Cygnet 1.8

{Name for a young swan.}

The clock ticked, ticked, ticked, ticked on and on and… It was the only sound, I wanted something else. But the clock just kept ticking.

I felt like I was back in isolation.

I wasn't in a cell. Wasn't in a straightjacket. There was carpet on the floor, and I was sitting on a comfortable couch, knees pulled to my chest. But I felt trapped. I was tense, I… I felt distant, remote, removed from the world around me, like I was outside it, looking in.

Even as I was so very aware of it.

I knew there was someone at the door an instant before the latch turned. Knew who it was at the door before I saw him.

Doctor Geoffrey Selmy was a weathered, clean-shaven man of about sixty-five, though you'd never imagine it looking at him. His skin was dark and leathery and deeply lined- creased but not loose.

His shoulders were wiry and thin, and his glance was bright and intelligent. He wore a grey suit and vest, the jacket thrown over one arm and walked with the energy of a thirty-year-old. He wasn't a tall man, at just a little over five and a half feet tall even I was taller, but he had a way of carrying himself that meant I forgot that sometimes. I liked Doctor Selmy. Doctor Yamada left me with a warmth and a smile. Lifted spirits. Doctor Selmy left me with energy and drive.

Usually.

I didn't know if I wanted that right now.

"Hello again, Taylor." He said, sitting across from me and laying his coat on the arm of his chair, "Are you thirsty? Can I get you anything?"

"No. No thanks..."

He gave me a searching look.

"Well, I'd like some water. Do you mind?"

I shrugged. Doctor Selmy poured himself a glass of water from the table pitcher. He always had something on hand. His office was more informal, less structured than I imagined a psychiatrist's office. A coffee table with the water and glasses, my couch, his easy chair. The warm colors and the carpet and bookshelves with pictures, certificates, and thick books.

"Jessica told me what happened yesterday." He said, and then let it hang, sipping his water.

I didn't say anything. What was there to say?

"Taylor?" Doctor Selmy prodded, "If you feel up to talking, I am here."

I rubbed my arms, I felt cold. "I don't know how I am supposed to feel." I said at last.

"There is no 'way' you are supposed to feel." Doctor Selmy said, "No 'way' anyone is supposed to feel after losing a friend."

I pulled my knees closer, tighter. "I hardly knew him."

Doctor Selmy peered at me, I didn't have the heart to look at him, I could feel his sympathy. His attention. It was like a spotlight directed over me.

"Taylor?"

"I've never had many friends, only Emma. I don't know how- how to make friends. I didn't know him well." I trailed off, "Not well enough."

Doctor Selmy sighed, he leaned back.

"We don't have to talk about this, if you would like." He smiled.

I was sorely tempted to smile and nod back. My early days at Alchemilla, Doctor Selmy had broken me out of depressed slumps with interesting stories.

I didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to think about it. I wanted to hear one of those right now, to forget about everything. I nodded, then I shook my head. No, no. Take control of my own recovery. But how did I, what did that even mean in… in… in this context. What did I call this?

"I want to talk about it. I just… I don't…" I stopped and took a deep breath.

I took breath- a step back from the thoughts and the emotion.

"I wanted to be a hero, once." I said, "Emma and I'd talk about what we'd do if we ever got powers. I used to watch Protectorate Pals every episode. I thought if I got powers, I'd be able to make a difference, like that, like- like Alexandria."

Doctor Selmy didn't say anything, let me talk.

"But Benny was right there. I was holding him, he was in my arms. I couldn't do anything for him right there." I swallowed, "I couldn't do anything. I couldn't do anything…"

I fisted my hands, "I… I don't know if I can be a hero." They don't let crazies into the Protectorate. Maybe… I could be an independent… but it felt hollow, "And everyone is… everyone is like a-a parody of a everything I imagined being a hero to be, and they're broken and I'm broken-"

"Taylor," Doctor Selmy said, a little sharply, "before the Protectorate put a copyright on the word, 'Hero' meant something more than a cape, tights, fame, or powers. It meant a depth of character. It meant someone idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities."

