Depthless black eyes met brown, sending a chill direct to Bobby's soul through
those windows. "Memories of love have power." Then, with inhuman grace, he
knelt. "That last wasn't me." He turned Fawkes on the ground. Embedded in the
man's neck was a dart with a clear center. Dripping off the plastic wall were
traces of blue. Hobbes grabbed for Fawkes' right wrist. Three segments were
back to green.
"Way to go, Claire," Bobby shouted, standing and looking around. No Keeper in
sight. "Um, Claire? Claire, you can come out now . . ."
Darien's cell phone rang. "Hobbes."
"Bobby, it's Claire. When are you coming in? How close is he? I'll meet you
in the garage if I have to, just get here! Is Darien all right? Bobby!"
"Aw, crap."
* * *
5/8
The van ride was quiet. Hobbes drove, and Eric sat in back, leaning against his
motorcycle. Albrecht had left to take Sarah to the hospital, but from the look
in his eyes he intended to catch up. Fawkes came around near the hotel, first
seeing Eric's now flesh-toned face.
The quicksilver-red memories began to align themselves. He remembered Bobby.
He remembered hiding Sarah. He remembered a white death's mask where normal
features now resided. And he remembered Jessica.
"What are you?"
"A Crow," the other responded. "Sarah explains it better than I do."
Then he remembered Kevin. Darien inhaled and backed up against the van wall.
"I think - I felt . . ."
"Yeah." Eric watched the man. "He did this to you, didn't he? The change, the
madness?" //Oh hell, what if it's stress-induced like me? This has gotta be
like someone asking me about Shelly way back when.//
"The invisibility," Fawkes responded, nothing of the madman in him now. "The
rest was . . . someone else. Look, this is all really kinda classified. Not
that you don't have your own secrets." Eric was saved from the implied
invitation as he felt the van slow.
Hobbes pulled into a parking space and moved to the back. "What's going on
here? You wanna tell me what was up with the Vulcan Mind-Meld yet, Spock?"
"I can't really explain it in words."
"Try." Hobbes' voice was steel.
"I have tried. You wouldn't understand."
"Then show me." Hobbes closed his eyes. He summoned all his training, all his
walls against tampering and thought reform. They were all washed away by a cool
hand on his face and the image of a hyper-real forest, a bridge, and a woman in
white. Hobbes opened his eyes and gasped like a swimmer coming up for air.
"The Russians were playing with psychics as early as the fifties," Bobby
murmured to himself, "but they kept it up through the Vietnam war, for sure . .
." He looked at Eric, who gave him no help.
"You and I both know that wasn't Russia, and it sure wasn't Vietnam." And
uncharacteristically, Bobby made no response.
Then Claire was at the van, syringe in hand. She looked Eric up and down before
focusing on Darien.
"How do you feel?" She checked his monitor and other vitals before finding a
vein in his arm.
"Crappy," Fawkes said, and realized he'd chorused with Bobby and Claire. He
smiled sheepishly. "C'mon, guys, am I that predictable?"
Hobbes relaxed a little bit. Quicksilver hangover seemed to be wearing off; his
partner was coming back. Surreptitiously, he felt for a small brown bottle, and
pushed thoughts of life and death as far away as the pills would let him, as
Claire said to Darien, "C'mon. You need to rest up a little. Let's get you
upstairs. Big game hunt's off for now."
"I'll come too," Eric said, then noticed the gun in Hobbes' hand.
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
* * *
"Um, Hobbes,"
"Don't start, kid. He messed with both our heads."
The gun rested under Bobby's jacket. Eric didn't look at all uneasy, rather
vaguely amused.
"Look, Hobbes,"
"Fawkes, I know, but we're getting his story. And I'm gonna like it before we go
back a-huntin'"
Hobbes opened the door, and Eric entered with an ironic shrug.
"Hobbes!" Darien's frustrated exhalation stopped Bobby, and he motioned Draven
into a chair.
Hobbes sighed. "What?"
"He's bulletproof."
Hobbes looked down at his gun, then back at Fawkes. "Really?"
Claire perked up. "Really?"
Eric just sighed.
"Then that means the only reason he's here . . ."
