There was a howl from upstairs, followed by the voice of a prepubescent boy declaring he would "kill her!" Someone else shouted, and movement started. Emily's heart rate went up. Caged. She shoved past Aunt Cassidy into the living room. The topless, pyjama clad boy came thundering down the stairs.
Emily backed into open space as he came for her. Those damn marines were painted inside her eyelids. He threw a novice punch with no attempt to keep his guard up. "He's small," said her brain in time to spare him a blackout. He threw a bad uppercut. She sidestepped and danced out of his reach in a tight circle back to the centre of the room. Just a kid. Why wouldn't her heart slow down? Uncle Rick arrived as the kid threw himself at her. She leaned into him and locked his head under one arm. His neck would snap so easily. No. It's not real. She moved her forearm to his collarbone and lifted him back up and away, but her fingertips stayed at the base of his neck to tee off a right cross as he stumbled. Uncle Rick grabbed him in the nick of time.
Emily stepped away and fought the adrenaline while the kid yelled out that she'd killed "Bertie".
She squeezed her eyes closed and turned away. This was crazy. The kid was no more dangerous than a wet towel, but she almost unleashed on him. Why the f*** wouldn't those f***ing marines get out of her head? If Uncle Rick didn't arrive when he did, the boy would have woken up in a puddle of his own drool. If she had lost control of the nightmare while he was in the choke hold – no, that didn't bear thinking about. Where did that thought even start?
"She killed Bertie!" the kid cried again as he finally stopped thrashing in his dad's grip.
"I heard you the first time," Uncle Rick said back with authority. The kid settled, finally, and Uncle Rick was much calmer when he asked him, "Think you can tell the whole story without bursting your lungs?"
Emily had to be anywhere but here. She started to leave, but Uncle Rick said, "Emily, stay, please. Fights don't go unresolved in this house."
Caged.
"From the top, Charlie. What you saw, heard, and did, not what you thought…"
"Yeah yeah yeah Bertie is dead. He's gone! She killed him."
"Stick to what you saw, Charlie."
Charlie hesitated. He seemed to realise he was going to catch some of the blame, and was upset about it. It took some persuasion from his parents to get a half-hearted admission that he "wanted her to pay", and all the while Emily fidgeted. No doubt she was next, and it wouldn't end well. This kid wouldn't believe her apology, because she wouldn't mean it. She killed a deadly bug, end of story. Stupid kid should have kept the tank closed. All she wanted was to be left alone, and right now she was the centre of this family's perfect storm.
Uncle Rick finished getting the boy's story, and said, "Ok. Well I saw some of that. Let's ask Emily for the rest, shall we? How did this start, Emily?"
Emily still found eye contact hard, for some reason. She breathed and said, "I saw a bug…"
"His name is Bertie!" insisted the boy.
Uncle Rick told him off, and Aunt Cassidy encouraged Emily to go on.
To placate the kid, Emily said, "I saw Bertie." Why was talking so uncomfortable? Get over it. Survive. "My omni said it, he, was deadly. I used low grade lasers from my omni to blind him, then trapped him under the bin. Aunt Cassidy saw the rest."
"In your words, though, do you mind finishing the story?"
Why? Also, yes. How could she say that she tried to run away? Fine. "I electrocuted him, and then saw the open tank." He'd get no more than that.
"How'd you end up downstairs?"
For f***'s sake. Emily ground her teeth and tried not to think about her sudden urge to smash the ornaments on a nearby shelf. That would ice her funeral cake.
Aunt Cassidy came to the rescue, saying, "It's ok. She just wanted space to breathe for a moment, right Emily?"
Emily glanced at her. She looked and sounded similar to her mum in a million little ways that didn't stop her being very different. It was off-putting, even if it made sense for sisters to be that way. "Sure," she said. It took effort to restrain herself, but she was grateful for the help.
Uncle Rick asked, "So, if you knew Bertie was a pet when you first saw him, would you have done it?"
This felt juvenile, but it was really just ineffective. Uncle Rick knew the answer was no, so he only asked for his son's sake, and to lead her to an apology. The kid wouldn't get over this without one, but forcing would make it sound insincere. She gave the required syllable, and volunteered her fake apology before anyone could sour it with a prompt. Maybe that would be a more convincing lie.
If it worked, she didn't see the fruits yet. Charlie immediately contended that sorry wasn't "enough" for killing Bertie, and earnt himself a trip to his room for arguing with his dad's decisions.
