Stars speckled the deep night sky like pretty little flecks of spit, the wickedly smiling crescent moon a gentle glow near the horizon.

His shoulders burned, his left hand cramping harshly, the grip of his fingers as stiff and wooden as the oar they clutched. A jagged, tuneless whistle escaped through his teeth. Only a few bars in, he bit down on the sound, chewed it. Spat it back out as a globule with a little ptchu into the murky lake. No time for songs, now. There was work to be done!

A flicker of light across the water caught Loboto's mechanical eyes underneath the wide brim of the black sun hat he'd picked up somewhere on the road; he focused on the light, tilting his head. It was the summer camp, but it should have been empty. What wasteful wasters! They'd left all the lights on! With a gleeful cackle he leaned forward, his boat tipping precariously. The dry land that housed the lights was a dark smudge, barely visible against the dark night.

"Anybody hoooome?" he called out as he rowed a little closer, his voice a low croon. "Any little flesh-swaddled brains wandering around in the moonliiiiight?"

A shudder ran down his spine. Oh stop it, Cali! Don't you want to make us proud?

He flinched, hard, smacking the side of his head as though to knock the sudden voice out of his ear. All he managed to do was slap the sunglasses he'd been wearing off his face.

That had sounded like his mother. Who let her into his mind?

"Ohhh, don't worry," he muttered, pushing the sunglasses back on to cover his loupes and shrugging further into the baggy poncho he'd borrowed. "I'll be sure to find a more lucrative business venture than trading in brains, in the future." As he recalled, neither of his former employers had ever paid him a cent. Not to mention, the whole thing had started churning up some… unpleasant memories. "It was a joke, anyway! Can't you take a joke?"

He flicked a spray of water in the direction of the freaky camp for freakish toddlers, the splash shining silver in the moonlight; then he turned away, heading instead for a spot on the opposite side of the lake.

This felt right. This was where he needed to be. He had to get back to his old office and straighten up. Get rid of all that "death tank" garbage cluttering up the place and start on new projects.

He allowed his mind to wander for a moment, wondering what those "new projects" might be. Once, brilliant ideas had trickled into his head like sand, until those psychics had dragged him off to their horrible, harassment-happy headquarters. His mind felt hazy now, clouded with fog. He almost wished he could blink it away.

Despite being unable to see much of his surroundings at all, the thought of his long-awaited return to the island lent him an extra reserve of strength that pushed his arms to row harder. Half a night's canoe travel and he was nearly there.

Just a bit farther… Just a bit…

Something knocked against the bottom of his boat, nearly jostling him into the water. With a gasp he dropped the oars and braced his arms against both sides of the canoe, doing his best to steady it.

Another bump, harder this time, splashing water over the side so that it soaked into his poncho; it was like something was trying to knock him into the lake!

An icy claw gripped his heart as he found himself staring at the grayish water, his breath catching in his throat. Visions of crashing waves careened through his head—a harsh, deep-throated laugh, winding serpents made of water, and darkness, a heavy darkness the likes of which he couldn't have imagined, as his clothes became sodden and his eyelights shorted out and he sank, again, down and down and down, until—

I did not expect you to return, Caligosto Loboto.

Loboto gasped, sputtering and clutching his heart, as though he really had been thrust back out of the water. The lake surged to the right of his boat, and a rubbery, greenish-brown mound emerged in the dim light, a pair of bulbous yellow eyes peering at him.

"YOU!" he screeched, reeling back from the giant fish and hurriedly pulling his hat further down to shadow his eyes. "Loboto, you say? Why, do you mean the famed dentist and surgeon, prized for his skills and his excellent celebrity impressions? I don't even know that guy. I'm just here to visit!"

Allow me to rephrase. I hoped you would not return, and it doesn't seem that your time away has done you any favors.

The non-voice was heavy in his mind, booming through his nerve endings. He grit his teeth together before tugging off his sunglasses and leaning forward again to clutch the side of the canoe, giving a great roll of his mechanical eyes at the creature. "Teenagers! Hoo! Fine, it's me. Happy?"

The fish rammed its head into his boat again, jolting him. Get OUT of my lake.