"Is 'cause I wanna be. I want to know you're not a threat before I let you back
out into my city." His eyes were locked with Fawkes' as Hobbes spoke. "Your
city? What are you, Batman? Crow-man?" And Claire said, indignant, "What
gives you the right !?"
Eric ignored the both of them. Fawkes considered him for a beat before
speaking. " I think if I show you mine, you better show me yours." Fawkes
looked over at Claire, then back. "Why did I see Kevin when you touched me?"
"Kevin sent me to you," Draven responded evenly. He got the expected eruption
from the suite's two other inhabitants. Claire was inarticulate, while Hobbes
said, "So you see dead people? What are you, John Edwards?"
"He came to me this morning. He said his brother was coming. He said, 'save
them from what I made.'"
"And you did," Fawkes said softly, fingering the key around his neck.
"You're not buying this crap, are you, Fawkes?"
Draven stared Hobbes down. "I showed you the Land of the Dead. You knew what
it was; you've touched death before. If that didn't convince you, nothing's
going to."
"Yeah, well, all I know for sure is you somehow got into my brain. Now I don't
even know if I'm thinking what I think I'm thinking."
"That's the most paranoid thing I've ever heard."
"Just wait 'till I get going."
"Let's not," Claire said, stepping in, giving Hobbes an apologetic glance.
"Boys, I feel like I've missed a few reels, but I'm getting the feeling Hobbes
was right about you, Eric. Something changed you two years ago, something
profound."
"Something I don't like to discuss. Look, you can believe me or not, but before
anyone leaves this room, I need to know about Mr. Hyde here. And I can stop
you. Believe it." The crow landed on the windowsill. It cried out, and in one
distracted instant, Eric took Hobbes' gun. He pocketed the bullets and handed
it back, then sat back down. Hobbes shot him a look and, very deliberately,
reloaded from his spares.
"Well, fine. Look, guys, screw classified." Darien had hit annoyed. "We do
still have a man-eating tiger to find, not to mention whoever shot me with
counteragent . . ."
"What?" said Claire, looking at Hobbes, who pulled out the empty dart.
"I was getting to that, but this got all - look, I was getting to it, okay?"
"Anyway," Fawkes continued, crossing the room to Draven and baring his wrist,
"This little guy tells me how long I have left before I go nuts. Six days if I
don't go see-through, thirty minutes invisible time. I go over without my meds,
you see our friend from the alley again."
"Guess you better not go over again."
"You think I want that?"
"It's awfully seductive, isn't it? I saw what it feels like for you. No
conscience, no worries."
Darien watched him, a light dawning. "Is that what your other half feels like
too?"
"It's not supposed to!"
"But it has, hasn't it? Once or twice? You've lost control and you've liked
it."
Too much. This was too much. His pale, dead side clamored to be let out, to
stop the pain. He took an unnecessary breath, focusing on the snake tattoo.
//How appropriate . . .// Not this time. Control....
Then a voice came from outside the door, and all turned. A girl, faint, but
loud enough. "Lay off him, willya? He's been through Hell, okay!? Just lay
off!" The voice became banging. Hobbes put his gun away, looked pointedly at
Draven, and went to the door. He opened it, grabbed Sarah, and pulled her
inside.
"Kid? What're you ..."
"Sarah, how'd you find us?"
"Shouldn't've told Darryl where you were staying." She shook Bobby off, glaring
around the room. "Look, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once. He didn't lose
control. He got it taken away." Her eyes came to rest on Darien. "Unlike you,
psycho isn't his default mode. No offense."
"Hey, none taken."
Rest of the room forgotten, Eric came and knelt beside her. "Sarah, what are
you doing here? We don't know anything about these people. And your arm ..."
"Eric, I think they're the good guys, OK? I mean, they got problems, sure. So
do we. But we all gotta get our heads out of our collective-" She stopped at
his raised eyebrow. "-problems, and figure out what the heck's going on."
"Thank you," said an exasperated Claire, who turned from her makeshift lab,
putting down the dart they'd recovered. "Because I've ..." But they were
ignoring her as Eric checked her arm. The bullet scrape was gone. In its place
was what looked to be a black feather tattoo.
"Whoa. That's new."
"Maybe when I took the pain... I better not do that a lot."
