The lightning faded and Richie slumped to the ground, his body folding over backward. In the aftermath of the explosions and Richie's screaming, the playground fell eerily silent.
"That was…" Jo started, then found herself at a loss for descriptors. The structures of the playground drew stark lines in the fading light, sectioning the area off like a before-and-after picture. In the back stood the swingset with its attached tower that led to the slide, against which Jo saw Liam leaning. Behind him the shadows dimmed toward the back wall of the school grounds. In front, several small fires burned among the woodchips and broken glass glittered on the asphalt from the exploded security lights. The acrid smell of overheated metal filled the air.
At the edge of the playground lay Kenny's body, looking like he'd jumped from the swing and landed wrong—only he wouldn't be getting up from this. His sword lay just out of reach one direction, while in the other his blond mop of hair sat in stark contrast to the black surfacing on which his head had landed. A small, final flicker of electricity sparked around the stump of neck, and Jo idly noted it while the distant, deductive part of her mind spelled out a connection: This is why there's no blood.
Between the body and the head lay the collapsed form of the boy's killer, the murder weapon still in hand. His chest heaved with the breaths of heavy exertion, though the fight itself had only lasted a couple minutes.
The cop in Jo knew what she had to do, while the injury on her side throbbed a counter-argument.
"A Quickening," Liam supplied, his voice breaking into her thoughts. He sounded strained, and Jo caught a movement like he'd lost his balance and grabbed onto the slide at the last moment to stay upright.
"Incredible," Henry stated. Pulling free from her grip, he went over to stomp out the nearest of the small fires. "Does this happen every time? Is it like this every time?"
Jo nodded dumbly, both curious and horrified about the answer. She'd seen the effects twice now, yet hadn't thought to extrapolate backward to what caused them. She knew now that if she had, she wouldn't have been close.
Liam's answer came on a delay, as if he had to think about how much to tell him. Why hold back now, though? "I…think so."
Before Jo could ask what he meant, Richie stirred and straightened a leg—an effort which exhausted him. The other was still bent painfully beneath him. He was completely vulnerable in the way she'd seen too often in the survivors she contacted while investigating homicides.
Watching the lightning strike him, hearing his yells, seeing the contortions of his body and face had all felt obscene, like she'd witnessed him being raped. Of all the information about their Immortality Richie and Liam had volunteered so freely, they'd only acknowledged this part in its barest terms. Now she understood why. The movie had shown light and sound, but it couldn't capture the smell of ozone or burning flesh, or the electricity in the air that tingled her skin. It hadn't been able to capture the fear, anger, and desperation she'd felt swirling through the storm. If that's what a Quickening felt like to a mortal observer, what must it be to Richie at the center of it? Not sexual, but at least as intense. Not wanted, but accepted in its inevitability.
But, what really got her was the recognition that none of this was a new experience for Richie.
"Where did all that energy come from?" Jo heard Henry ask. "It can't have all been stored within the body and been undetectable." Squealing from the metal chains of the swings as they slowed filled the silence after the statement before Henry got there with his next thought. "Is it undetectable? I didn't think to bring any of my instruments with me. Where could I...the science lab, of course! I need to get into the school. I'll need a voltmeter, magnets, and-"
"I can't allow that," Liam interrupted.
Henry barked the start of a protest, and Jo stopped listening. This was between them, and they were missing the most important thing.
Breaking her stunned torpor, she crossed over to the fallen teen. She knelt beside him to make sure he knew she was there, uncertain as to what his mental state could possibly be. "You OK?" she asked, reaching for a much lighter place than she felt. It was a stupid question and she knew it. Richie knew it too. The corner of his mouth tugged in a weak grin.
"Depends," he answered. "You gonna arrest me?"
She should. They both knew that, too. She'd just witnessed him kill someone, and do so as the clear assailant. But he'd done so only because she'd reached out to him. The extenuating circumstances complicated things well past what her training and experience covered. She had to trust her instincts on this one, and those told her what she needed to say.
"Actually, I thought I'd buy you a beer."
"You... do?" Richie asked, surprise cracking his voice.
She grimaced and glanced down at her still blood-stained jeans - she hadn't thought to change them - and the hands that gripped her knees, clean, but only to the naked eye. "Just this once," she confirmed. This once she could understand and accept. There might be only once.
The laugh that had been starting turned into a grunt as she clasped Richie's forearm and pulled, having forgotten that she was also injured. A new bolt of pain stabbed her side. While she and Richie were about the same height, he had at least fifty pounds on her, and right now that was too much. "God, I'm sorry. I can't help."
"'S'okay. Not sure I want to get up. It's nice down here." Richie collapsed back, staring up at the sky while he regathered his strength. "On the other hand, I could use a drink," he added, as if in consultation with the clouds.
