"She's WHAT?"
Leonardo sighed. He'd been in the middle of an argument with Raphael—one that probably would have come to blows, if Donatello hadn't at that moment walked in with a stunned look on his face and announced that the girl was dead. "I'm sure you did everything you could, Don—"
Donatello shook his head vigorously. "You don't understand…she's…" he paused, unable to find the right words.
Raphael rolled his eyes. "I think we all know the definition of 'dead', Donny." He shot a quick glance at Mikey, who'd been the first to respond to the news, and felt a pang of guilt at the look on his brother's face. "Sorry, Mike."
"Just LISTEN, will you?" Donny was not in the best of moods. He was confused, slightly worried, and very much irritated that the laws of medicine physics had chosen to fly out the window on his watch. "The instruments say she's dead. Flat line. No brain waves, even." He took a breath. "She's awake."
"Let me get this straight," Leonardo spoke slowly, brow furrowed. "She has no life signs, but she's alive."
"Right."
"Did you check your equipment?"
Donny glared. "Give me some credit, at least—of course I checked the equipment. But I'd like to run some more thorough tests, just to make sure."
"You want us to keep an eye on the girl?" Raphael inquired. Now that the situation had taken such a bizarre twist, he was willing to set aside quarrels—this was a mystery too intriguing to ignore.
Shaking his head in the negative, Donatello replied, "Nah…I'd like to keep her nearby, and monitor her condition…but I could use some help with the testing."
Michelangelo literally jumped at the chance. "No problemo, dude—I'm your turtle. Just lead the way."
As usual, Mike's enthusiasm wore off after an hour or so of genuine work. "Dude," he sighed, "we've been over this, like, a gazillion times—there's nothing wrong with your equipment."
Both shot covert glances at the girl, who had watched them the entire time, but had not spoken a word since her initial statement on awakening. If the equipment was working…then that meant another possibility that would be even more difficult to grasp. She must have sensed where their train of thought was headed, for she decided to speak again.
"Am I alive or not?" It wasn't belligerent or panicky, or even slightly exasperated. Just a simple, innocent question. The fact that he couldn't answer made Donatello feel even worse.
"Sure you are, honey," Mike said in that slightly soothing, it'll-all-be-fine tone he'd perfected. "By the way, though ya probably know if you've been listening to us, I'm Michelangelo—call me Mike—and this here's my bro, Donatello."
"I'm…" she paused, and a vaguely puzzled look came into her eyes. "Renee," she finished, almost to herself. "My name's Renee."
Mike glided over the hesitation. "How old are ya, Renee?"
Her reply was prompt. "Fourteen."
Nodding briefly, Michelangelo stood. "C'mon, I'll show you the kitchen…do you like pizza?" Smiling and talking animatedly, he led her out, effectively ditching Donny with all the work.
Sighing and stretching, the scholarly turtle abandoned the work, concluding that the equipment was indeed working. Which meant he had to set up a whole new slew of equipment to find out what the hell was going on…but not now. At the moment, he felt about ready for a break and a slice of pizza, not to mention some answers. He figured he could get them all in the kitchen.
"…So you just…decided to run away?"
All four of the turtles were gathered around the kitchen table by now, to hear Renee's story. It was short, and typical: she'd always lived in an orphanage, and had recently due to overcrowding been transferred to a somewhat less wholesome location. However it had been, and she didn't seem keen to talk about it, she'd chosen escape. They were all surprised she'd survived so long…although, given the current situation, survive might not be the technically correct term.
Renee nodded in response to the last and rather rhetorical question from Donatello, grabbing another slice of pepperoni pizza. His first guess had been accurate--she hadn't eaten in a while. What worried him—aside from the painfully obvious fact that she should be six feet under right about now—were her ever more frequent hesitations. It was clear she wasn't trying to be evasive, but it was also clear that she seemed to have trouble remembering a lot of details from her life. Numbers, basic facts, language…everything in that department was up and running. But personal facts, even her own name, seemed to be eluding her. He supposed it could be a remnant of the concussion, but....
Donatello realized abruptly that he'd been staring. Feeling a flush of heat in his cheeks, he glanced quickly away…only to find that when he ventured a glance back, she was smiling at him, just for an instant before she turned her attention back to Michaelangelo.
Raphael surveyed the brief exchange with narrowed eyes. Donny had an odd, transfixed look on his face as he watched the girl…a look that seemed to hold more than just a scientific interest. Shaking his head, he decided to let it be—for now. The last thing he wanted was to see any of his brothers get hurt, but it was Donny's life. Besides, he was a bright guy; should be capable of keeping out of trouble.
The key word, of course, being 'should'.
"…Right, right…good. Now move that over there."
"This one?"
"No, the—yeah, that one. Careful, the wire's live…"
"'Don't touch me, I'm a real live wire…psycho killer, qu'est ce que c'est….'"