"Your lake?" Loboto scoffed. "You should welcome me! I've come back for you!" His wide grin returned, and he stretched out his arms. "See? Here I am! I gave you life!"

No, you didn't.

He pushed his fingers under his hat and massaged his temples—a headache was already starting to amass there. "Of course I did!"

You are a nitwit. I was already alive before you found me.

"All right, all right, pshh-tshh-tsshh." Loboto waved off the lungfish, fetching his oars again. The rightmost one had fallen into the water and he rolled up his sleeve, stretching out his arm to reach it. "I've come to take my little—ngh—" His metallic claws grasped for the oar, but only succeeded in batting it farther away. "—My little Lungy home! Like any gracious caring parent would!"

The lungfish blinked at him—a strange thing for a fish to do, he noted absently. It didn't otherwise respond.

"Well, come on, come on, Lungy!" he said. "Time to go back home!"

His funny nonsense whistle from earlier was back, and somehow, the dropped oar had jumped back into his metal claws. He set himself to rowing again, grunting with the effort, closer and closer to the island.

The monster dipped back beneath the water, becoming nothing but an inky stain beneath the surface, then vanished. Loboto strained toward the island in blissful silence, broken only when his canoe bumped and skidded against the sand. With a gasp of relief he dropped the oars and set his foot on the canoe's edge, ready to vault out of it and onto dry land.

It was eerily quiet here tonight. He could usually hear crickets and frogs chirping across the island, especially this time of year, but now there was nothing. Did something drive them off? That was a shame—frogs were fun to experiment on.

It took him a long moment to notice that his leg was aching from being propped up on the wooden side of the canoe. Oh… he hadn't jumped out yet. He prepared again, gauging the spot where he would land and finding himself staring at his own wobbly reflection in shallow green lake water.

Hmmmmm. "Maybe if I—"

Something slammed into his little canoe, pitching him out of it and sending him headfirst into the shallows with a splash.

Darkness—laughter—water surging through his mouth and nose—a tiny boat tossed by waves, a monstrous leviathan—

With a sputtering shriek, he flailed wildly, dragging himself onto the sand and climbing to his feet, only to stagger forward a step and crash back onto his knees.

It looked as though you needed persuasion to leave the canoe.

"I don't need persuasion to do anything! And this is getting old!" Loboto snapped, picking himself up again. He brushed wet sand off his poncho and pants. Ugh, it had gotten into his shoes, and the chill on his scalp told him that his hat was gone as well. "BOATS! Forgot I hate 'em. Never again, no more boats. I am staying right here."

His canoe was pretty much on its last legs, so to speak, creaking badly as he yanked it onto shore. Behind him, the lake water boiled and the lungfish emerged onto the island's beach, its webbed feet sinking into the gritty sand, its tail sweeping heavily behind it. Water sluiced from its scales in a cascade; Loboto took an automatic step back, lips pulling back in a grimace.

The fish gazed at him. I believe this is yours.

It tossed him his sodden black hat. The hat flopped pathetically onto the sand, but he grabbed it, beat it against his side, and popped it back on his head. Luckily his shower cap was folded neatly and tucked into a pocket of his soggy borrowed shirt, so that at least hadn't gotten lost.

I always despised this place, the lungfish muttered. It had lifted its great head to peer up where the Asylum should have stood framed against the sky. Even speaking quietly, its voice crashed in Loboto's mind like thunder.

He gave a dry chuckle. "Your birthplace? Hah! Join the club!" He marched to the cliff wall, but was forced to pause. The ladders that had been installed along the side of it hung crookedly from their bolts.

His nose wrinkled. Well, he could certainly scale it by hand, just as he'd always done before that army man showed up. "Gimme a boost, Lungy?"

The lungfish stomped closer, its expression still inscrutable. For what reason? There is nothing left up there. Everyone is gone and the building lies in shambles.

A strange chill crawled up his back at the words. In his mind's eye he saw the entire building consumed by fire and crumbling to rubble, falling down around him… Wait—no, that never happened! What was he thinking?

