2 - about

(improvised thought-speech signs #)

As Cassie was led into the kitchen, she pulled free of him and on her own headed towards the refrigerator. Using only uncanny, automatised motions, she opened the refrigerator and brought out a single-portion package of ready-made food. She placed it in the microwave over on the counter, and stood waiting until it was ready. With the same dreamy demeanour, she took the food out of the microwave, placed it on the table, and fetched a fork and knife from a drawer.

It was as if she was just going through what she had been taught, step by step, and when finished – in her own mind – hearing a repetition of a soothing "good, Cassie".

Marco shrugged and copied her; he took food from the refrigerator and, remembering that he was back in civilized surroundings, grimaced and had it prepared in the microwave oven. While he waited, he turned on the lights.

"So how are your parents?" he asked as he sat down to eat. His stomach growled insistently, but he forced himself to eat excessively slowly, a little at the time. He had not eaten for long – he would only be sick if he ate too quickly, or too much. He estimated that he could safely ingest a third of the meal. Otherwise he would only lose the food again to a bad stomach.

Cassie paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. Slowly she lowered it again, staring blankly at him.

"Dead?" Marco guessed, cursing inwardly.

After a few moments, Cassie resumed eating, still without giving any reply. Marco doubted that any answer she could have given would have been very detailed. He looked about the room, looking for something that offered some sort of answer, about anything. Luckily, he caught sight of a calendar – neatly X-ed on every passing day – on the wall. His food almost caught in his throat when he realised that he had been gone only five years.

Only five years?

That would make him about twenty-four years old. He felt so much older. Cassie looked so much older. So much had happened. The search for the Blade ship, the One, the escape from the Yeerks, the Kelbrid... for so long, their only goal had been trying to survive having caught the attention of the Kelbrid. Then the Tenkhari, the Lhosh, the Ag'e'urnee, the Elŷrrics and their slave camps... he shuddered at the memory and felt as if five years must have passed only there.

He ate slowly, and in silence.

Of course, he supposed; of course he would feel old. The war against the Yeerks had made him old. Rachel's death had made him old. Tobias's death, Santorelli's death, Menderash's slowly advancing madness... that, too, had made him old, dispelling what youth he might have regained during the three years after the Yeerk war. Jeanne's sudden collapse when the Elŷrrics had shot her, frightening despite how she had almost immediately recovered. Jake's long battle against a hit from the same weapon... his mind slipping, his face grey as ashes, his body limp as Marco and Jeanne had dragged him away from their pursuers and to temporary safety.

Temporary, for the Elŷrrics had found them, and he too had been hit by their version of dracons. They had used too little power as they fired the first time at Jeanne, and too much as they fired at Jake, but for him they had set it correctly, allowing them precisely what they were after: a live prisoner, ready for their camps. Jeanne had met the same fate.

Marco finished eating, quickly now before the bile could grow in his throat at the thought of those camps, the slave camps. He shoved the plate firmly aside – he had already eaten more than his third – and forced his eyes tightly shut to stop the tears, clenching his jaw, and trying to forget.

But there was no forgetting the Elŷrrics. He supposed they would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He thought of the silver tiara in his chest pocket – thought again about destroying it – but again, could not. He knew why, too: the first thing they had taught him, using that very tiara, was not to destroy it, or leave it behind. He had been free of them for a long time – he had not worn that tiara for a long time – but he was unable to destroy it, just as he was unable to bend his elbow the wrong way.

Well, not without breaking it, at least.

A hand resting lightly on the top of his head woke him from the bitter thoughts. He realised that he had buried his face in his hands, and now raised it to look up at Cassie. She had reached out to place her hand on his head, and there it remained even as she met his gaze.

"I can't put them behind me," he murmured, his hand touching the pocket where the tiara rested, making sure it was still there. He shuddered, and wavered, but with practiced ease forced himself to focus. "Now listen, Cass. What's wrong?"

She gave no reply. Marco closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath, trying to remain calm. He blanked his mind – and heard the sound of a creaking stair. Footsteps were coming down the stairs. There was a pause in the creaking, and he could hear someone give a huge yawn.

"Who is it?" he wondered lowly, looking to Cassie. "Someone's coming."

