Chapter Twenty

I lurched away from him, stiff-limbed. My body felt leaden, senseless. He did not move after me, but I saw his fingers twitch, then curl into tight fists. He watched me go.

"No," I said. "No, Daddy, no, I don't want to go, I don't want to…"

"When you were three, you tripped on a curb," he said. "You hit the sidewalk forehead first. You blacked out for a minute. I was terrified. Thankfully, we were in a city at the time, so I carried you toward the hospital, debating whether or not I should hitchhike or call for an ambulance. I was afraid of CPS, I was afraid of the police, I was afraid of your mother… I had just turned into the hospital's parking lot when you decided you'd had enough of being carried. You asked to walk. You seemed fine. You could walk, you could see straight, you were no longer nauseous, and your energy had returned. You just had a bad goose egg and a headache, both of which disappeared within a day. I knew the way we healed, and I wanted to think that was what had saved you. But it made me think. What if you were hurt enough to need the hospital? What if you contracted some sickness you could not fight? What if you were hurt in a place where there was no hospital? How could I live with myself if you died because of my negligence?"

Something clicked. I didn't remember falling down, but I vaguely remembered Dad carrying me. I remember being angry and screaming. I had thrown up and bitten him. We'd stayed on the outskirts of major cities for about two years after that. I'd never connected the dots before.

He rose to his feet, the ruined recliner snapping beneath him. I don't think he ever blinked. I stood up, too. I noted offhand that I was nearly as tall as he was.

"I have watched you and your mother for a long time," he said in a heavy voice. "Your mother never treated you unfairly, much less cruelly. She made sure you were clothed, fed, educated, and trained."

I started shaking my head "no" over and over and I couldn't stop. My tongue felt too big for my mouth. But he didn't stop talking.

"She never altered your body against your will; she accepted you for what you are," he said. "On top of all of this, you are part of a squad of ninja with spectacular skills. You like them. They like you. There's a place for you in the human world. Up there, you're human. You have a future rich with possibilities. You could go to college, take whatever career you liked, have boyfriends…" He brightened a little. "Get married."

"She's a crime lord!" I said. "She sells weapons to third-world countries and drugs to poor people and…"

"You are not 'third-world countries,'" he said. His voice was quiet. "You are not responsible for what she does. Not yet."

"I don't want to lead the Foot!"

"Then don't," he said. "But let her raise you until you are capable of stepping out into the world on your own."

"No, no, you don't get it," I said. "She used my blood without telling me and she used your blood without telling you and she's gonna sell…"

"You weren't locked up in the Bunker," he said.

"Because I was locked up in an apartment!" I said.

"You had a birthday party, a proper birthday party," he said. "She gave you a wig, hair, medicine, books, tutors… you lacked for nothing. You've been growing as you should, your health has never been better… Your life has been improved tenfold. With me…" He threw his head back and breathed out. "With me you lived like a homeless street urchin."

"Dad, listen to me! I was locked in an apartment. I was scared every day that we were going to die! Me and my brother were stabbed there and Fujita-san…"

The sob punched me through the diaphragm. I slapped my hand over my mouth and turned away. He put his arms around my shoulders and held me to his chest.

"Shh, shh," he said softly. "I'm so sorry, Saya."

For a minute we were both quiet. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Fujita-san! The loss of her struck me like a gut punch and knocked all the wind out of me. I struggled to regain my composure. Coming to terms with that cold, still form in the kitchen being the same lively little old lady fluttering around the apartment seemed impossible.

"Fujita-san was the only person who really loved me up there," I said into his chest. "And now she's gone."

"She was an excellent person," he said softly, stroking the round of my skull. "Many in the Foot never accepted me, even after I had proven myself over and over. She accepted me at once. I thanked heaven every day that she was there to look after you, especially in the beginning."

"You knew her!" I said, looking up at him with hungry eyes.

"I did. She let me in and out of the secret egress in your mother's room."

