Chapter 9 Cathy

The bike didn't go back together without it. "I need my chain."

Dana ducked out of range when Nathan tried to grab her again. "Careful," he muttered, as she reached out to the unbalanced mass of steel.

Hmm. True, the thing probably weighed a couple of tons. Then again, her voices were muttering again themselves, warnings she did not understand. Dana took out her phone – Duke's gift – and took a few pictures. It was hard to capture the action of the thing, but she wanted to remember this. This she wouldn't forget but… still. People she could and did leave behind. Miracles were much rarer. She wanted a permanent record of this.

"What are you going to do with those?"

She didn't know if it was his authority figure or him himself, but he certainly had this talent of instantly getting her back up. Whatever she wanted, she was about to say, and he had no right to stop her. She could send them to the whole world with a couple of keystrokes. "I'm sending them to Duke. He is not going to believe this." Of course, the tool sculpture was one thing, and remarkable in itself. Proving how it went together, that was another thing entirely.

"Duke already knows about it. About McCutcheon. Why do you think he brought you here?"

To fix her bike.

No?

Dana stared at the police chief. He didn't quite meet her eyes, but he wasn't avoiding either. Just sort of standing there – waiting for a firing squad to take aim or something.

What the fucking fuck was going on?

Nathan reached and tried to pull a lug wrench out of place. It may as well have been welded there. He tried again, and again, searching for a loose piece, something with a bit of leverage he could maybe twist loose. There was no give in it at all. He threw all his weight into it, nothing. Could not make it even shift along the smooth concrete of the floor, though it didn't seem to be attached to anything. He would have had better luck trying to pick up his own truck by himself.

Dana watched this performance silently, which seemed to be the point. It was for her benefit. At the same time she had a suspicion she already knew. Her voices counseled calm, patience. Wait for it.

Nathan directed her with a gesture to stand beside him, a little in front of him. Carefully did not try to grab her again, Dana noted, with some relief. "Please," he said. She did as he asked.

"Now you," he said. "Take back your chain."

The whole works fell apart at her touch; tons of steel came crashing down and scattered across the floor, dropped from height. Released from a spell. Dana leapt backwards, crashing into Nathan. Who spread his arms wide, but still caught her from falling just by being there to crash against.

"Oh." Gathered her feet back under herself.

All of McCutcheon's earlier collections had fallen apart for her too, she realized. At the time, she hadn't known… at the time McCutcheon had sat and watched too. McCutcheon had known.

She rounded on Nathan. He was closer. "You knew? You all knew?"

"Guessed."

So, somehow, this was about her. She'd sensed it earlier, but no one had volunteered to let her in on the secret.

"Wait, before you –" Nathan started.

"Before I what?" she ground out. What she was, was about to explode.

He ignored that. "It's not something we could just… spring on you. Duke wanted to tell you everything. I told him to wait and see. Not everyone can accept what happens around here."

Dana let her temper go, just a little. The voices chided her for not paying attention. She was missing something. But, Nathan appeared sincere and open.

"Why do you get to tell Duke what to do?" That wasn't the real question, but it was the one that occurred to her.

He scrubbed at the back of his head, shaking it ironically. "I don't."

Well, this had been enlightening. Dana indicated over her shoulder, vaguely in the direction of where her pot of carburetor parts were boiling away on McCutcheon's barbeque; mostly in a direction away from the confusing, infuriating police chief, "My carbs are just about done."

He smiled. Small, hidden away almost immediately, but she definitely detected a lip movement there. Innnteresting. "Tell Duke…" he started again, backing up towards his truck, picking his way carefully through the scattered tools. "Never mind."

"What?"

"Never mind. I'll… call him." He got in, drove away.

Useless man. He was not going to call. She was going to have to beat it out of Duke one way or another – what went on between those two – after she got some answers from him about Haven and the Troubles and – ohshit – what it all had to do with her. Because that was the real question she'd forgotten to ask, avoided asking herself. Who was she that he could guess she would be able to do that? To... undo the magic.

*.*.*

Dana rescued the carburetor parts from the lemon juice bath, doused them with WD-40, and started putting them back together. There was no way she would get her bike back today, not with the state the garage was in. And she didn't know if she trusted that chain again after all it had been through. A new one was not cheap though.

