Chapter Eight

Sometime around midnight, when all the lights had turned off and raised voices had subsided, Dad and I crept down to grab a quick snack and a shower. We took turns standing outside of the bathroom door to keep an eye out for Raph. He was lying in the easy chair near the porch, but I don't think he was asleep. When we crept back up to the second floor, I was sure I saw the glint of his eyes.

I didn't sleep that night, and I don't think that Dad did, either. It wasn't just the storm, which shook the house down to the cellar and whipped up the trees until they howled. No matter how Dad tossed, his face was always turned toward the door. He could've locked it at any time, but he didn't.

Sometime just before dawn, I finally drifted off into an uneasy nap, only to wake up an hour later to see Mike squatting beside Dad's bed. They were talking in low voices.

"Still raining out there," Mike said. "Just a heavy drizzle, but you know… miserable weather. Why don't we take it easy today? No practice. Just kick back, force Donnie to make a big breakfast for everybody."

Dad said something drowsy that I couldn't quite make out.

"Yeah, you think you got it bad, I found out about a brand new leak right above my bed," Mike said.

"One moment," Dad said, leaning up on his elbow. "Saya, are you awake?"

"Nnnyeah."

"Where did you put Raphael's clothes?"

When we bumbled down the stairs, wiping sleep out of our eyes, Raphael rolled out of his makeshift bed and rose with two staggering steps. Dad cleared his throat and adjusted the boots underneath his arm. We'd stuffed Raph's sai into the tops so that the hilts stuck out.

"Leo," Raphael said. He drew out the name. It sounded venomous.

"Raph."

Donatello stepped dramatically out of the kitchen. "Mike!" he said in a cinematic growl. "You ate my tuna fish sandwich last night."

"Don!" Michelangelo threw his head back and pointed. "You prepared it without mayonnaise! Have at ye!"

I laughed, and to my surprise, Dad did, too. He raised the bundle of clothing and took a step toward Raphael. The merriment petered out into a tense silence.

"These are yours." Dad extended the boots in one hand, jacket in the other.

Raph's eyes flicked from the clothes to Dad's wary smile. "What are you doing?"

"I'm returning what's rightfully yours."

"Oh my god, Leo." Raphael leaned on the loveseat. "Do you really think this is gonna make anything better? I forgot I even owned that shit."

"I'd like to start on the right foot this time," Dad said.

Mike began to snigger.

Dad glared over his shoulder. "That wasn't intentional."

"Leo, we ain't friends. We ain't ever gonna be friends. Stop." Raphael sank down in the chair.

Quietly, Dad set the bundle down at his side. Raph's hand tensed on the arm of the chair.

"Don't come near me," he said softly. "Don't you dare pretend that everything's okay."

"I'm not," Dad said. "Please, be reasonable. I can't change the past."

"Exactly," Raphael spat.

Dad wavered for a moment, clenching and unclenching his hands. Don set his hands on my shoulders, Mike leaned toward me, and altogether we held our breaths.

Dad dropped onto one knee.

Raph jerked away. "What the…"

"Forgive me," Dad said in a low voice. "I should have been honest with you from the beginning. My behavior was inexcusable. I let my feelings run away with me without any regard for how it might hurt you."

"Are you playing me?" Raph asked softly.

"No. I was wrong." Dad shook his head. "You were right."

I heard a soft intake of breath. I looked up at the balustrade, and there was April and Casey and Shadow, peering intently down at the living room. There were dark circles underneath every eye.

"I never should have joined the Foot," he said. "I never should have… stayed with Karai."

Raphael snorted and looked away, but it wasn't a dismissive sound. "Took you long enough," he said. When he saw us huddled in the door, he slapped the arms of his chair.

"Goddammit, guys!" he said. "Does this look like the soaps to you?"

"Actually…" Don said, but before he could say anything else Mike elbowed him.

"It's all right. They should hear it," Dad said. He slowly rose to his feet, turned, and bowed deeply to us. "I have wronged all of you," he said, "in one way or another." His eye lit on me briefly. "Please accept my apologies. I will be more thoughtful in the future. Casey?"

Casey froze. "Yeah…?"

"Please allow us to stay, if only just long enough for us to figure out our next move. I know that I'm putting your family in danger, and I deeply regret it. If you wish for us to leave at once, we will do it."

"Ah…"

"You don't have to answer at once. Think about it. Let us know when you have made your decision."