"The secret… the secret what?"

"Oh, did I say too much?" he asked. His eyes sparkled.

"There's a secret door in there?"

"Yes. With a little squashed elevator. It requires a code to run, of course."

"So maybe I could sneak out to see you," I said softly, leaning into his side.

"You shouldn't do that. You know what it will do to your mother."

"Oh my god," I muttered, and slapped his plastron. "I don't care."

"You should. You will be staying with her from now on."

I pushed myself away from him. "No, Dad. I told you. Someone's always killing someone in the Foot. I mean, what if I get attacked again?"

"It took me twenty minutes to get to your location last afternoon," he said. "And by that time you and your squad had managed to kill two adult Elites."

"Because they underestimated us! Because we outnumbered them!" I said. "Not because we're that good."

He shrugged. "It is true that luck is part of every battle, but if you hadn't been trained it wouldn't have been enough to save you. All that matters is this: they're dead. You're not." He straightened up and jutted his chin. "Hear this from me now, Saya, because it is true: I was wrong about your mother. I acted in selfishness, fear, and pride. I did not help you. I hurt you."

"Mom hurt me, too!" I snapped. "So did Don! And Mike! And Raph! And Shadow! So what? Everybody hurts everybody all the time. I can deal with that. But I'm not happy with Mom, and I tried! And you know what? She's not happy, either! If I grow up with her, then I'm going to turn into her, and I don't want to. She's always scared and sad and alone!"

"I know," he said quietly. "Perhaps that was why I was interested in her to begin with. So like me. By fixing her, perhaps I could learn to fix myself."

"You don't need to be fixed," I snapped. "You're my favorite. I'm glad you're my father. I want to go with you."

The laugh that popped out of him was from somewhere deep in his chest, half gurgled and awkward. His eyes sparkled, his grin glittered. He squeezed my shoulders and knelt down before me.

"What would make you not feel sad?" he asked.

"Northampton," I said. "I want to go there."

His smile dulled.

"We can't go there," he said. "So what is another solution?"

"I want to live with you and everybody else," I said.

"We can't do that, either," he said. "I did your mother wrong by keeping you to myself. She missed all your milestones and the delight of watching you grow up. Before she took you, I hadn't understood the sheer empty dread of not knowing how you were, how you felt, where you were, how you were changing from day to day, wondering if you were being taken care of properly. That must have tormented your mother… she had gone through such a terrible loss not many years before. What I did to her was almost worse than killing you outright."

"Then I want to come see you," I said swiftly. "Regularly. Every weekend. Every day."

"You will have to ask your mother for that. She has refused me every time I've asked, I'm afraid." He smiled coolly. "Speaking of which… do you still have that phone you stole from me?"

"Yeah?"

"I need it back now," he said. "I'm going to call your mother and ask her what she wants me to do. While I do that, I want you to think of some ways you can be happy without either the farm or me."

He held out his hand.

I hesitated. I had pinned it up underneath my arm. I could have played dumb. Instead, I pulled it out and I set it in his hand. He flipped it face-up, frowned at the moist and oily smear my armpit had left on it, and wiped it clean with his sleeve. Then he began to type. He tapped at the password screen so long that I wondered for a second if he'd started texting.

He had just selected the phone app when Donatello rushed through the doorway, eyes blazing. I could feel rage rolling off of him. The minute he saw Dad on the phone, he skidded to a stop. I kept my eyes fixed on the back of Dad's phone like it was the most interesting thing in the room.

"Ah," Don said shortly.

"I can guess what you're thinking," Dad said, swiping through his calls. "And yes. It was wrong. I will talk to her about it. But you must also admit…" He lifted his eyes to Don's. They were cold and emotionless. "…you didn't exactly do well yourself."

Donatello bristled and gritted his teeth.

Dad lowered his eyes to the phone again. "But for now we should worry about coordinating a meeting time with Karai or her agents."