Jo stepped back, unsure what to do with herself yet not wanting to leave Richie like this. Her eye once again landed on Kenny's body. Were they just going to leave it here? Kenny had tried to kill her—had killed Henry; she felt no sympathy for him, but he didn't deserve this. No, the custodians or children who would find the body tomorrow or the next day didn't deserve that.
"Kenny?" she asked.
"I'll take care of it," Liam answered. She spun and saw him still leaning against the slide. He had a hand pressed against his head and Jo thought she saw blood. Abruptly, she remembered the first time she'd met Richie and how he'd tripped on this very playground, skinning his forearm. It was the only time she'd felt a twinge of envy at what those Immortals had. After what she'd seen tonight, she was happy to put up with the weeks of discomfort her own would bring.
"Probably better if you don't tell me how," she said, acknowledging that the body's disposal wasn't going to be legal. "Then I can honestly say I don't know what happened to him." The less she had to lie, the better it would be for all of them, no matter how curious she was about this too. She was suddenly aware of how often all the immortals must rely on half-truths and omitted details just to get through the day, and how careful they'd been to to be honest with her once she'd learned their secret. She hadn't appreciated what a risk that was.
Liam met her eyes and, with great solemnity, offered her an excuse to leave. "Why don't you get Richie out of here?"
"I'm fine," Richie responded. Using his sword as crutch, he'd finally managed to pull himself to his feet. "Raincheck on the beer? I wanna get home." He was wobbling, swaying slowly in the breeze like a man who'd already had too much to drink.
"At least let me drive you," Jo said. "You can pick up your bike tomorrow. We wouldn't want you to get stopped for driving under the influence." She chuckled at her own joke before it occurred to her that it might have too much truth in it. She really didn't know what effects a Quickening was or wasn't supposed to have, but it wasn't difficult to see that Richie looked terrible: wan, eyes sunken, trembling. The evening light had picked up a blue tinge that painted Richie's skin a sick gray. "Someone can move your bike off the sidewalk after…" She gestured at the body, still not quite able to bring herself to say it. The less she spoke, the less complicit she'd feel.
"I'm fine," Richie repeated, just as his legs gave way at the first step. He stumbled and pitched forward, only managing to keep from face-planting because he was still leaning on his sword. "'m not fine. Yeah, I'll take that ride. And some help walking? The ground refuses to stay still."
"Go on," Liam said, still speaking carefully. "I'll have tea waiting when you get back, Jo."
Tea that would, no doubt, be heavily fortified. "Thank you," Jo answered, at the same time committing herself to coming back. She retrieved Richie's jacket from where he'd tossed it before the fight and let him tuck the sword inside, noting that the blade did have blood on it. It brought home the fact that Richie had killed someone tonight. Killed because he had to, yes, which she knew from experience only made it easier in the moment—and made all the moments after that so much harder to bear.
Together they made it to her car. The interior was warm from sitting in the sun, the air stale and still smelling strongly of the East River. Wrinkling her nose, Jo helped Richie into the passenger seat, then helped him buckle in. Rather than improving, his movements had become more sluggish.
"In case you're wondering, I'm not going to tell anyone what happened tonight," she said, after situating herself and getting the car started. The edge of her phone pressed into her leg, reminding her of the last call she'd received. Though she knew it wasn't true, she imagined that Lt. Reece still stood on the other end of that connection, listening. Pressing the power button, she did something she else never did: she turned the phone off.
Traffic was thin and she was able to pull out of her hasty parking spot with little trouble. Cars were parked up on both sides of the street, narrowing the through way to a width that made it necessary to ease her car past the oncoming traffic. Still, after a lifetime of driving in the city, she was used to this. After they hit the main roads, she'd have to concentrate more, and perhaps find a different topic. "No one would believe me anyway. Hell, I wouldn't believe me, if I hadn't seen it myself." Keeping some events off the books was worth it to maintain her professional credibility, at least in this case. "As much as I hate to admit you, you did a good thing tonight."
Richie didn't respond.
She spared a glance over, a little miffed that he wasn't going to acknowledge her attempt at an apology, and saw him slumped against the window. His mouth was slack, eyes open and staring at nothing. Only the seatbelt was keeping him upright. Jo's foot slipped off the gas pedal and the car jolted. Behind her, a horn blared. She shook her fist at the impatient driver while struggling to compose herself.
He's dead, she thought.
Then, out loud, she repeated the words. Hearing them didn't make them any more real. She checked again and saw Richie's hands laying limp in his lap just like Drake's had been. She'd seen enough corpses to know what one looked like. Henry had vanished when he died, and Richie had ... not. He was just dead. From what? He was supposed to be immortal from all except beheading. Were Quickenings lethal, as well? No one had so much as hinted at that, not even the movie. Now he was dead - and in her car.
He hadn't sustained any injuries in the fight that she'd seen, so she wouldn't have to clean blood out of her upholstery along with the diluted sewage of the river. But that didn't change the fact that she was driving with a dead body in the passenger seat, and she didn't know what to do.
So, at the next stop light, she reached over and closed his eyes.