Without waiting for a response, without looking at anyone, Dad strode past us onto the back porch. Mike's eyes were sparkling when he looked at me; Donatello nodded once, squeezed my shoulder, and disappeared into the kitchen. As for me, I felt strangely light, a little giddy. Probably sleeplessness catching up to me.

"So, Case. What's the answer?" Mike asked.

Shadow arched her eyebrows dramatically and punched Casey in the side.

"Hey!" Casey said. "Ease up there."

"Say yes," Shadow said.

Casey's face reddened. He and April looked at each other and grimaced. Then Casey spread his arms wide and made a grumbling, grunting sound that sounded more like a question than anything else.

"I'm sorry, we don't speak warthog," Donatello said from the kitchen.

"Say yes!" Shadow said. She pointed at me. "Do you know what kind of life she's had to live? She ate rats."

"No, I didn't," I snapped.

"But you might in the future."

"No!"

She scowled deeply at me. "I'm trying to help you here!"

"Shut up," Raph said. "I'm trying to think."

He was looking out the window, where the rain fell in long gray curtains. Fog lay thick in the trees. When he looked back, I felt a jolt of surprise: a different face looked back at me. A sort of weary, lined look, one that I wasn't sure I understood.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said, lifting my chin. I guess I could have apologized like Dad, but I don't apologize for the things I meant to do.

His eyes flicked from the crown of my head to my feet. "That's what I thought."

I had forgotten about my appearance for weeks, but suddenly I was aware that the tops of my malformed plastron and shell were showing above the low neckline of my oversized t-shirt. I wasn't just aware of Raphael looking, I was suddenly aware of everyone looking, and what's worse, I could feel Raphael seeing Karai in me, the same way I could see the Foot in him.

Crushing my hands into fists, I whirled around and pushed past Mike, through the kitchen, onto the back porch. Dad was sitting on the swing, very still, looking out at the trees. I dropped beside him; the chains groaned.

"Did they say anything?" he asked.

"No."

"What's wrong? Did Raphael say something?"

"Sort of." I rubbed the back of my hand against my eyes. "I wish I were human."

"You look human enough to me."

"No, Dad, I want to be human all the way. I'd like to go to school like a real human, and have a normal face." I looked down at my hands, my stubby fingers. At least I had five of them, even if the pinkies did look a little like afterthoughts.

He shook his head. "Perhaps I did wrong by taking you after all. Karai would have taken all this away." He thumbed the little shell on my back.

I leaned into him. "I guess it would've been nice to be able to bend."

"I can't argue with any of that," he said. "Splinter had to adjust a lot of his training to account for our limited upper-body movement. On one hand: no weapon's going through this thing. On the other hand…" He slapped my shell and the sound was like hitting hard plastic. "I've been hit many times simply because I couldn't twist around."

I leaned back and looked at his shell, scarred to kingdom come, the glossy places where Don had filled deep cuts with resin, the rough slashes from blades, craters from bullets.

I looked away. "Do you think taking a shell off leaves a scar?"

"Probably. Then again, for me and your uncles, it's impossible to remove since it's attached to our spines. For you, I'm not sure."

"Would you care?" I asked.

"If you took your shell off? I wouldn't blame you. I wish I were human sometimes."

I scuffed my toes on the floorboards. "Only sometimes?"

"I only want to be human when I can't do something they can." He sat up straight. "Do you know what I've always wanted to do?"

"No, what?"

"Walk in downtown Northampton, in the middle of summer, without a disguise. I've always wanted to explore the stores down there like a normal person."

"Dad!" I laughed. "What would you buy?"

"Presents, mostly." He smiled and folded his hands together.

"And?"

"That's all."

"No, it isn't! Who would you buy for? And what?" I laughed suddenly, thinking of Dad in one of those dime-a-dozen junk stores, a blocky blinking reptile seriously perusing cheap jewelry.

He chuckled and kicked back in the swing. I kicked off with him, and soon we had the chains and the floorboards squealing together in agony.

"First," he said, "we would celebrate your birthday properly."

"You mean with a cake and candles and everything?"

"Exactly. Except we'd put all of your birthdays together. We'd do the same for Christmas. There would be boxes up to the ceiling." He closed his eyes, folded his hands across his chest, and a grin spread across his face. "I'd have to do the same for everyone in the family, naturally."

"There wouldn't be room in the house! And where would you get all of the money?"

"If I could walk into a store, I could take a job at a store."

I burst into peals of laughter. I could just see Dad in an apron, seriously discussing the merits of a pair of pumps with an old lady.

"Ah, now you're just making fun of me," he said.

"No, no, it's perfect!" I said. "You would be the best cashier ever."

