Transparency 1.02
"Thomas Dalton. Fourteen years old. No prior criminal records. No incident reports from his school."
I was slouching against the table as Flurry entered the room, my head resting between my arms. We were back at the local police station in a small conference room they had set aside for cape use, which mostly meant that they weren't supposed to be using the cameras they had situated inside. Or if they did, they were at least honour-bound to not reveal anything that went on inside.
"The duplicator," Flurry explained. She was reading from a folder she held in one hand. She closed the door, double-checked the lock, and then removed her hood and mask. Her shaggy brown hair was slightly mussed from having been covered and her eyes were half-lidded, lending her the appearance of being perpetually tired. "As the offended party," she continued, staring down at the report, "William 'Billy' Williams described Dalton as an 'individual with a history of perjury against his peers, brought up through a perceived lack in social standing and misguided envy'." She lifted her head towards me and arched an eyebrow. "Or at least, that is what the officer who debriefed him transcribed—using the most neutral words imaginable, I would assume."
I made a noncommittal grunt in answer. She paused, as if she'd expected a witty comment instead, and flipped to the next sheet in the report.
"The street vendors have all pressed charges, of course." She retrieved my police beacon and placed it on the table, sliding it towards me. "It is not something we have to worry about, but I thought you would want to keep appraised of their situation."
"Mmm."
"I took the liberty of contacting Mr. Keene's office in your place," she said, referencing the PRT's international liaison, "and explained the situation. I have been told that he was very interested in your analysis of the duplicator's abilities and his possible relationship with the alleged victim."
"Mmm."
Once again she paused in her recitation. When I didn't offer any wisecracks in response to her remarks on Billy Williams, she looked up from the paperwork to shoot me a glance. I didn't read any worry in her expression, though I did notice her eyes shifting slightly as she regarded me. After a few moments, she closed the folder and placed it on the table.
"Sometimes I wonder if I should have remained a solo hero from the beginning," she said without preamble. "And not have let myself get pulled into the group dynamic." Her voice seemed somewhat wistful, out of character for the normally stoic hero.
I blinked and lifted my head to look at her directly.
She shook her head, as if to clear away unwanted thoughts. "It's just... I suppose I've missed this. Debriefing the team. Having another cape to talk shop with. Life as a solo hero... well, it has been a bit lonelier than I can remember it being."
"Then why'd you break us up?" the words were out of my mouth before I could catch myself. She'd already explained herself to us once already, the day we split apart. I hadn't been happy with the decision—I don't think any of us were. But then again, the alternative for her—staying together—had been a more painful option than simply going our separate ways.
I obviously hadn't been the only one to recall that day. "Because seeing us back together would only make the reminders of what we have lost that much stronger," she confirmed, her voice sounding pained. Her head was still pointed in my general direction, but she wasn't really looking at me. Her eyes were slightly unfocused as she cradled her left forearm against her side, idly rubbing at the fabric covering the scars I knew were hidden beneath it.
"None of what happened was your fault," I said.
"It was," she countered sharply. "It was my suggestion, my idea, that brought us there. It was my overconfidence... we weren't ready."
I snorted. "I don't really think anyone is ever 'ready' for an Endbringer, Flurry."
"And yet," she said softly, "It was my arrogance that led me to believe we were. My hubris has left us in the state we are now."
She was still hung up about Iceland—not that I didn't have my own fair share of nightmares about the battle myself. I had been fortunate enough to be mostly on the sidelines, but even then I had suffered serious injuries. The others—being more offensively capable and therefore closer to the action than I—had not fared nearly so well.
Flurry had taken personal responsibility for everything that had happened to our group... and the resulting guilt had all but crushed her spirit.
"This may not mean as much to you," I began, "but speaking as the person who ended up being the least injured... " I spoke quietly, forcing her to look at me and pay attention in order to understand what I was saying. "I don't blame you for what happened. Any of it. And when it's all said and done, I'd still trust you with my life—both now and in the future."
She shook her head. A wordless denial.
I felt my mouth twitch as I tried to give her a reassuring smile, even if it felt a bit flat. "You'll always be a team leader to me, Flurry."
Flurry's face was an impassive mask as she digested that. She glanced towards the paperwork on the table, the wall over my head, then back to me. "I see," she said at last. Her voice, just like her expression, held no indication as to what she was feeling. "Thank you."
The way she had hesitated before replying spoke volumes, however. I sighed.
She took a deep breath as well, crossing her arms as she re-centred herself. "How is she?" she finally asked, watching me closely for any reaction as she tipped her head towards my shoulder.
I felt my already weak smile vanish at the reminder. I shrugged and lifted my hand to my face, staring at my palm. Hovering just above my shoulder, Jamie mirrored my actions with a blank expression on her usually animated face.
"Still... not all there, I guess," I said. My tone was resigned, having already worn myself out with a minor panic attack earlier. "It feels like I'm controlling a mindless puppet."