"You've got your little fishy wires crossed," he drawled, reaching up to grip the cliff face and start hoisting himself up. "I left some things here! I need to get them back!"

To his surprise, something caught his foot and pushed it upward, levering him higher up the cliff. Loboto clambered over the edge onto the top of the cliff, showering dirt and debris down over the hulking lungfish. "Sorry, Lungy! Look out below!"

A guttural sound, like a growl, emanated from the fish. You know that is still not my name.

"Eh, it fits you well enough." He stood, stretching appreciatively, and gave a harsh cackle. "Now, as they say, home is where you plummet from a hundred-foot tower into freezing lake water!"

Humans have a strange concept of "home."

Loboto popped his sunglasses back on his face and strode forward confidently, leaving the creature behind. In front of him, one of the black, wrought iron gates hung loosely from its hinges, creaking slightly in the breeze. The other was warped out of shape and had fallen to the ground. He barely hesitated at the threshold before walking through, his boots scraping against the metal.

It was a longer trip across the front yard than he remembered, skirting around crumbling chunks of plaster and stone. He noted with passing interest that the old statue of Houston Thorney was gone from the fountain. Maybe he'd gotten tired of the place and wandered off.

He skipped up the uneven steps to the asylum's gaping doorway. With a grand flourish, he whirled back around and raised both arms high in the air.

"The Doctor is in!" he cried, the words carried away from him on the cold predawn breeze. There was no response.

Hmmm. It was too quiet here. He could fix that quickly enough. Where was that tall fellow ranting about Napoleon? And the artist who'd been painting his portrait? Was that guy still chained to the floor? How had they all fared without him here?

"...Dr. Loboto?" a tiny voice said.

He froze up, his vision flickering, automatically tucking his synthetic arm against his chest, hidden under his poncho.

Turning slowly, he saw a familiar figure framed behind him in the doorway: tangled white hair, brightly-colored dress, a stooped back, hands clad in oven mitts and clutching an armful of rubbish she must have picked up from around the grounds.

Something that he hadn't even realized was missing finally clicked back into place.

"Ah! Sheegor!" He cantered over and warmly planted his hand on her shoulder. "I wondered where you'd got to! Come along, now, we've much cleaning up to do!" He tugged at her, waving his claw at the objects she was carrying. "Throw all that stuff in my office, won't you?"

The girl's lip trembled—she resisted his attempts to pull her away, seeming rooted to the spot. "Dr. Loboto—I—I thought you were…" Her eyes darted around the area, as though searching for an escape route. "Your… your office is gone."

His heart prickled unpleasantly.

"Gone! Hah!" he said. "That tower's stood over fifty years!"

"No, no, nononono, it's true!" Sheegor squeaked. She clutched her armful of objects closer to her chest. "It fell down… when everything blew up!"

"Blew up? How do you mean, 'blew up,' ehh?"

The girl blinked at him. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was baffled, though she was the most tediously level-headed person he'd ever come across. With a scoff he turned on his heel and marched down the stairs toward the side of the building, kicking aside rubble as he went. A tiny squeak told him that Sheegor was scurrying after him, as she did.

"No, really, Dr. Loboto, the asylum blew up!" she said fretfully. "The whole place is in pieces, look! Didn't you see the huge fire? D-didn't you—" She skidded to a halt, looking him up and down. "Where… where were you?"

"Oh, here and there." He passed through the odd, torn-up hideaway full of smiling flower pots, taking it in with a skeptical eye. The place truly was a mess. Who did he have to pay to get someone to clean up around here?

"But–but I don't understand—"

"Of course you don't! Kindly be quiet." He'd reached the side courtyard, and stopped. Rivers of neon-green acid ran from the walls to the center of the area, where the elevator had been. But it wasn't there now, and neither was someone else.

"Where's Orderly Whytehead?" he said, pacing around the empty spot. "Where's my elevator operator?"

"I- I haven't seen Mr. Whytehead," Sheegor squeaked. "I… I don't know if he's still—"

"Nonsense!" Loboto cut her off. "Crispy wouldn't go anywhere without my say-so! I am the one with his paycheck, after all!"