Gradually, Dana became aware of a pair of young eyes watching her – the teenage girl, now scrubbed clean of makeup and tear streaks equally, dressed in working jeans and slouchy blouse. Pretty, going to be beautiful. The kind of face that looked better on a 26yr old than a 16yr old, all strong lines and flat planes. Minus the puffiness and bruising on one side, of course, obviously the result of a physical fight.

"What does the other girl look like?" Dana asked, without raising her attention from seating the gasket.

"When I find them again, I'll let you know."

Them. Yeah, girls tended to hunt in packs. "Someone called the cops on you?"

"I guess."

"The secret is: fight in public if you want help. Fight in private if you want to finish it."

The girl stared at her a few moment. Not, apparently, the advice she'd been expecting. "What do you know about it?"

"Oh, I'm old. I know lots of shit. Ask me."

"Aren't you supposed to tell me not to fight?"

Dana smiled. "Can you find a belt ratchet in that mess?" Dana indicated over her shoulder with a thumb. "Which, by the way, was not my fault. I had everything in drawers until your father came by."

"Yeah, he does that." A little bitter, but a lot accepting. The girl moved closer, enough to look over the pile. It didn't seem to matter to her that her father could… defy the laws of nature. As if it was just an annoying habit, a little embarrassing maybe. Like family karaoke nights.

Dana turned and looked at her for the first time. "I'm Dana," she said.

"Cathy," she said, offering Dana the ratchet.

"Hi, Cathy."

*.*.*

A walk along the beach solved a lot of problems. Maine's rocky coast did not offer a lot by way of sand, but there were trails and even the jagged rocks made you think about where you were putting your feet, and stop thinking about what you were thinking and worrying about so hard. It turned out that Cathy's mother had packed up and left a few months ago. Cathy herself didn't know if that was the cause or the result of her father's 'affliction', as she called it, she only knew that ever since then – he didn't work, he didn't play, he didn't talk and he didn't do anything but sit in front of the TV and drink. He made her do everything.

Dana couldn't help but smile at this outburst. Cathy herself was balanced on this jutting ridge of rock, arms outstretched as she walked it like a tightrope. Half girl, half woman. It was such a cliché but there it was, right in front of her. Dana threw her arm around the girl's shoulders when she jumped down, the four and half foot drop utterly inconsequential. Cathy gave her a leery look as they walked on.

"I'm a hugger. So sue me."

She didn't try to escape.

*.*.*

The fights were about Cathy's own Trouble, the ability to 'teleport' – Cathy's word, Dana only shook her head at it – jewelry from anywhere within about fifty feet, directly into her pocket, whenever she got upset. Which inevitably led to accusations of theft, and then the fights. Which just made her more upset. Stuff in lockers, around necks, in a purse – just appeared in her pocket. Most times she didn't even know who it came from.

"Seriously?" Dana asked, then regretted it immediately, from the hurt on Cathy's face. "No, I'm sorry. I believe you –" and she did, after a blink of an eye moment to convince herself. "It's… This is all pretty new to me."

Cathy pulled her hand out of her front pocket, opening her palm to show Dana the contents, two rings. One of them on a thick chain, a man's ring on a man's chain; and one of them Dana's own, thin beaten gold with three tiny blue diamonds.

Dana picked up the small ring.

"From when I first got home," Cathy said.

"That's…" Dana searched, aware of the vulnerable tension in the teenager. Waiting to see if she was angry. "Inconvenient." If she'd actually been a thief the talent would be invaluable, of course. Possibilities unfolded in Dana's mind. But then again, using this ability for any sort of gain would then automatically make you a thief. Using it accidentally, unconsciously, only got you in a lot of… trouble.

Ohh, the elegant cruel irony of it.

"I see," Dana murmured.

"It's pretty," Cathy said, meaning the ring. "It looks old."

"I suppose," Dana replied. In truth, she knew nothing about it. She figured it looked like an old-fashioned engagement ring, and knew it fit her ring finger perfectly, and that's about all. "It's a family thing. I've just always had it. I don't even remember how I got it." Dana put it back in her pocket.

Cathy offered the other one, the one on the chain. "I think it's Chief Wuornos'. I don't want… He's chief of police. What if he thinks I took it on purpose?"