He nodded sagely, pursing his lips. "Yes, I would," he said.

"But they don't make very much, do they?"

He lifted a single finger. "It's not about the expense, it is about the thought behind the gift."

"Yeah, well, sometimes you get what you pay for."

He laughed. "You sound like Karai."

I froze, and looked at him, but he was still smiling out into the woods, chin propped on his fist.

"Is that… good?" I asked.

"Common sense is an excellent quality in anyone," he said.

"How else am I like her?" I asked.

"Let's see. Your voice. Your hair, of course."

"Oh, come on!"

"Yes, I guess that's a cop-out." He turned to me and tilted my head back and forth. "Your face. Flatter than hers, of course, but… that's my fault." He chucked me under the chin.

"Is that all?"

"Is that all." A little of his old wariness crept into his voice.

"I mean, more than what I look like," I said. "The way I am. The way I act. You know what I mean."

He looked away, face dark.

"Dad, please."

All I could hear was the rain plinking on the railing.

I leaned on his arm. "Please. She couldn't have been all bad."

"She wasn't. She isn't. She's only doing what she was taught to do." His brows knotted. "She did everything that was expected of her." There was a faint note of distress in his voice, the tail end of a faraway howl. "Sometimes I think that we might go back. When you're, say… sixteen or so. Old enough and big enough and strong enough. We would ask for an audience with her."

"She wouldn't see you," I said.

"I know."

"But I could tell her all about what a good job you did," I said. "How I know how to take care of myself, and how much fun I had with everyone here…" My voice faltered.

"She would resent that. Can you blame her?" He shook his head. "Besides, I haven't done you any favors. When I see Shadow, I realize how much I harmed you."

"Aw, Dad, it's not like that."

"But it is." He stopped pushing the swing, and we slowly rocked to a stop. "When I was young, I was trained in the same way you were. I never asked why; I never thought to. It was enough to please Father. We practiced on street toughs and killed from a young age—always in self defense, of course—but 'self defense' only goes so far. It meant more to us than that. It was surreal to look down and think, 'I took that life away from the world. This blood is their blood, and the last thing they hated was me.' I dreaded that moment when killing wouldn't mean anything to me.

"When we were fifteen, Master Splinter finally told us why we had worked so hard." He opened his hands. "We were to avenge the death of his master. For Splinter, who was old and weary, this was the apex of all his desires. For us, four children—yes, that was what we were, despite our rapid physical maturity—it meant avenging the death of a stranger by killing a stranger. It was an odd sensation, Saya, and something struck me as… off about it. It took me a long time to realize that the father I had loved with all of my heart had used us as tools."

"Are you saying I'm a tool? Because I'm not," I said. "You never said, 'Hey, Saya, today we're going to kill your mo…'" My voice faded away.

Dad's eyes were wet. "We can't break away from the sins of our fathers. They craft us in their image."

"But... but I'm glad I know what to do. I know how to hide and sneak and fight back, and there's nothing wrong with that, especially since Mom's a ninja."

"But look at Shadow," he said. "Completely carefree."

"Too carefree," I said, setting my jaw. "She can't keep a schedule and she's lazy about her schoolwork and…"

"She's happy," he said. "I realized that you had probably not been happy once in your life."

"I have, too!"

"Truly happy," he said. "Not a passing happiness."

"I'm glad I know how to fight," I snapped. "You worry too much."

"Are you glad you know how to fight," he asked, "or is that the only thing you were allowed to understand?"

I didn't answer.

Dad leveled an unblinking stare at me. "When the Shredder returned, it wasn't my master he sought. It was me." He turned his head and traced the outlines of scars I had always seen, but never understood: three parallel lines that raced around the back of his skull to the edge of his mouth, three parallel lines that had chipped the shell and raked across his shoulder to gouge his plastron, three parallel lines that streaked across his right arm repeatedly. I had often stared at that arm, misshapen with scar tissue, and wondered how he'd gotten it.

"I was beaten within an inch of my life," Dad said. "Then the Foot nearly slew my brothers and April in the bargain—April, who had done no harm to anyone. We fled to Northampton—here, to be exact. The Shredder seemed content to see us run; we were safe here. I never wanted to go back. But Raphael missed the city. He wanted to punish the Foot for what they had done. Against my advice, he returned. I felt that I had no choice but to follow." Dad set his jaw. "I couldn't let the Shredder kill him."

"Why not?" I asked.

Dad slapped me on the back of the head. "No."

I twisted away. "He tried to murder you and he doesn't care if I go to the Bunker or not," I snapped. "What kind of person does that, Dad?"