"But Mr. Whytehead might be—"

"Not that I'll be giving him one, if the snaggle-toothed moron's gone and abandoned his post—"

"Doctor! I think Crispin might be dead!"

He stopped short and tripped over a rusty pipe, saved from falling into the acid stream only by Sheegor's lunging out to grab his poncho.

Dead.

"He's- he's- he's gone," Sheegor said, "and I don't know where he went, and you got blasted out the window, and then the whole place came down—!" She spoke quickly, as though she knew he didn't want to hear it. Which he didn't.

The ruins of his home suddenly splayed out in front of his eyes. The rubble of stone and cement from crumbled walls, the slivers of shattered glass that sparkled in the scant starlight, the heavy odor of smoke and charred wood that still hung over this place like a dense cloud. A chill wind gusted from the lake and raised the hairs on his neck and his flesh-and-bone arm under his sleeve.

He swayed slightly on his feet.

If it were possible, Sheegor's voice became even smaller, barely distinguishable behind him. "I kind of… I sort of… I thought maybe you…" She hiccuped and clasped her hands to her mouth, the bits and bobs she'd been carrying cascading to the ground.

"What…" The world rocked underneath him; he was standing on a ship on a raging sea, clutching the empty stand where a compass should have rested, and there was a weird boy bound tightly to the mast… "What have I come back to…?"

Behind him, Sheegor was silent. And then, gently, a mittened hand brushed against his arm.

In a flash, he whirled around—Sheegor shrieked—but he went completely limp, she took his full weight with a yelp of surprise, and he… sobbed.

"Ohhh Sheegor, it's been awful!" he wailed. Sheegor had gone stiff, propping up his ragdoll form in her arms. "They poked and prodded at my brain, poking and prodding! By the end of it all I didn't know which way was up!"

"Um—"

"And h-her…" He gripped the brim of his hat, pulling it down over his ears, "She- she wanted to drown me…! And everyone else…!"

"Oh—oh! Linda wouldn't do that!" Sheegor said. "She's a nice giant fish!"

"Fish? That water-woman was no fish!" Loboto's arm flailed erratically.

Sheegor lowered him the rest of the way to the ground, setting him down and taking several steps backward, mittened hands now huddled under her chin. Her quivering eyes did not leave him. For his part, he wanted to get back up, but his cursed legs wouldn't stop shaking.

"Who blew it all up?" he mumbled into the dirt. "Those psychic snot-heads?"

"N-no, Mr. Cooper did." Sheegor shuffled uncomfortably.

"Ah. So he's dead too, then." He grimaced and sat back up. His blood ran hot, ungloved fingers digging into the ravaged ground. "Office gone, underlings and test subjects dead, even my old room—" He cast his gaze toward the spot in the building where his sleeping quarters had been, but the entire thing was rubble. A strangled cry of frustration rasped his throat and he crashed back onto the ground. "Destroyed! They've taken everything away from me, again!"

Sheegor bit her lower lip. Finally she averted her gaze from him, moving to scoop up all the garbage she'd dropped. "The others didn't die, Dr. Loboto, they just left! Except—" Her voice cracked. "...Except for Mr. Whytehead."

"Then we'll need to find a new place," Loboto growled. Sheegor had vanished from his field of view, but he heard her sharp intake of breath. He raised a brow. "Ohh, don't worry, you can bring your little… turtle. I'm sure we'll find a use for him."

There was a scuffling sound behind him; he glanced up quickly, but the girl was gone. She must be eager to get off this rock. Loboto heaved himself to his feet once again, hopefully for the last time that day, and after a moment's consideration tried to wring out the hem of his poncho. His body felt entirely sapped of warmth, and with it, energy. He bit back a curse, now attempting to stomp sand out of his shoes. And all that time rowing out here on a stupid canoe! He could've saved himself a trip and not even had to touch the water!

Oh, though he had wanted to check on Lungy. Too bad the fish was still as pig-headed as it had been at their last meeting. Shaking himself, he strode back around to the front of the building. When he reached the yawning gap where the iron gates had once blocked entry, he stopped and turned, planting his hands behind his back and just… looking at the place.