Dana accepted the chain. "I think he would understand, but I'll give to him. Don't worry." Wuornos, Wuornos, Wuornos. She imprinted it on her brain. It looked like she was fated to run into the guy more than she really wanted or liked. She might as well remember his name.

They worked on strategies to avoid fights in the future, walking and talking. Dana figured she could hardly be accused of theft if she gave the jewelry back, but finding the owners was sometimes difficult. And they were always angry and violated regardless of getting their property back. A lot, Cathy said, quite a few, figured out that she was 'one of them', one of the Troubled, and that was just a whole other level of trouble.

"What do you mean?"

Cathy shook her head. "People get scared. People get stupid." A fairly adult assessment. "They don't understand that we can't control it, so they blame us for what happens. I mean, I guess I don't know a lot about what goes on. But people talk. And they look, you know? They hate us and it's not our fault."

"Or maybe some people can control it, their own Trouble?" Dana already didn't like the 'us' and 'them' language Cathy used automatically.

"God, can you imagine?" Cathy laughed innocently. "That kind of power and you could actually control it and … point it at someone?" She shook her head. "I know a few people I'd…" she shrugged, dismissed the thought. "Not that I ever would," she assured the adult walking beside her.

*.*.*

"It was like… the clouds were parting," Dana said.

"mmm," Duke said.

"The whole time I could just … It was like… this was what I was meant to do."

"mmm," said Duke.

"Are you listening to me?" She slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

Duke stopped what he was doing, concentrating on her bare breasts in his mouth, the way her heels dug into his backside, and the way his dick had been ready to come from the first few moments he'd taken her, nearly ripping each other's clothes off as she'd pulled him into the office of the restaurant. Her back up against the door, his pants around his ankles – no, he had not been listening to her.

"Do you want to talk or do you want to – do this?" he managed. He knew what he wanted. And she had started it, walking back into the restaurant after visiting McCutcheon – hours after he'd expected her back – looking like she was lit from the inside out.

He'd taken one look at her, and taken in the way she looked at him, and felt his whole world flip over on itself. He wanted this, he wanted her, and knew at that moment that he would do anything for her.

"This," she whispered. She kissed him, holding his face in both hands, gently, a kiss of slow sweetness. It made his chest hurt, until he realized he'd forgotten to breathe. "This," she whispered again, brushing his hair out of his eyes. No matter how many times she did it, it always fell back there, but that did not seem to discourage her.

A tentative knock on the door jarred them both, and they froze, a devilish smile creeping across Dana's face before she buried it in his chest. "Duke?" his bartender tried.

"Go. Away." Duke growled.

"The crab guy is here. He wants a check."

"I swear to god," he started. But Dana pounded on his chest a couple times, and he let her down. Slowly, making sure she knew he objected, and wasn't finished or ready to let her go. He did not hurry putting his pants back on. Dana took a little longer, getting fully redressed, and Duke sighed. To be continued at some later hour, hopefully.

Duke left his shirt off as a sign of his displeasure, opening the door and making the bartender stand and watch as he wrote up payment for the crab delivery. "Your tips go to the waitresses tonight," Duke said, man to man, as he handed over the check.

"Ma-an," he complained. "I already drew the short straw in even coming back here. No one else would do it."

"It's better to be lucky than smart." Duke had no sympathy to spare.

"And the Chief is out front. He wants to talk to – her." He nodded at Dana with a lifted chin. "Told him she wasn't here, but he's still out there. And –" he shrugged, "he's drinking straight Coke. Dry as a judge, as far as I can tell."

"Fine," Duke said, giving in to the inevitable.

"You know there's a bedroom just upstairs…"

"Get OUT!" he roared. The bartender laughed and beat his retreat.

Dana handed him his shirt as he searched the room for something to beat into teeny tiny pieces. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"What? You didn't." He waved at the long gone bartender. "I've been meaning to fire his ass for months." Now he had an excuse.

"I did, you are, and I apologize."

Duke considered her as she helped him with the buttons. Took over from him with the buttons. It was goddamn terrifying to have your heart live in someone else's chest. "I'm not embarrassed. I'm frustrated. What does Nathan want?"

She looked up as far as his collar, patted it as ship-shape, did not meet his eyes. "We should probably go find out."