A flicker of remorse crossed Cassie's features. It was only there for a moment, but Marco was certain he had seen it, and he needed to see nothing more.

He was very happy that Cassie's home had a back door. In another few minutes, he and Cassie had retreated out of the house and in amongst the wild-grown trees by the barn.

Marco would have had no qualms about leaving the vicinity of Cassie's house at once, and even less about taking the silent Animorph with him. He entertained thoughts about finding his parents, and asking them what was going on. But he had always preferred finding out for himself to asking. The one person he might actually have asked was, unfortunately, not speaking much at the time.

He led Cassie into the barn, sitting her down in the corner of one of the stalls and leaving her there. From the deadened look in her eyes, she would not be going anywhere soon.

Though quick to overcome it, he had been shocked to find the barn empty. It still smelled of its many inhabitants, from horses to foxes to squirrels, but the cages stood cleaned and abandoned and the equipment which once had littered shelves and desks and tables was now cleared away. The floor was not swept and there was no sign of any recent activity. The dust on the boarding made it easy to see the many footprints of small, bare feet, crossing the barn from the doorway and continuing in aimless circles around and around. Finally, the bare feet had met with a pair of shoes – sneakers, Marco guessed – and the two went side by side straight back to the doorway and out it.

Marco took one last look at Cassie – as he had figured, there was no change; she sat where she had been placed – before he began morphing.

He had not been an owl for a long time, but he melted easily into the shape, and flying was as easy then as it had ever been. He swept out through a window he had opened, and flew towards the house.

He landed on a tree branch from where he could easily see into the kitchen, and the living room.

In Cassie's kitchen there was a young man, probably younger than Marco himself, dressed in unremarkable everyday clothes. He walked around the lower floor as if searching for someone, and the more he walked around the more worried he appeared. He checked the front door, and the back door, and found them both closed. He made sure all the windows were shut, and stared out through them, all before he disappeared back upstairs for a while. Then he returned to the bottom floor, where he ran around searching anew.

Finally, he came out the front door, wearing white sneakers and heading towards the barn. Marco was ready to dive from his branch and figure out some way to intervene, when he heard the car.

An old Volvo came up the driveway, stopping just outside the house, and the young man stopped to watch it.

Another human came out of the car. This one was a woman, roughly fifty years of age. She looked like someone's old math teacher, strict and forbidding but with a kind word to spare if one was deserved. She looked questioningly at the young man, and Marco's owl ears could easily hear their conversation.

"What are you doing out here?" wondered the woman.

"Fetching back Cassie," replied the young man. "I was just going to get her ready for bed, but she's gone wandering."

"You let her leave the house?" hissed the woman angrily. "Again?"

"Doc, it's not like she's likely to disappear, she'll only go to the barn –"

"I'll have you fired, Charlie, if this is repeated. Do you hear me? I'll have to report you!"

Charlie looked uncomfortable, glancing down to watch his toes dig into the grass.

The woman was glaring, now. "Don't tell me you sat upstairs watching TV again."

"I wear headphones, so it's not likely to bother her, and once she's had her meds she's in no need of watching, she only sits there and stares."

"She only sits there and stares, you say, and somehow, while only sitting and staring, she gets away from you."

"She's only gone to the barn, doc," Charlie protested. "That's all she does."

"That's all she's done so far," snarled the woman. "Listen, Charlie. I'm going inside, and I'm calling Dr Glas and reporting you. You'd better hope he's more kind than I am. You, are going to find the patient and bring her back. Understood?"

"Yes, doc," agreed Charlie glumly.

The woman stalked off towards the house, while Charlie began towards the barn.

#Sorry, Charlie,# said a black shape to itself as it rose out of the shadows and tapped the side of Charlie's head, making him slump.

The gorilla then proceeded to lumber into the barn, unconcerned. He reached the stall where he had left Cassie, and without further ado stepped inside and picked her up like a child. She did not struggle, and even leaned against his chest, trusting him. Whether or not she recognized him, he did not know, but it did not matter much.

#So they've put you on meds, Cass# he murmured to her, unable to keep the anger from his voice. #Strong ones, too, I think. That explains this apathy. I'll just have to wait until you wake up.#