It had already been falling apart. General Oleander's hapless security guard had just hastened the process. It wouldn't have lasted much longer anyway, probably. And he definitely didn't need this place. There would be somewhere better! Somewhere he could crack down and get to work on the REALLY big stuff! Stuff like…

Like…

We can help you!

A cold jolt of electricity struck his spine and sent tremors down his whole body. In his mind's eye he saw that little boy with goggles, pleading with him—

"Oh yes, you helped all right!" he snarled; the fingernails of his left hand raked down his face. "Yes, yes, you did me a whole world of good, didn't you!"

He shook it off, and barked to one side, "Sheegor—! Oh."

She was already standing there, unease etched into every line of her face. She had deposited most of the junk she'd been carrying somewhere, now holding only a small, shabbily-wrapped package in her arms.

"We'll go, then!" Loboto announced. "No point in sticking around this joint, hah! And I need a drink. Like they say, I'd rather have a bottle in front o' me than a frontal lobotomy!"

He smirked. That was funny. Of course it was funny.

Loboto spun on his heel, heading back through the entryway. What an incredible waste of time this had been! Offhand, he added over his shoulder, "There's bound to be an abandoned hospital or something of the like that we can move right into. Maybe one with real medical equipment!"

His throat rasped with a laugh, but his companion didn't join in. In fact, Sheegor hadn't joined him at all, and was still standing further back in the yard. Irritated, he gave a jerk of his head. "Sheegor! We are leaving, now!"

"I—I'm not going with you."

The voice was tiny, almost lost on the scant breeze. Loboto rolled his eye robotics. "Fine, fine, finish picking through the rubbish and join me later, then. But make it snappy."

He was going to turn to leave, again, and he caught Sheegor biting her lower lip; but she raised her chin and squared her jaw, and looked straight at him. "N—no, Dr. Loboto. I'm not going with you later, or—or now. I'm, I'm not going with you… at all!"

The last word tore from her chest as though bursting free and taking flight after a long confinement, and it left her breathing hard.

Loboto laughed in her face. Or at least he performed the one he'd practiced so many times. At the back of his mind, a flicker of a feeling he did not like blinked weakly, tiny and cold.

"Of course you're coming with me," he chided. His throat seemed drier than usual. "You can't stay here."

"I'm not." The girl's voice faded, and then grew fainter still, hugging the package to herself with a crinkling sound. "I'm going somewhere else." She squared her shoulders a little, and looked back up, desperately forcing more power into her voice. "But even if I wasn't, I—I still wouldn't go with you!"

Some sort of buzzing had started in his ear. He prodded the tragus with one finger, and while it did make a popping sound, the buzzing didn't stop. Wincing, he glanced up at the sky. "We should leave while we still have cover of night, Sheegor. Who knows what psychic knot-heads might be lurking around, keeping watch over this place—"

Sheegor jerked. She looked like she'd just been stung. "You're not listening…"

No, he wasn't, because she didn't have anything to say. His mouth ran away from him and he found himself jabbering, suddenly highly aware of the wet poncho sticking to his skin, the chill in the air, and his weak knees. "No, no, no, you see—" He wasn't looking at her anymore, pacing back and forth over the dusty ground, eyelights dancing back and forth, "I see it perfectly clearly now! We've wasted so much time in this rundown old place, Sheegor! I mean, yes, it was an inspiring view, too bad about that, yes, it worked well for that army man's crackpot scheme—"

Sheegor made a squeaking sound, but she was always doing that, and he continued on ahead, "But this whole place was just too far removed to do anything of real importance, Sheegor! It's shabby, the whole place, it's been coming apart at the seams for years and years—no one here would even let me near their teeth anymore!" He ground his own together. "I miss working on teeth. How do you feel about being a dental assistant again, eh?"

"Dr. Loboto—!" Sheegor took in a deep breath, averting her eyes, her fists clenched, though it was difficult to tell with the mittens. She squeezed the package in her arms again, causing the paper to crinkle and nearly tear. Quivering, she looked him in the eye once again. "I—I told you. I'm not going with you."

Something caught at the back of his throat. He cleared it, his eye lights flickering. "...What's that?"