"I started that."

"You did not."

"Look. You don't have to like him, but you must at least try. Family is all we have."

"Can you just go back to the story?"

He sighed. "When we killed the Shredder a second time, I thought for certain that we would have peace. But cut off one of the hydra's heads and two more sprout in its place. Criminal elements rose up to take advantage of the power vacuum left by the Shredder's death, and violence poured across the city… again, violence that was directly connected to my hand."

I punched him in the arm. "Come on!"

"It was Karai who finally broke it. She cut us a deal: slay Shredder's remaining Elites, be forgiven forever. I had the chance to start over and to live life the way I saw fit. My first inclination was to look for some work that did not involve the sword. Father did not see things quite the same way. I made mistakes…" He shook his head.

"What?" I asked. "What did you do?"

"I grew disillusioned. I left the family. I joined the Foot," Dad said. "Karai offered me some specialized jobs. Some of which were…" He shook his head again. "They grew progressively more difficult and morally questionable. When I look back, I think she was trying to get rid of me." His smile was wry. "I spent more and more time planning hits with her. Suddenly, she began inviting me on personal missions; she was asking for my advice; she was showing me her personal art collection and sharing her library with me; she invited me to personal sparring sessions so we could share techniques. One day she presented me with the katana 'for my service.' I thought she was my friend."

"You mean you didn't love her?"

"It's… difficult for me to explain. I was deeply devoted to her and I felt she understood me in a way that the family did not. We developed a strong rapport. Romantically? I would be lying if I said it didn't occur to me. But at the same time, I could not act on my feelings. She was my superior. Besides, Karai is a woman of impeccable taste. She chose her lovers like she chose her art: rarely, and after great reflection. There was no reason to expect her to look at me." He shrugged. "Eventually she invited me to her apartment for 'sensitive information,' and… I don't know what made her go that far. It couldn't have been my looks."

"And then you loved her?"

"I couldn't see straight for weeks," he said. "I was in the clouds. She could have asked me to jump off of a skyscraper and I would have done it. Ah, god, I was an idiot."

"Oh my god." A smile stole across my face. "She liked you for who you were. That's amazing."

"No, it wasn't. I was only nineteen, Saya. She was thirty-five. She was well-acquainted with the world; I was not." His gaze grew steely. "It wasn't fair of her to approach me—not just as an inferior, but as a person. I wasn't ready for that kind of relationship and I couldn't have known that I was not ready. In every way, I was dependent on her. Now I wonder if that was the reason that she approached me in the first place."

"Then… how did it end?"

"She simply stopped contacting me. I was patient." He folded his hands. "Then I was discreetly dismissed from the Foot with a large check. And that was it, until one of the Elites told me about you."

"Wait," I said. "Why would an Elite tell you about me to begin with?"

"We were friends of a sort," he said. "Sparring partners."

"Oh. I thought maybe he was a jilted lover or something."

"I considered it, and it's possible."

"Then why wouldn't she just have a human child?"

"I don't know," he said. "When I think about how much work and money went into your creation… I have papers from the Bunker that shows it took hundreds of attempts to create a living fetus, and even then, so many just… self-aborted. The fact you are alive, much less thriving, is an absolute miracle."

"So she couldn't have just wanted a child," I said. "Maybe she wanted a piece of you to remember you by."

He shook his head. "That's not the kind of person she is."

"Then what kind of person is she?" I snapped.

He grunted.

"She's my mom and you won't tell me anything about her."

"What more is there to say?"

"Dad, you were ready to take me up to New York City to kill my own mom, and I'm not sure who she is or even if you're telling the truth. You didn't want to kill a stranger, well… neither do I."

"There is so much that is good about her," he said. "Here was a person who knew everything that I felt. Sometimes we didn't even need to talk. She just knew. It was comforting, and that comfort was as intense as a drug. Unfortunately… everything good about her was wrapped up in something that wasn't." His voice grew lower and sharper; his knuckles were white. "Her hard work armed thugs, encouraged crime, and fed wars. Her duty made her blind to the suffering of anyone outside of her immediate group. Her perfectionism made her an intolerant slavemaster. And I helped her. I helped her and I did what she wanted, even though I knew none of it was right. Even Raphael tried to talk me out of seeing her, and Raphael is ten times more impulsive than I am."

Raphael leaned around the corner of the house, raindrops dribbling off of his chin. "Thanks."

We both whirled around, staring with open mouths.