He gave a sour, knowing smile, "These days it's a brand statement."

I blinked at him, a little thrown, and Doctor Selmy looked at me, thoughtful.

"Taylor, how long have you had your powers?"

He knew the answer to that question, "Three months."

"And how freely have you been able to use your powers?"

"Not much…" I admitted slowly.

"It takes more than a decade of intensive schooling to become a doctor. Longer, for specialized fields of medicine and surgery. Your power can't compensate for all of that."

"I- it's my power. I ought to, ought to be able to-"

"Taylor," Doctor Selmy said very softly, "This isn't your fault."

"I…"

I didn't have a reply to that, but I didn't believe him. I didn't know if I wanted to believe him.

He looked pensive for a beat, before he stirred. "Would you like to hear a story? One from my first five years in Alchemilla."

He looked at me expectantly until I nodded.

"I once had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a young woman who went by the moniker of 'Feral.' Now, this young woman had lead a troubled life, and had a great deal of difficulties growing up. She was bright, but often very crude and abrasive. She was not here willingly, and often fought the efforts of the staff to help her."

Doctor Selmy stopped to pour himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the side table. He offered me a glass as well, and then sat back to sip thoughtfully. And then he began.

She came from a single parent household, she had experienced many kinds of abuse while young. She had difficulty learning to trust her therapists, and lived at Alchemilla for more than two years before she started to come out of that shell. But she did make progress.

"Feral was a wonderful young woman. She had a vibrant personality, one that did not fare well in confinement, but she resolved to better herself. To do something with her life."

Doctor Selmy's voice tailed away into nostalgia and… grief? I blinked. Yes. Grief. Greif is what this was.

He was sad; the story didn't have a happy ending.

"Feral had been a villain, two years or more before she came to us- she didn't like to talk about it. But she felt great remorse for her actions. These were no small crimes, she was a thief, a vandal, and a murderess…"

Doctor Selmy paused and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, "Feral felt… a profound remorse for what she had done. She wanted to find some way to repair the damage. To restore what she had taken and what she had broken. I encouraged her, at first. Until she got it in to her head that…"

He held his hands out in front of them, staring at them for long, long seconds as the clock ticked.

"She was a regenerator, a powerful one. She volunteered to donate organs, a living organ bank. I… I tried to stop it at first. But she thought it was the only way she could contribute. The first trials went well and a second bank of tests, human trials, was greenlighted."

"Three months in, her issues began to metastasize. By the time we realized what had happened, it was too late. Her power had become a super-powered cancer, one that was impossible to cure."

Doctor Selmy turned to look at me, his eyes were wet. Mine were too.

The silence stretched on.

Doctor Selmy sighed heavily, "Feral was a young spirit; one that was wounded by the world many times, before I was called on to help her. Because I suggested she find an outlet, I ultimately supported her when she decided to follow that course of action. And because of that, I have to live with what happened, and my role in it."

I stared at him. I almost couldn't breathe.

"Taylor…" Doctor Selmy said, speaking very softly, "I want you to understand. What happened to Benny was not your fault. It is something that happened, it is something that you will remember, but it was not your fault. I know it does not feel like that right now, but I want you to know... I have an idea of what you are going through. You are not alone in it."

Doctor Selmy leaned back, somber and level, "I don't want to hear you saying any patient here is broken. Especially you. I have seen too many good people use it to excuse themselves, to tell themselves they are helpless, and it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy."

I looked away, glanced up over his bookshelves. There was a framed picture on the wall. A photograph and writing. A man and a girl. It read 'Kalie Selmy' and two dates too smudged for me to read. And at the bottom… 'The Feral are Tame to their kind.'

"What happened to her?" I asked.

"She went on to become a Protectorate hero." Doctor Selmy said, "It wasn't easy, and she had many challenges along the way. But her triumph has carried me through many disappointments."