She looked away again. Loboto ran his tongue over his teeth, his blood cold in his veins, his flesh-and-blood fingers twitching.

"If my office is gone," he said slowly, looking down at his old assistant, "if everything is gone, if everyone is dead, what are you still doing here, Sheegor?"

Sheegor cringed back slightly, a strange look on her face. "We all lived here a really, really long time," she said quietly. "I—I just wanted to see what was left."

"One would think—" His voice had gone very quiet now, "—that perhaps you were waiting for me to return."

She shrank in on herself even further. "I—we all thought you were—"

A realization, cold and sharp as a shard of glass, pierced him to the bone. The asylum, the gates, the cliffs, everything spun around him. "You wanted to see what was left? You were looking for MY BODY!"

"No!" Sheegor cried, eyes wide and reflective as headlamps on a car. "I wasn't! I was looking for things like, like this!" She held up the crumpled package.

"And what's in there? A dead fish?" Loboto demanded. "Well, I'm alive, so tough toenails—you'll just have to deal with it! And you are coming with me, and we are leaving right now. I'll have none of this!" He snapped his claw, hoping it got the message across.

Sheegor took in a shuddering breath, and then another. Loboto's optics readjusted themselves, and he went quiet for a moment, his head tilted slightly. She was crying.

He took a step forward. "...What are you—"

"I wanted to care about you!" Sheegor's cry was high and shrill, echoing off the crumbled walls. Her tears mixed with residual dust from this place, leaving white streaks down her face. "I care about everybody! I—I wanted to help Miss Gloria and watch her shows, and get paint for Mr. Teglee and tr-try to help with Mr. Fred's game and say nice things to Mr. Whytehead sometimes and—and with you I tried, and I tried, and—HIC—" (Loboto jumped, startled) "—and I tried and I tried, but you were always so mean! And n–nasty! And you didn't want to paint or put on plays or play board games, you wanted to do…" she gave a shaking gasp, "—t-terrible, terrible, awful things!"

He couldn't remember how to breathe.

I've done… terrible things…

Back in the Rhombus, we… had a moment, yes…?

His voice was strangled. "No—"

Sheegor scrubbed at her face, only to glare at him with bloodshot eyes. "You were so awful to all those poor little brains! They didn't do anything to you! And then—" She swallowed, hard, tears streaming anew down her face. "And then you were gonna cook Mr. Pokeylope!"

He sniffed sharply; his heart hammered in his chest, but hopefully, hopefully, his simpering assistant couldn't tell. "Don't you have a sense of humor? I wouldn't cook that thing, are you looney? I don't eat turtles! I don't eat fish!"

"You had Mr. Pokeylope on a stove!"

"I apologized, didn't I?" he snapped, though something in his heart snagged.

"No you didn't! He's really scared of fire now!"

"Agh, the way the asylum burned down, everyone here is gonna be afraid of fire!" His feet scuffed the ground, and his hand curled to press his fingernails into his palm. "All right, all right, I'm sorry. Now grab the turtle and let's go." He nodded to Sheegor's wrapped package. "Unless he's in there, in which case I commend the idea for making him shut up!"

"It's just something I found." Sheegor's voice was flat now, broken. Limply she held out the package. "It's for you." When he took it, she dropped her arms. Her eyes were dry, every emotion seeming to have been wrung out of her. "I-I—I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

We can help you, Dr. Loboto! Just tell us who you're working for! Who are you protecting?

"Sheegor—" The word came out in more of a growl than he'd intended. He had gone hollow, flimsy, like he was made of sloppy papier mache and the slightest wind would toss him into the water, and he'd come apart, sinking into the inky depths, drowning— "You're… not." It was almost a whisper. "You're the only one who…"

He stopped, because he didn't know how he'd been planning to end that sentence, and Sheegor was no longer listening. She had turned her back to leave him there, standing alone at the cliff's edge, as she made her way back to the ruined building.

But something… wouldn't let her go.

With a cry of alarm, she swatted at her right arm, which had jerked backward oddly. Loboto's skin crawled, his face deadly pale. "What—"

A ghostly yellow hand manifested beside Sheegor. That was what had hold of her arm, that was the thing dragging her back toward him. Loboto's face spasmed, a cacophony of emotions blasting through his head. Not again—!