"All right. Fine," Don said, and reached into his pocket. He drew out a different phone—his own phone, I realized. It had an Android's faceplate, but the case was a single shining sheet of metal. He had duct-taped part of the bottom on at some point.

"Are you texting Mike?" I asked.

He glowered at me. "Raph."

I clapped my mouth shut.

When Dad made the call, he had barely lifted it to his ear before I heard Mom spitting venom on the other end. Her voice was thick with weariness.

"You fucking bastard," she said. "Have you called me to gloat? Then gloat while you still can. I tell you, the moment I catch so much as the shine of your eye…"

"Where do you want me to drop her off?" he asked.

Silence.

"What?" she asked.

"I asked, 'Where do you want me to drop her off?'"

"The dojo," she said. "At once."

"As you wish," he said.

Before he could punch the button to hang up, her voice burst out of the speaker, triumphant and terrible.

"She asked to come back, didn't she?" she asked. "I knew she would."

Dad lifted the phone to his ear again. His lips peeled back. He licked his teeth.

"Yes," he said. "She did."

She began to laugh. Such a high and cold and piercing sound. It was born from the same glee I had seen on her face in the photograph.

Horror welled up in my chest. I jumped against Dad's side and began pummeling his arm. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. Just as I was about to shout at him, Dad slung his free arm around me and slapped his palm over my mouth. His face was pale, and in his face, I saw him silently begging me to be quiet.

"I told you," she said. "What could you possibly give her, you hideous vagrant? An alley strewn with trash? Meals from a dumpster?"

"Exactly. You were right. I was wrong," Dad said. "I'm sorry."

"Hmmmmm!" I squealed into his palm.

It was too late. He hung up, frozen, phone held numbly out in front of him. He seemed so empty.

Don glanced up from his phone and for a moment the rapid tapping ceased. There was a crease across his brow.

"You okay?" Don asked.

"No," Dad said quietly. "But it will get better."

Dad finally released me and I struggled out of his grip.

"No!" I said, wiping my mouth off with the back of my hand. "You lied! I didn't say that!"

He shrugged me off, shook the despair off like raindrops, and pocketed the phone.

"It's better for everyone if she thinks so," he said. "And don't you dare say anything else. Suspicion eats her from the inside out."

Don snorted from where he leaned against the wall, then rapped something onto his phone with more strength than he needed.

"Get the car ready, Don," Dad said.

"Yes, mein Führer," Don said, saluting him with a heel click. Without looking at either of us, he swept away through the doorway, his over-sized sleeve slapping against the jamb.

"Why are you so awful?" I shouted after him.

Dad grabbed my arm.

"Why is he so angry?" I asked.

"He's thinking," Dad said. "Don't worry about him."

Tears popped up in my eyes again. "But I don't want him to hate me!"

"He doesn't hate you. Believe me." Dad turned me around. "There are more important things for you to think about."

"Like?"

"Like… how can you be happy without either the farm or me?"

"I can't!" I said. "I've already thought about it for months. I want to go back to the farm!"

"And I want to be with your mother," he snapped. "But it won't happen. For our health, for your health, it can never be. When you are an adult, you may go where you wish, but for now…"

"But you're an adult and you don't go where you want!" I said.

We both went pale and quiet at the same time. The words that came out next struggled through my throat.

"How can you be happy without her?" I asked. "Have you thought about being happy without her? Maybe I can turn around and let you stand here for five minutes to think about it."

He burst out laughing, groping up at his face to staunch tears. "Saya!"

"Okay, I'll give you six minutes!" I said.

Index and thumb stabbed up into his eyes, he laughed helplessly.

"But I want a real answer!" I said. "I want a bulleted list! And a mind-map!"

My voice came out all funny at the end and soon I was laughing and crying, too.

"You should know, Saya," Dad said, after we had calmed down a little, "that this was a lesson of my father's."

"It was?"