"What?" Raphael said. "Who isn't a ninja in this family?" He limped up the stairs and dropped onto the swing next to me, crushing me against Dad's side. I shrank away from him, eyes as big as goose eggs. He smelled like sweaty feet.

"Raphael." Dad looked away. "I… didn't expect to see you there."

"You mean, 'How long was I out there?' Since the whole presents discussion."

"Ah." Dad's face was flushed.

"So what were you gonna get me?"

Dad shrugged. "Uh… video games… I suppose. Something with, um, shooting in it."

"Brilliant. You don't know the first thing about video games. You'd probably grab the first shit you saw."

"I'd… research."

"Calm down, buddy. I'm not that devoted to Karai. Not gonna tell her about your little plot or whatever." Raph stretched his legs out and threw his arm over the back of the swing, resting his palm on the back of Dad's head. I wanted to slide off, but I was pinned between them, and I was afraid to move lest Raph suddenly realize I existed.

"Thank you," Dad said in a halting voice.

"What'd bring you to kill your girlfriend, anyway?" Raph said.

"What do you think?" Dad asked. "I want to be free again."

"Uh-huh."

"And I want to drop the use of the sword entirely."

"You, drop ninjitsu? You'd be miserable. You don't got anything else."

Dad looked down at me. Raph's look followed. My face blistered, and I wriggled vainly between them.

"Hey, hey." Raph grabbed me by the shell. "Stop. Truce. I'm sorry I freaked you out. You got that? Maybe I was a little angry, but I ain't ever angry enough to send you to the Bunker."

I squirmed. "But you said…"

"Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong. Maybe it's time we all say good-bye to Karai and all of her shitty plots." He cleared his throat and then held his hand out to me.

"Let's start over," he said. "I'm Raphael, the good-looking one of the family."

I glanced at Dad, but he was staring at Raphael with a startled smile. So I slowly reached over and put my hand in Raph's. He wrapped his fingers around mine.

"Saya," I said. My voice came out strangely high-pitched.

"Good." We shook. "Nice to meet ya, don't stab me in the knee ever again. That's all."

"Then don't send me to the Bunker," I said.

"Karai wouldn't send you there." His eyes rose to Dad's. "Don't tell her lies, Leo. Doesn't make you look good."

Dad's face fell. "I'm not lying."

"Hey, genius, you were the one that told me that the most obvious solution is usually the right answer," Raph said. "You know how people who get close to Karai tend to die? Do you think she likes that?" He cracked his cane on the floor. "Think about it."

"No," Dad said, holding his head. "I can't think about her anymore. I've run in so many circles and I'm sick of it. It's got to end."

"Oh, is that why you want her to die? It won't work. Your guilt'll kick in. You can't kill her any more than you can kill us."

"Then how on earth do I stop this?" Dad threw his hands out as though to encompass the whole of the forest. "I feel like I have never had a single thought or choice of my own. First I am Splinter's shadow, then I'm Karai's, then I try to strike out on my own, and even in trying to raise Saya I end up creating the same conflicts all over again. Look at Shadow. She is forming herself, she has choices of her own. But Saya… I'm making a tool out of Saya the same way Splinter made a tool of me."

Raph set his hand on the back of Dad's head. For a moment they were both quiet. The wind twinkled in the wind chimes.

"I don't got answers," Raph said.

"I know."

"Karai's death'll make everything worse, though. Don't do it."

"I won't."

"Good."

"Then what do we do?" I asked.

"We just gotta start where we're standing," Raph said. "That's what I'm gonna do. I've royally fucked up my past, too, without any help from this idiot." He lightly popped Dad on the back of the head, then stood with a groan, leaning on his cane. "I'm gonna look back and I'm gonna say, 'Fuck that.' Then I'm gonna move on and do the best I can. I'm tired of all this bullshit. Let it follow me, but at least I'm not goin' to make it worse."

"Do you think we can just live here?" I asked.

"Sure. Why not?" Raph asked. "Let's all just live here, a big happy family. I'm done fighting. I'm done. When I was younger, you know, it was like I was putting my mark on the world somehow—telling it how much I wanted it to go to hell. Turns out the world don't notice and the world don't care. And if it don't care, then why should I?"

The back door creaked open and Mike flattened his face against the screen. "Breakfast is getting cold, guys…?"

"We're comin'." Raph held a hand out to Dad. Dad rose, took it, and threw an arm around his shoulder. There was a long, quiet hug. I stood awkwardly against the swing, feeling outside again.

"Back at last, fearless leader," Raph laughed softly. "Took us long enough, huh?"