He saw a shapeless, glowing balloon of pale yellow hanging above him like a misshapen moon sprouting from his hand as the world fell away around him—

The monstrous power saved his life, but then it abandoned him, it plunged him down into the murky lake waters—

It horrified them—they feared him—and then they brought him to that place—

Sheegor was looking around wildly, eyes wide, struggling desperately to figure out where the power was coming from, who could possibly be wielding this unnatural thing. It was far too long (or perhaps too quickly?) before her eyes fell directly on him.

"Don't look at me!" he said. He showed both "hands," as though to prove this was not his doing. His brow furrowed. "Where are you planning to go, anyway? Why is it so much better than coming with me?"

The ghostly hand jerked again, yanking her by the arm further out onto the cliffside.

"Let go! Let go of me!" She swiped her free hand through the air where it grasped her, but it did nothing to detach the one made only of thought.

"Where do you think you can go? You don't have any family!" he snapped. "Are they the ones who dumped you here like a sack of old teeth? Was there something wrong with you? Something they couldn't quite cure? You think they'll take you back now?"

"Doctor—!" Her voice cracked. She fought backward against the hand, but it didn't matter, and she was dragged forward another inch.

Loboto's eye mechanics flashed. "How about friends? You think you have any friends? Did all those weirdo inmates remember to take you with them when they left?" He jerked his chin upward. He towered over her. "What about that annoying kid with the goggles, hmm? Is he your friend? You think he cares about you when he's one of them?"

Sheegor stumbled forward with a small cry.

"You are just like me!" Spittle flew from his mouth. "We're the same, Sheegor. The same! Dropped here with nowhere left to go! No one left to take you!" He brandished his claw at her. The phantasmal hand had pulled her so close that she went cross-eyed for a moment to look at the claw.

To his shock, Sheegor reached out a mittened hand and pushed the claw away. She stood up, giving a yank of her arm; the glowing yellow hand dissipated like mist, vanishing into the night.

"I do have somewhere to go," she said. "And they are taking me."

Loboto's broken phantom grip fizzled like static behind his eye sockets. He pulled the claws of his prosthetic arm close to his chest. "...Where? Who are they?"

The girl turned her head away and hugged herself, mittened hands gripping her upper arms. "Goodbye, Dr. Loboto," she said quietly.

Before he could say anything, before he could move, she was gone. He shook his head rapidly, darting his gaze in every direction, but there was no sign of her. "Sheegor? Sheegor!"

He hastened back toward the gates, startling when his foot jostled something on the ground. Oh. It was that package Sheegor had thrust at him. Gingerly he picked it up, holding it with the lightest grip he could. The paper had partially ripped under his claws, revealing a soft patch of brown fur. His heart giving a jump, he ripped off the rest of the paper, casting it to the side, staring at the thing he gripped in his hand like a lifeline.

It was a plush, patched-together teddy bear, with melancholy button eyes.


Sunrise.

It was kind of pretty. If you liked that sort of thing.

Loboto stood on the gray beach of the island once more, gazing out at the rippling lake water, the surface glowing green in the growing dawn. Water lapped gently against the toes of his boots, and he stepped backwards with a grimace, pressing the old stuffed toy to his chest. His dilapidated canoe was still where he had left it—he'd half-expected Sheegor to have taken it to wherever she'd gotten it into her head to go, or for the hard-headed lungfish to have dragged it far out into the water to strand him here.

I didn't think you'd be staying long, a familiar, gravely non-voice pounded in his head. Loboto scrubbed at his temple with a finger.

"No…" he said. It was all he could think of to say. "I suppose not…"

And what will you do now?

He turned to look at the speaker—the lungfish monster he'd created with his own hand and claw, who had inexplicably turned against him like a petulant child. It was a lumpy form half-in and half-out of the water, watching him through luminous yellow eyes. General Oleander had said that the mental signal he'd implanted placed the creature firmly under his control, and look how that had turned out. The thing was talking now. Loboto tipped his head, considering the fish.