Donatello glanced up, bemused as Renee continued her off-key rendition of Talking Head's 'Psycho Killer'--the girl seemed able to find a song for every comment. Since yesterday she'd improved—at least, her color was back, and she no longer hesitated over remarks. Aside from that, she'd cleaned up quite nicely…now that he thought about it, she was really quite pretty…no. Best derail that train of thought ASAP, before it crashed into the brick wall of reality.
"'You start a conversation, you can't even finish it…'"
"I think you said that line already."
She paused. "I'd sing a song on that too, but the only thing that matches is the title."
"What's it called?"
"'I Heard You Twice the First Time.'"
Rolling his eyes, he bent over the circuit board again. After dissecting some spare equipment, he was trying to put together something that would help him figure out what the hell was going on. When he was done with it, it should be able to monitor nerve impulses and discern if there was brain activity, whether it appeared on his other scanners or not. At least, that's what it was supposed to do. A lot of his inventions didn't exactly perform as advertised—see exhibit A, his particle fusion booster…currently doing duty in the kitchen as a microwave oven.
He stopped working, and glanced up sharply at Renee. There had been a sudden…silence, but what had stopped, he couldn't tell. Then he realized she wasn't breathing. She simply sat, staring into space. It was a frightening stare, one with lifeless eyes that seemed to open into a lightless void.
"Renee?" He shook her shoulder urgently. "Renee!"
She blinked, started breathing, and life returned to her eyes. She smiled at him…not the warm smile of yesterday, however, but a cold expression that didn't suit her face at all. "Yes?"
He shivered. "Never mind."
She leaned forward, her expression now…seductive. Her voice was near purring. "Are you sure?"
He took a moment to respond, mouth suddenly dry with fear and other emotions. "Um. Yes. Sure."
In a single, fluid movement, she moved around the pile of electronics that separated them, putting their faces only inches apart. He almost pulled back as she leaned forward again, but stilled when he realized she was aiming for his shoulder. A low whisper sounded in his ears: "I could make you very happy."
Donatello felt heat rising in his cheeks, and one or two other places, but he managed a fairly firm "No," as he pulled away and stood up. He watched her warily, temptation warring with skepticism and paranoia. However, a decision of what to do next was made for him as she abruptly went rigid, then quietly slumped over, unconscious. Dropping to his knees beside her, he gently laid her on her back, and was relieved to see her eyes flutter open.
"What happened?" she mumbled blearily, attempting to sit up.
Deciding against a recount of her actions, he claimed, "You just blacked out for a minute…nothing to worry about."
She gave him a doubtful look, but nodded. "Right…let's keep working, then."
The resumed work in silence, but Donny took time to get himself back under control—physically and emotionally. Could all this be the result of something supernatural? He didn't, as a rule, believe anything that couldn't be proven in a lab, but he had no other explanation for her actions besides schizophrenia. Which was not something he could accept…not in Renee.
Almost…almost…Raphael shouted in triumph as he cleared another level of Grand Theft Auto. Finally, he was getting somewhere.
"Room for another player?"
He half turned, to find Renee leaning against the entry arch to the living room of the lair. She had a hopeful look about her, like a puppy waiting to play catch. He shrugged, tossed her another control, and shifted to the right. He had spoken to her as little as possible so far, less out of animosity than a deep, unreasonable suspicion.
"Let's go," she announced after plugging in the control pad and sitting down beside him. He had the master console, so it was up to him what mission to play. He settled on something with an abundance of blood and guts, hoping that what he'd observed of her sensitive nature would drive her away.
Next time, we play checkers, he thought grimly. An hour's worth of play had only proved that even the most sensitive of souls could transform into bloodthirsty demons when exposed to a Playstation. She'd kicked his ass more times than he could count, and seemed to be enjoying every minute of it.
They launched into the next level, and Raphael threw all his concentration into the game. Renee was running down every moving figure in sight, and playing bumper cars with the boys in blue. As she fired at a random civilian and watched his blood spattered body drop to the concrete, she giggled—why it was different than her normal laughter he had no idea, but it made Raphael slightly queasy. He spared a quick glance over…and wished he hadn't.
The glow of the TV screen cast a weird light across her pale features, and she had an insane grin on her face. She wasn't reveling in beating him…she was enjoying the sheer, destructive capacity she wielded. Another giggle slipped out. Talk about demonic…we could get her hired for the remake of Excorcist, Raphael thought disgustedly.
Without warning, she tensed. Her head tilted forward, and her eyes slid shut, allowing Raphael time to win the game. By the time he turned back to her, she was staring blankly at the screen.
"Did I black out--?" There was a pause at the end of the sentence, as though she'd been about to add something. Raphael nodded, slowly.
"Yeah…you must be tired." He tried to keep the wary edge out of his voice.
"Right…I'm gonna crash. See you in the morning." Still looking slightly confused, she exited, leaving behind a very puzzled turtle.