"Yes. Understanding that everything is temporary. Animals, people, feelings, relationships, the works of our hands… even the very universe itself. When I was young, I thought that it was easy, letting everything go, imagining going without my brothers and my father and my blades and even my life. But I didn't understand that there were pains I could carry that would never die, even though what I loved had died long before. It has taken me a decade to realize that the real struggle was becoming accustomed to death… not hanging on to what is dead."

"But just because it's dead in her doesn't mean it's dead in you," I said. "You can't kill a feeling."

"No. Nor can you reason with it. I squash it down, I think it's gone, and… I see a picture of her face. Or I see her in you. Or I hear a certain tone of voice on the radio, on a movie. And all the things I felt rush up again against my will. Memories of times I felt happiest, and futures that could have been. How much I loved to think of you, and me, and her, all in that apartment together. And yet, even in those imaginary futures… I couldn't imagine the world outside the apartment. Because the world would never allow us to be together, just as the Foot would never allow her to be with me." He took a deep breath. "These longings are still as strong as the day they were born."

"Do you think it'll ever stop?" I asked. "Even when we get old?"

"I don't know," he said. "Why do some things die and some hang on? I will be the first to tell you that this love I feel for your mother is beyond foolish. It has destroyed our family. It made me give up my brothers, it made me give up on my beliefs… I gave away everything I treasured about my life." He swallowed and closed his eyes. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper.

"I am afraid I will carry this pain forever, Saya, as I am afraid you may carry your pain forever."

"Did Don ever tell you about Faerie?" I asked.

"Oh," he said, and chuckled a little. "Yes. Stumbling in and out of happiness. A soothing thought, if a bittersweet one. We had a long conversation a couple of months back. He's not kind when he's trying to help you."

"So he doesn't hate me?"

"Oh no, no. I told you, he's afraid. I think he's afraid of feeling too much, too—it's a way of protecting himself. He's really very fond of you."

"What? Really?"

"He always opened our meetings with what we called 'Saya Status,'" said Dad. "Whether you were well, and how he guessed you were faring day by day." He cleared his throat. "He had pictures of you that he accessed from security cameras."

"Oh," I said. Then, hesitantly: "Dad, can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

I leaned in closely and whispered.

"Don scares me," I said.

Dad grinned. "He scares me, too. Good thing he's on our side."

"What was it like, growing up with him? Was he always angry like this?"

"Angry? Sometimes, when he felt like he couldn't put his thoughts into words. But not often. He was my best friend growing up. Mike was too energetic, Raphael too moody. He was closest to me in personality and maturity. We had lots of late-night conversations in his lab… he was like… a breath of fresh air sometimes. I always assumed I had hurt him the least, but…"

Dad opened his hands helplessly.

"I don't want to make the same mistake," I said sharply.

"Mistake? What mistake?"

"I have a brother, you know?" I said. "Takeru."

"Yes. I never did get to meet him."

"So you knew!"

"He was something of an open secret, but yes."

"I want to be best friends with Takeru," I said. "I don't want to hurt him anymore. How do I do it?"

"Well. Don't abandon him for a girlfriend and abuse his trust, I suppose."

"I'm serious!"

"And so am I."

A disembodied voice crackled out of the ceiling, and both of us jumped. Dad's hand flew down to the tantou on his hip.

"Car's ready, kids," Don said out of the speaker. "I hope you're dressed."

Dad whipped his gaze down to me. Our eyes widened at the same time. I was still wearing the oversized nightgown and nothing else.

"Uh… I can't go like this," I said.

"This way," Dad said, pushing me ahead of him into the corridor. "We gathered some clothing for you in preparation. Let's find something you can wear."

"Wait," I said.

"What?"

I wrapped my arms around his waist. I wanted to remember everything: the expressions on his face, the throb of his heart, the texture of his skin.

"We don't have to be there in a big hurry or anything," I said. "We can just say we got lost."

He pulled me up in a hug and said nothing. I buried my face into his throat. We held each other for a long, long time.