Flurry shifted her gaze to finally look at Jamie, looking downright unnatural with her jerky, graceless movements. She focused back on me, "This doesn't happen often, I take it?"
"This has never happened before," I said heatedly. I winced and massaged the bridge of my nose. "Sorry, I'm—I'm just not used to this. I guess I never really thought that the people around me could disappear like this."
Flurry nodded in sympathy, a bitter smile on her face.
I glanced at her, did a double-take. "Oh, bollocks. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." I grimaced at the slip and scratched the back of my head contritely. "But seriously, I'm at a total loss of what to do here."
Her eyes flicked over to the timepiece against the wall and she sighed. "Well, I would suggest you get some rest since it has been a long day... except for the fact that it is still early afternoon. Also..." She leaned over to press her fingers against the folder on the table and slide it minutely in my direction, "...bureaucracy awaits."
I groaned and dropped my head against the surface. "But... it's done already. I just listened to you read yours off."
"Yes. I read off my report. The good men and women stationed here would still like to have yours."
"You're still a mean Boss-lady, you know that?" I complained.
Flurry smiled, probably the first real one I'd seen from her in the last few months, and patted my shoulder before she spun on her heel and headed towards the door. "Well, the more quickly you finish up, the sooner you can get some sleep." She brought her mask and hood back up, hiding her face once more and muffling her next words, "I will be seeing you around, 'Glass."
I idly waved goodbye as she left the conference room, then froze as her words caught up to me. 'Get some sleep.'
Of course.
...
Unfortunately for me, the ability to fall asleep on command has long been a skill that has eluded me. Normally a day such as this—even just a half-day of a parahuman fight combined with the long slog of paperwork would have probably put me out like a light the moment my head hit the pillow.
Unfortunately for me, even as I returned to my parent's flat and tried to settle in for an early night, I was far too anxious to relax enough for even a little kip. It was like the worst case of insomnia I could ever imagine having, except I was conscious of my every waking moment and worried about what I might find once I passed over.
It was almost a relief to realize I had finally dozed off, finding the room changing around me somewhere between blink number eight-hundred and one-thousand. The cream-coloured walls and ceiling of my room transforming into the pastel greens and whites of a hospital room. I'd never been quite aware of the transition before, usually just letting myself fade into consciousness as my mind made the transference between worlds.
Between worlds. Officially, Jamie had been a extension of my parahuman powers, a personality from within my psyche buried so deeply that she very nearly counted as her own person. I had been tagged as a Master-class cape, with Jamie as my odd, little minion.
The truth was far stranger. As nearly as I could tell, Jamie and I were parallel universe counterparts. Amongst the infinite worlds in the multiverse, two of them had deviated at the moment we had been conceived, yet events had still remained nearly constant—at least until the fateful day we had simultaneously triggered our abilities following a horrific car accident.
Nearly as far as I could determine, our abilities were identical. Both of us could manifest into the other's world and 'ghost' around our hosts. Generally speaking, this process only happened whilst the other was asleep. I was here because I had fallen asleep and Jamie's will was strong enough to anchor me here. When I was awake, I was able to assert my own personality against hers and she was pulled over to my side. I had the easier time of it, because Jamie was always unconscious. She had never woken up from the accident that I had managed to eventually walk away from.
Yet, she was still active, if only mentally. She was my ever-present companion, either as a personal spectre in my world or as an anchor whilst I was in hers. Neither of us could remain constantly active, however. Sometimes, in the dead of the night when absolutely nothing of interest was going on to occupy either of us, I would simply sit back and think. I'd worry.
Most nights I'd wonder if the reason she had never woken up was because the constant use of my power had sapped her physical body's vitality. A small part of me feared that her current disappearance—the lack of will empowering her ghostly avatar—had been because she had finally succumbed to her injuries or that I had somehow pushed her mind 'too far'. But another part of me half-hoped, half-feared for the exact opposite situation.
Taking a quick glance at my ethereal, stubby blue arms, I knew I had successfully made the transfer over. In the next moment after I'd recovered my vision, my gaze had snapped to the girl in the hospital bed. A cursory examination told me that Jamie's body appeared to be relatively unchanged from the last time I had seen her. The years she'd spent in a coma had left her relatively undeveloped for a person of our age, but as far as I understood she was as physically healthy as anyone could reasonably be in her condition. The only new addition that I saw was an oxygen mask fitted over her nose and mouth.
But it was her eyes that I was focused on. They were open. They were wet with tears, her body's reaction to sudden re-exposure to light and years of accumulated sleep dust. Her stare had an unfocused look, almost cross-eyed... and yet her gaze seemed to be directed unerringly towards me.
James...?
As were the eyes of the doctor and the nurse at her bedside, presumably interrupted in the middle of an examination. Both of them were staring at me in absolute shock, the nurse had her hands clasped over her mouth to cover up a surprised exclamation.
I blinked, the situation slowly dawning on me. "Oh... bollocks."
ooo
"This... is unprecedented," the doctor said slowly.