Aunt Cassidy apologised on Charlie's behalf, and then asked, "Are you ok?"
This question again. No, she wasn't ok. She wanted to tell Gina what had happened. She missed the feeling of Gina's eyes on hers; the sense of pure, open trust instead of the wariness and pity she felt from her Aunt and Uncle. Emily turned away, wishing the floodgates on her eyes weren't so leaky.
Gina was dead; barring Emily's memories. Those b*****ds put Emily here instead; to become the inconvenient, weird, damaged lodger who couldn't be evicted. Did slavers know what happened to survivors? They probably ignored it, or chose to believe some racist rhetoric that legitimised it. F***ers. Their time would come. Anger was hot enough to dry her tears before they fell, as always, but it still hurt.
Aunt Cassidy approached and put her hand on Emily's shoulder, "You need a hug. And don't even pretend you don't. Come here."
That was risky. It took all Emily's concentration to stay composed when Aunt Cassidy embraced her.
"Now listen," Aunt Cassidy whispered after a while. "No matter how bad things seem, you'll always be wanted here. Not just welcome – wanted. Ok?"
Emily's breath was unsteady, and she had to rub a little moisture out of her eyes when Aunt Cassidy finally pulled away. She wanted to go home, and that just made her chest ache. The air was so heavy in here.
"I just realised, you called Bertie a bug." Uncle Rick commented. "Did you even have spiders on Mindoir?"
Not now, please. No questions. Emily gulped and shrugged.
"Gosh, you must have been terrified," Aunt Cassidy said. "He wasn't on you was he?"
No. Thankfully. That might have raised her pulse a bit far. Otherwise, that thing ranked very low on the scary scale. Especially after… No. Notice something else. The sofa was bright orange. She felt her hand tremor a little so she put it in her back pocket. She internally told her traitorous brain, "There is no knife, no blood, and no dead batarian in this room. Stop toying with me."
The conversation moved awkwardly on, and it was decided that Emily go with Aunt Cassidy to the gym while Uncle Rick took the boys to school. Emily relaxed a little. It would be good to have something other than a narrow strip of floor in a tiny cabin to work out on.
It turned out the gym was a mistake. It was a mixed martial arts fight gym, of which Aunt Cassidy was a "casual" member.
Aunt Cassidy took Emily to the instructor before the class started and asked if she could join the class for a week or two just to see if she liked it.
He scratched his neck and scrunched his face. "Cassie, you know that's not how we roll. If your girl wants to join, she's gotta say so for herself."
That was an odd rule. Why tell the cash bearer not to purchase on someone else's behalf? It was bad business, but it was deliberate. Did they think she was a charity case? Some kind of "can't help if she doesn't want to be helped," rubbish? Emily raised an eyebrow and glanced around at the other people starting to mill around waiting. How many of them were charity cases?
"Emily?" Aunt Cassidy's voice interrupted Emily's musing. "It's up to you. We can work out in the corner here, or you could ask to join the class. I'll stick with you for the morning either way."
Emily looked back at the other people and missed the marines she trained with at home if her dad was away. They would not judge her or patronise her if she melted down, and they would might survive the chaos. Here, none of that was true. If the demons took over she'd be judged and patronised, and if one of the amateurs like Aunt Cassidy was the one to trigger her... Then again, pushing to the limit was hard when you only had a corner, a mat, and some dumbbells. She said, "No sparring, but I'd like to train."
The instructor nodded. "Cool. That's cool. Doe be a spectator doe. If you doe sweat, you out. Yeah?"
The circuit was pretty familiar, and Emily went all in. Screw all these guys who looked at her like she was crazy. She was sane. That or she'd sweat out every drop of crazy before she left this place.
An hour in, they took a break for water, and the instructor came over again. On his way, he seemed to signal at Aunt Cassidy not to come too. "So," he said, as he threw her a small towel. "You done this before."
Emily wiped the sweat off and kept shifting her feet as she did. "Yes."
"Emily, right?" He asked.
She glanced back at him.
"I take it you ay stayin' wid Cassie for fun? Family troubles?"
She stretched her back and waited for him to get to the point.
"What fight style you trained in?"
Emily cocked her head and realised she didn't even know. Not that it mattered. "I don't want to fight."
"Could've fooled me. You bin fighting the hell outta my routine."
She kept quiet. When would he get the hint?