"I like it. Hey," Sarah smiled up at him. "You said 'I.'"
"Guess I did."
"People!" And all heads turned to the Keeper. "Thank you. Eric, you're
absolutely fascinating, and I mean no offense," she ignored Sarah's raised
eyebrow, "but we've got bigger issues here. Darien, I want you to try
quicksilvering your hand."
Sarah mouthed 'Quicksilver?' and Eric shrugged.
Darien held up a hand, watching it wash silver and disappear. Then he clapped
his other hand over his mouth and ran for the bathroom. The silver shed on the
way.
"Ewww." Hobbes shuddered. "Partner, you okay in there?"
"Urp...fine..."
Claire sighed. "I was afraid of that. There was a chemical added to the
counteragent in this syringe. It's an inhibitor of some sort. I wasn't sure if
Darien would be able to quicksilver at all, but obviously..."
"'Keep, how long's this gonna last?"
"Probably no longer than your current dose of counteragent. I think.
Meanwhile, try not to quicksilver unless you absolutely have to."
"Hey, don't worry." Fawkes still looked slightly green.
"What I'm worried about is that someone injected Darien with modified
counteragent. You know who that implies."
Hobbes sighed. 'Screw classified' was right. He shot a glance at the natives.
"Look, you two, you gonna keep all this confidential? We're talking serious
national security here."
"Believe me," Sarah replied, "We're the last people that're gonna be blabbing
about people with weird powers."
"Albrecht needs to know what's going on. That's it." Eric scanned the room,
losing focus as he saw Hobbes shrug with resignation. He thought he felt
Kevin's touch again, cold on his neck, so intense it nearly burned. He
shivered. There was something wrong, too much vengeance, and hatred. He
thought suddenly of Chris, again, and the men who'd tried to kill his own
brother. The feeling grew stronger. Eric became aware of Sarah watching him,
and tried to shake it off.
"Could be Lawson, could be the Chinese..." Hobbes trailed off.
"Or it could be..." Claire continued,
"Arnaud." Fawkes finished.
"Aw, crap?"
"Aw, crap."
And another hand knocked on the door.
* * *
those windows. "Memories of love have power." Then, with inhuman grace, he
knelt. "That last wasn't me." He turned Fawkes on the ground. Embedded in the
man's neck was a dart with a clear center. Dripping off the plastic wall were
traces of blue. Hobbes grabbed for Fawkes' right wrist. Three segments were
back to green.
"Way to go, Claire," Bobby shouted, standing and looking around. No Keeper in
sight. "Um, Claire? Claire, you can come out now . . ."
Darien's cell phone rang. "Hobbes."
"Bobby, it's Claire. When are you coming in? How close is he? I'll meet you
in the garage if I have to, just get here! Is Darien all right? Bobby!"
"Aw, crap."
* * *
5/8
The van ride was quiet. Hobbes drove, and Eric sat in back, leaning against his
motorcycle. Albrecht had left to take Sarah to the hospital, but from the look
in his eyes he intended to catch up. Fawkes came around near the hotel, first
seeing Eric's now flesh-toned face.
The quicksilver-red memories began to align themselves. He remembered Bobby.
He remembered hiding Sarah. He remembered a white death's mask where normal
features now resided. And he remembered Jessica.
"What are you?"
"A Crow," the other responded. "Sarah explains it better than I do."
Then he remembered Kevin. Darien inhaled and backed up against the van wall.
"I think - I felt . . ."
"Yeah." Eric watched the man. "He did this to you, didn't he? The change, the
madness?" //Oh hell, what if it's stress-induced like me? This has gotta be
like someone asking me about Shelly way back when.//
"The invisibility," Fawkes responded, nothing of the madman in him now. "The
rest was . . . someone else. Look, this is all really kinda classified. Not
that you don't have your own secrets." Eric was saved from the implied
invitation as he felt the van slow.
Hobbes pulled into a parking space and moved to the back. "What's going on
here? You wanna tell me what was up with the Vulcan Mind-Meld yet, Spock?"
"I can't really explain it in words."
"Try." Hobbes' voice was steel.
"I have tried. You wouldn't understand."