"You are… a girl, aren't you," he said.

The fish narrowed its eyes slightly. It is thrilling that you finally figured that out.

"Not an 'it,' and not a 'he,'" Loboto continued, musing with his fingers to his chin. "What is your name, Lungy-girl?"

The fish was silent for a long moment. She dipped farther into the water, and Loboto's jaw clenched involuntarily—she was leaving him too, and right in the middle of a real conversation—but then she came back, standing up in the shallows, towering over even his scarecrow frame.

I will tell you, she said, the thought-voice flooding his head like a cacophonous orchestra, sharp pain like knives piercing the long-healed scars along his cranium, Not because you deserve it, but because I will not stand to be called 'Lungy' by the likes of you.

"Oh, sure, I've heard worse insults." He eased himself down on the gritty sand, scrunching a handful of it between his fingers and settling the stuffed bear comfortably in his lap.

My name is Linda. I will respond to nothing else.

He snorted, loudly. "What kinda name is that?"

The fish vanished beneath the water without a word. Loboto heaved a sigh and stretched, hearing each and every one of his bony joints crack. He rolled his shoulders, rolled his neck, rolled his eye mechanics, couldn't think of anything else to roll, and pressed his tongue between his teeth thoughtfully.

Somehow, he could tell the fish was still nearby, still listening, as though she hovered only just below the surface without a trace of a shadow giving away her position.

"Did you have a family, Linda?" he finally asked. He traced a random design in the sand with his claw.

In front of him, a bulbous yellow eye breached the surface again. It stared at him for a moment before he heard a thing.

Not one of my own, she said. He noticed she didn't thank him for using her name. That was typical. I am young yet. It was not long ago that I left my father's burrow with my brothers and sisters.

"Oh. Well. That's good," he replied.

He sat there, looking down at the water, the sun warming his skin and drying his damp clothes as it rose.

"I did terrible things, you know," he said eventually. He directed it to the teddy bear.

I am well aware. Of course, the fish was listening too.

"Hah. No wonder no one will stick with me! Crispy, Oly-army-man, Sheegor, you, …them…" The last word slipped out, his voice dropping, the corners of his mouth stretching painfully. He coughed and found himself squeezing the teddy bear like he was trying to draw the life from it. "Eh, them! You know. Those psychic-snots who pried open my mind with a jennings gag!" He stood back up creakily, the slight breeze toying with the hem of his poncho. "Maybe I will stay here, and rot alone with the rats like a decaying tooth!" He gave a jerky laugh.

Or, you could continue on.

His arms fell to his sides. He looked again at the water, his reflection slightly distorted in the rippling surface.

You cannot find solace with the people you have hurt. Nor with those who have hurt you. But you still live. Your life is still your own. It is not too late to start anew, somewhere better.

A small, shaky breath left him, and he turned to once again take in the ruins of his once-home. "That doesn't sound like me."

Then maybe it is time for you to change. And to ask yourself what you want, Caligosto Loboto, because—though I can never call myself your friend—I no longer believe you want the same things you did a mere week ago.

A panicked fluttering in his chest felt like a dozen moths had all burrowed under his skin and were trying desperately to get out. His gaze jumped back to lock on the fish and his teeth ground together. "And maybe I don't. Who says that's a good thing?"

It is not. But it is not bad, either. It is whatever you make of it. Linda drew back into the water until only her eyes and lure rippled above the surface. This is where we part ways. Good-bye, Caligosto. I truthfully wish you well on your journey, but I also trust that after you leave, you will never visit these waters again.

She dipped back into the depths of the lake with nary a splash. Dr. Caligosto Loboto, D.D.S., former patient and then unofficial head of the fallen Thorney Towers Home for the Disturbed, was left standing on the windblown beach of an island among ruins with a teddy bear dangling from his claws. He held it up again and gazed at it.

He could feel his little boat still adrift at sea, a single crewman at the helm, the mast empty now. But the leviathan was gone. The storm had eased, for the time being. And there was the twinge of something nearly unrecognizable: a tiny, tiny spark, deep in his heart.

Hmm.

He wondered if that was what hope felt like.