"Listen, kid, you bin in the s***. Any d***head can see that. You got fury. On the streets, that aggro's what'll kill you. Reckon you know 'bout that too." He drew two fingers down his face where Emily's scars were. "In here, you got a focus, so it doe spill out. Plus, you git confidence to back yourself when you up s*** creek widou' a paddle. Gotta be your call doe. So you sure you doe wanna spar today?"
"Yeah."
"Cool beans, sister. Remember though, I doe do spectators up in here. So stay focussed and keep sweating. Want me to calm Cassie down for you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"She's s*** scared for you."
Or scared of her. Which? Emily was far past caring what people thought of her. After staring over at Aunt Cassidy for a half second too long, she shrugged and told the instructor, "Her problem."
He cringed and got up. "You maybe wanna work on that gratitude. Cassie's good people. You'd be a f***ing stupid b**** to turn her away. Oh, and you a dead b**** if you hurt her. Know it. Let me know when you ready to grow up and face your s***. I'll keep an opening for ya."
In the locker room, Aunt Cassidy was a lot warier of her. On the way home, she said, "I've been thinking Emily. You're almost five years ahead of yourself academically, and you're an exceptional athlete. None of that just happens; it takes dedication. So, I was expecting you to take a good long summer break to process everything that's happened, you know, and settle down. But, now I'm thinking maybe that's not your way. So, if you want to jump back into your studies, or spend the summer in the gym, or both, just let me know."
Emily had her window down because the air out there was slightly less awful than the air inside the car. She was watching a group of over dressed men with far too much confidence go into a dingy little mart. Everything was strange here. She heard Aunt Cassidy, and wondered how to decide. This wasn't something she'd given much thought to since…
"Either way, I can help you set something up."
Fatigue made it easier to keep the door shut on the craziness; not enough energy to face it. Emily cocked her head as the three overdressed men got agitated with the vender just as the queue of traffic moved on. There was an option she hadn't thought of yet. She could go to Harvard. After one letter to Professor Hamilton, she'd have full funding. She didn't care how aliens thought anymore so much as how to kill them, but that stuffy closet full of dusty books and alien datapads appealed anyway. The degree could be a tool to buy time; time to decide whether it was worth living for the memories, or if she could ever make new ones again.
"Survive," she murmured. Dad said that mattered more than he did. She always thought that was backwards. Right now she was convinced; it was backwards. Then again, she was exhausted and mentally broken. Now was not the time to make such a permanent choice. She had to get stable, and then decide. The first hurdle was the point when physical contact no longer triggered – that.
A few weeks, two weeks, of physical noncontact training ought to force her body into some routine that included sleep, which would heal her burnout. In turn, she would gain mental clarity, hopefully enough to contain herself under stress. Then she'd start sparring, taking it steady until she was sure she had control.
After that she'd wave goodbye to everybody who cared, because they'd only hinder her decision. Everyone else would only be interested in what she could do, not who she was, so they wouldn't miss her when she decided to feed the worms. Alone she could try to breathe. Who knows how long it would take to make up her mind, but she had years if she needed them.
"You alright over there?" asked Aunt Cassidy. "Penny for your thoughts."
Ha. Emily pretended to study the plants in the verge. They were sickly yellow-green leaves, long and narrow with yellowish tips, all growing directly out of the ground in a tufted mat. Grass. Emily always wondered what that looked like. She'd seen pictures, but they lied. This wasn't a uniform plain of green or a hillside that rippled in the wind. It was a common weed growing where nothing else would.
Aunt Cassidy rubbed her shoulder. Emily's whole body stiffened, but Aunt Cassidy didn't seem to notice. "We'll get through this. You'll see."
We? That crystallised her plan. "How far is it to the gym from your house?" she asked.
"What? Oh, about four miles. Why?"
Emily kept her peace.
Aunt Cassidy took a breath, hesitated, and then said, "It's not in a safe area, Emily. Please don't ever come alone. Promise me."
"I can handle myself," Emily retorted. Then her right hand had to go in her pocket again to hide the phantom blood.
"I'm pretty sure you can, sweetheart. But, well, surely you had bad neighbourhoods on Mindoir?"
Emily gritted her teeth.
"Well, I'm serious," Aunt Cassidy said. "That area is dangerous for young women out alone. Even for you." She paused. Her voice sounded choked when she went on, "I don't want to lose you twice, so don't go alone, ever, ok? Ask for a lift. We can't always arrange it, but we will if we can. Ok?"
Loud and clear. "I've hunted monsters. I'll be fine."
"Not all monsters have fangs and claws, Emily," Aunt Cassidy chided. "Hunting made you
tough, but how many times were you the prey being hunted? Do you know what a rape gang is?"