"Then show me." Hobbes closed his eyes. He summoned all his training, all his
walls against tampering and thought reform. They were all washed away by a cool
hand on his face and the image of a hyper-real forest, a bridge, and a woman in
white. Hobbes opened his eyes and gasped like a swimmer coming up for air.
"The Russians were playing with psychics as early as the fifties," Bobby
murmured to himself, "but they kept it up through the Vietnam war, for sure . .
." He looked at Eric, who gave him no help.
"You and I both know that wasn't Russia, and it sure wasn't Vietnam." And
uncharacteristically, Bobby made no response.
Then Claire was at the van, syringe in hand. She looked Eric up and down before
focusing on Darien.
"How do you feel?" She checked his monitor and other vitals before finding a
vein in his arm.
"Crappy," Fawkes said, and realized he'd chorused with Bobby and Claire. He
smiled sheepishly. "C'mon, guys, am I that predictable?"
Hobbes relaxed a little bit. Quicksilver hangover seemed to be wearing off; his
partner was coming back. Surreptitiously, he felt for a small brown bottle, and
pushed thoughts of life and death as far away as the pills would let him, as
Claire said to Darien, "C'mon. You need to rest up a little. Let's get you
upstairs. Big game hunt's off for now."
"I'll come too," Eric said, then noticed the gun in Hobbes' hand.
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
* * *
"Um, Hobbes,"
"Don't start, kid. He messed with both our heads."
The gun rested under Bobby's jacket. Eric didn't look at all uneasy, rather
vaguely amused.
"Look, Hobbes,"
"Fawkes, I know, but we're getting his story. And I'm gonna like it before we go
back a-huntin'"
Hobbes opened the door, and Eric entered with an ironic shrug.
"Hobbes!" Darien's frustrated exhalation stopped Bobby, and he motioned Draven
into a chair.
Hobbes sighed. "What?"
"He's bulletproof."
Hobbes looked down at his gun, then back at Fawkes. "Really?"
Claire perked up. "Really?"
Eric just sighed.
"Then that means the only reason he's here . . ."
"Is 'cause I wanna be. I want to know you're not a threat before I let you back
out into my city." His eyes were locked with Fawkes' as Hobbes spoke. "Your
city? What are you, Batman? Crow-man?" And Claire said, indignant, "What
gives you the right !?"
Eric ignored the both of them. Fawkes considered him for a beat before
speaking. " I think if I show you mine, you better show me yours." Fawkes
looked over at Claire, then back. "Why did I see Kevin when you touched me?"
"Kevin sent me to you," Draven responded evenly. He got the expected eruption
from the suite's two other inhabitants. Claire was inarticulate, while Hobbes
said, "So you see dead people? What are you, John Edwards?"
"He came to me this morning. He said his brother was coming. He said, 'save
them from what I made.'"
"And you did," Fawkes said softly, fingering the key around his neck.
"You're not buying this crap, are you, Fawkes?"
Draven stared Hobbes down. "I showed you the Land of the Dead. You knew what
it was; you've touched death before. If that didn't convince you, nothing's
going to."
"Yeah, well, all I know for sure is you somehow got into my brain. Now I don't
even know if I'm thinking what I think I'm thinking."
"That's the most paranoid thing I've ever heard."
"Just wait 'till I get going."
"Let's not," Claire said, stepping in, giving Hobbes an apologetic glance.
"Boys, I feel like I've missed a few reels, but I'm getting the feeling Hobbes
was right about you, Eric. Something changed you two years ago, something
profound."
"Something I don't like to discuss. Look, you can believe me or not, but before
anyone leaves this room, I need to know about Mr. Hyde here. And I can stop
you. Believe it." The crow landed on the windowsill. It cried out, and in one
distracted instant, Eric took Hobbes' gun. He pocketed the bullets and handed
it back, then sat back down. Hobbes shot him a look and, very deliberately,
reloaded from his spares.
"Well, fine. Look, guys, screw classified." Darien had hit annoyed. "We do
still have a man-eating tiger to find, not to mention whoever shot me with
counteragent . . ."
"What?" said Claire, looking at Hobbes, who pulled out the empty dart.
"I was getting to that, but this got all - look, I was getting to it, okay?"