Hah, you think? a slightly snappy voice sounded in my head.
I nodded slowly, careful not to make any moves which would startle the man or his assistant. "I can imagine."
"I mean," he continued, running a hand through his thinning hair, "we've always known the patient was still showing signs of brain activity. That was the only reason we had maintained treatment for this long. By all precedents she should have been declared brain dea—I mean, but... a parahuman ability... this is... this is fascinating." He stared at Jamie, still reclining against a pillow the nurse had propped up behind her head. Her eyes were focused now, though half-lidded from apparent exhaustion and she made no move to enter the discussion herself.
At least, not verbally.
Where. Is. Mama?
"We'll have to let someone know, of course." The doctor frowned as he puzzled out this development. "Except I don't even know who we should inform. What did you say you were again?" he asked, looking at me. "Could you be triggering a sort of false-positive? Are you the reason she's showing brain activity?"
"She's fine." I grimaced. "First things first, have you contacted her family?"
"Well, ah," the doctor glanced at his assistant again, who averted her gaze. "The thing is... you are—I mean, the patient is—she is past the age of majority, yes?"
I blinked. "Er, yes. And?"
"Well, you must understand... she's been in a coma for the last twelve years."
This is not helping to explain where Mama is.
"This is not helping to explain where Ma—where her parents are." I was starting to feel slightly uneasy. I didn't like where this was going.
The man reluctantly turned back towards the bed. "Miss, your parents... well, from what I understand, they tried to do everything they could. Don't believe for a minute that they were uncaring. They went from hospital to hospital, lobbied for all of the professional opinions they could find—and nothing they tried worked." The doctor was sweating slightly. I wondered if he'd be this nervous if his patient were a normal person.
"Wait." I had a sudden, new horrifying thought. "What is this place?"
The doctor's mouth flapped for several moments, not speaking. "It... it's a research facility," he admitted, suddenly speaking in a rush. "This is not a hospital. We were keeping the patient alive for... the purpose of researching her brain activities. We thought if we could crack the secret of how her body was keeping her brain in such good condition... " He chuckled nervously. "Well, we certainly weren't expecting parahuman abilities to be involved..."
Jamie made a strangled sort of noise from her bed, her eyes wide.
No. No no no nonono...
The doctor glanced at her, then back towards me. Apparently he was more comfortable addressing an unknown spectral ghost-type thing rather than a near-hysterical little girl. His tone was apologetic. "Her parents... they had her legally emancipated shortly after her eighteenth birthday."
"They gave up," my voice was dull.
NO!
He nodded glumly. "They waived their rights to her fate and... she was passed into our care." He perked up, "But I assure you we have done nothing to her physically. The farthest we've gotten was observation! We had some of her records from her years in the hospital but they usually don't continuously monitor brainwaves so we had her hooked up to our—"
Jamie screamed. It was a frail, piteous sound, coming from vocal equipment far too weak from disuse, but it was enough to cut off the man in the middle of his excuses.
Her mental cry was far, far worse.
"I—" I wasn't sure how I managed to keep my voice from displaying the horror I was feeling. "I think we'd like to be left alone... for now at least."
"Yes, yes of course," the doctor—the scientist—agreed readily. He stood up from his chair, nearly knocking it backwards in his haste. "Er, you don't mind if we leave the monitoring equipment attach—"
"Just GO!" I shouted. I heard Jamie echoing the command through my head in a display of eerie synchronicity.
He beat a hasty retreat, his assistant following on his heels. As the door clicked shut behind them, I descended closer to Jamie's bed, watching as she hiccupped and choked through her sobs.
"Jamie?"
What? she asked bitterly.
"I'm sorry."
She didn't respond. It was nearly an hour before she calmed down, her body slumping against her pillow in exhaustion. Plenty of time for me to try and think of ways this could have been prevented, or at least managed even slightly better.
Honestly, I knew that Jamie's body having survived this long was a miracle in itself. I just had never thought about how such a thing could have reasonably happened. Was it too much to have hoped my parents, her parents would have been able to keep up with the exorbitant hospital fees simply out of love, or at least a sort of familial responsibility?
James. Her mental voice was flat. A prelude to a statement, rather than a question or a plea.
I turned my head to look at her and immediately flinched. She was glaring at me; her eyes were hard, almost accusing.
You lied to me too, she said.
I hung my head. "I'm sorry," I repeated, my voice barely a whisper.
Sometimes in the dark of the night, I had repeated those words to myself, like a mantra. Sometimes I heard a response, though I'd never dared to believe the actual source. It's not your fault. I prayed this would be one of the times I'd hear those words again.
They never came.
ooo
a/n—one of my fears when trying to write a serious piece is that i go a bit heavy-handed on the drama. sometimes people say it's fine but alot of times that's how i personally read it.
lemme know what you think where/if i did so. with examples, if possible.
maybe i can try to fix it for future chapters