Emily's jaw tightened. Oh, she'd been hunted. Cold fingers squeezed her heart inside her as she remembered how close those beasts, "varren" according to the extranet, got before she turned the tables. Everything whistled through her mind's eye and she heard the batarians' laughter ring out.
Aunt Cassidy finally realised what was going on in the silence, and suddenly apologised as though she'd done something unforgivable.
At home, they were alone. Uncle Rick was working, and the children were at school. Emily made herself some food and disappeared to her room. At about three o'clock, there was a knock on her bedroom door. It was Aunt Cassidy, of course, although Emily imagined a batarian crashing through for a moment.
Aunt Cassidy sat on the bed. Emily stayed on the window sill, hugging her knees and staring at the tree that rustled outside. Her earphones were in, giving the option to listen or pretend not to. She went back to her reverie when she saw it was Aunt Cassidy. This woman had proved already that her care was unthinking, and Emily was in no mood to be hurt again.
"Listen, I've had a lousy afternoon trying to understand how bad things were up there, for
you. I watched the footage from after the Alliance went in, even though Rick will kill me for it. I never – Emily, I'm sorry about what I said before. I don't know which bit was insensitive, but I guess I hope it was the hunting, not the rape."
Emily met her eyes. How much had she learnt?
Aunt Cassidy hesitated. Then she commented, "That's awful, isn't it? That I could hope you were hunted because the other option… I'm so, so sorry, Emily. I never once asked how you survived because I didn't want to think about it. It was stupid of me to think you didn't understand dangerous people. I'm sorry." She sighed heavily and added, "I mean it."
Emily went back to studiously not looking at Aunt Cassidy. She really did mean it, but for all her effort she still hadn't got a clue. Being hunted was scary, and thank f*** rape had nothing to do with it. Count your blessings, huh?
Aunt Cassidy hadn't worked out that all the bodies she saw as two dimensional nameless horrors actually had names. Emily knew many of them as neighbours, friends, family, or just "that hot young administrator who always has a pastry in her hands". Aunt Cassidy still hadn't imagined watching her husband and her children stagger while holes appeared in them and hot blood sprayed out like mist. She still couldn't picture her husband's face being blown apart by a shotgun at close range. She'd never appreciate what it meant to kill or be killed. She didn't know the terror of the knowledge that she was losing her mind, or the horror in knowing that reality was as fragile and tragic as the insanity.
Aunt Cassidy finally said in a low voice, "Emily, tell me honestly, if you needed someone to talk to, would you talk with me? It's ok to say no."
"No."
Silence sat in the room with them for a few minutes. For once he wasn't awkward or bashful, he just sat there, observing them.
"Well, then is there someone you would talk to?"
None. Emily shrugged and fixed her gaze on a winged creature on the wall. These were called birds. Their feathers were more drab than the pictures at school.
"Emily, I was – am – a wreck since I heard. Maybe you're tougher than me, but you were hit much, much harder. I don't know you very well, but I do know that you need to let somebody help you pick up the pieces so you can heal. You – if we're not the ones, then talk to a therapist, or find a friend. Broken things don't fix themselves, and neither can we."
Any therapist, no matter how well intentioned, would prescribe drugs that neutered her memory. That doctor on the Alliance ship was proof. Friendship's price tag was measured in units of spiritual vulnerability. Emily did not trust anyone to be close enough for her to spill her guts.
Aunt Cassidy was a doctor, meaning she would trust medical recommendations over sentiment like wanting to hold onto memories no matter the cost. She might acquiesce to Emily's choice for a while, but as legal guardian she could overrule. She'd only need one therapist or doctor to say Emily's judgement was impaired and she was hurting herself. Uncle Rick seemed less forthright. Perhaps, in isolation, he would reign in the same bias. He might even delay Aunt Cassidy's mistake but Emily barely knew him. She had to assume he would ultimately agree and cave. Caleb was a complete unknown, like eating an unidentified fruit to cure a fever; stupid. The gym instructor was most likely to support Emily's choices, but he would inform Aunt Cassidy out of duty.
Emily heard Aunt Cassidy stand up and say, "Well, I'm sorry I hurt you. But don't shut us all out, ok? I'll talk to Ricky. He knows someone who could help you. In the meantime, let me know when you want to clear some more of Charlie's stuff out. Ok?"
Emily nodded and waited for the door to close. It didn't. Aunt Cassidy left it open when she left.