"Anyway," Fawkes continued, crossing the room to Draven and baring his wrist,
"This little guy tells me how long I have left before I go nuts. Six days if I
don't go see-through, thirty minutes invisible time. I go over without my meds,
you see our friend from the alley again."
"Guess you better not go over again."
"You think I want that?"
"It's awfully seductive, isn't it? I saw what it feels like for you. No
conscience, no worries."
Darien watched him, a light dawning. "Is that what your other half feels like
too?"
"It's not supposed to!"
"But it has, hasn't it? Once or twice? You've lost control and you've liked
it."
Too much. This was too much. His pale, dead side clamored to be let out, to
stop the pain. He took an unnecessary breath, focusing on the snake tattoo.
//How appropriate . . .// Not this time. Control....
Then a voice came from outside the door, and all turned. A girl, faint, but
loud enough. "Lay off him, willya? He's been through Hell, okay!? Just lay
off!" The voice became banging. Hobbes put his gun away, looked pointedly at
Draven, and went to the door. He opened it, grabbed Sarah, and pulled her
inside.
"Kid? What're you ..."
"Sarah, how'd you find us?"
"Shouldn't've told Darryl where you were staying." She shook Bobby off, glaring
around the room. "Look, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once. He didn't lose
control. He got it taken away." Her eyes came to rest on Darien. "Unlike you,
psycho isn't his default mode. No offense."
"Hey, none taken."
Rest of the room forgotten, Eric came and knelt beside her. "Sarah, what are
you doing here? We don't know anything about these people. And your arm ..."
"Eric, I think they're the good guys, OK? I mean, they got problems, sure. So
do we. But we all gotta get our heads out of our collective-" She stopped at
his raised eyebrow. "-problems, and figure out what the heck's going on."
"Thank you," said an exasperated Claire, who turned from her makeshift lab,
putting down the dart they'd recovered. "Because I've ..." But they were
ignoring her as Eric checked her arm. The bullet scrape was gone. In its place
was what looked to be a black feather tattoo.
"Whoa. That's new."
"Maybe when I took the pain... I better not do that a lot."
"I like it. Hey," Sarah smiled up at him. "You said 'I.'"
"Guess I did."
"People!" And all heads turned to the Keeper. "Thank you. Eric, you're
absolutely fascinating, and I mean no offense," she ignored Sarah's raised
eyebrow, "but we've got bigger issues here. Darien, I want you to try
quicksilvering your hand."
Sarah mouthed 'Quicksilver?' and Eric shrugged.
Darien held up a hand, watching it wash silver and disappear. Then he clapped
his other hand over his mouth and ran for the bathroom. The silver shed on the
way.
"Ewww." Hobbes shuddered. "Partner, you okay in there?"
"Urp...fine..."
Claire sighed. "I was afraid of that. There was a chemical added to the
counteragent in this syringe. It's an inhibitor of some sort. I wasn't sure if
Darien would be able to quicksilver at all, but obviously..."
"'Keep, how long's this gonna last?"
"Probably no longer than your current dose of counteragent. I think.
Meanwhile, try not to quicksilver unless you absolutely have to."
"Hey, don't worry." Fawkes still looked slightly green.
"What I'm worried about is that someone injected Darien with modified
counteragent. You know who that implies."
Hobbes sighed. 'Screw classified' was right. He shot a glance at the natives.
"Look, you two, you gonna keep all this confidential? We're talking serious
national security here."
"Believe me," Sarah replied, "We're the last people that're gonna be blabbing
about people with weird powers."
"Albrecht needs to know what's going on. That's it." Eric scanned the room,
losing focus as he saw Hobbes shrug with resignation. He thought he felt
Kevin's touch again, cold on his neck, so intense it nearly burned. He
shivered. There was something wrong, too much vengeance, and hatred. He
thought suddenly of Chris, again, and the men who'd tried to kill his own
brother. The feeling grew stronger. Eric became aware of Sarah watching him,
and tried to shake it off.
"Could be Lawson, could be the Chinese..." Hobbes trailed off.
"Or it could be..." Claire continued,
"Arnaud." Fawkes finished.
"Aw, crap?"
"Aw, crap."
And another hand knocked on the door.
* * *