I looked up, but Doctor Selmy was smiling; sadly, but sincerely, and I felt a little better.

"… I'll try."

...

I closed the door behind me, back at my own room. The day had flown past in a blur. I could hardly remember any of it.

I sat on my bed, staring at the wall for I don't know how long. I wasn't thinking, wasn't acting, I didn't have any energy left for anything but just sitting and staring.

Eventually I blinked, and I noticed my desk.

I… hadn't imagined actually getting it, and certainly not this quickly.

I stared at it. It was a setup just like I'd had in Isolation- the computer was housed in a metal block that doubled as a desk, the screen was set behind a pane of heavy glass.

My room hadn't been large to start, and the desk and chair made it even smaller. I could get up out of bed and lay down to do pushups or maybe pace in a circle… in the middle of the room I could hold my arms out and not risk touching any of the furniture, but not much more.

The clock was still ticking.

Then in a flash I was angry, incredibly angry, I jumped to my feet and crossed the room in a leap- raised my hand to smash the screen. Punched the glass…

"Motherfucker!"

I rocked for a while, cursing myself and the desk; afterwards I curled up on the floor holding my hand. Ow.

That helped clear my head. The anger was still there but it wasn't blinding any more. At the time, the pain was blinding, actually.

I lay there until the pain faded to a bull throb, distant.

I applied my power- sprained ligaments, joint. Sprained fingers.

I sighed without any energy. Didn't break anything, there was that. The clock read eleven. Lost some hours.

At least I didn't need to worry about nightmares.

...

Group therapy reminded me painfully of my first session. Benny had been there, and Charnal, and Nick and Heather.

Benny had been a bright welcome to Alchemilla, introducing himself guilelessly and shaking my hand with so much energy. Everything about him had been warm and genuine.

There were new faces at this session. A waifish, thin girl with very pale skin and long red hair that did nothing to hide the metal mask and filter affixed over her jaw. She spoke with a synthesized voice and didn't meet anyone's eyes. My power hinted at her power involving sound, something deadly. I guess that explained the mask.

There was an enormous and heavily muscled blonde man with close-cropped hair and a severe scowl. He spoke with a thundering bass that made my head ring, and might have been more appropriate trying to communicate across a busy intersection. He was a Brute, maybe.

Maser was there, Charnel too. Heather and Nick were not.

I sat at the circle, with my legs drawn up to my chest.

"…I always had direction under Seamstress." Muscles was saying. He sat ruler-straight, perfect posture. Didn't fidget, even while he boomed every word, "There were rules, goals, we had a team. There were rules. Since that time I have been unable to find equilibrium. I am drifting." He roared.

"Regalia, one of the rules at Alchemilla is that if the staff ask you lower your voice, you lower your voice."

The nurse leaned back a bit, possibly anticipating more ringing bass.

I idly leaned on my power, bending it on him. I hadn't met him before, and it gave me mostly an abstract impression- something that felt like an obsession, a perspective. Obsessive compulsive? And anger, so much restrained anger.

"Can you please quiet down?" the thin girl with the synthesizer said. The mask rendered her voice in Darth Vader's best flat metallic echo, almost inflectionless, "You're making my head hurt."

"Nurse Jerrison! Group rules dictate-"

I sympathized with headache girl, I was headed that way myself. Basilisk sat on Regalia's right, Charnel on his left. Charnel looked serene, or much as her ever was, blankly staring unblinking into space. Basilisk leaned back, rubbing her temples.

"Basilisk, please, try to respect group rules." Nurse Jerrison was starting to look a little frayed around the edges, tension building in her shoulders as she juggled these personalities. This wasn't at all like my first group session. It was too discordant, no one was working together, nothing was getting done.

"All right, all right." Nurse Jerrison sighed, "I think we're done for the day. Thank you all for coming."

I stood up and listlessly watched as the rest of my group drifted for the door. I followed them out, arms folded close to me. I felt insulated from the rest, where I had wanted to know them before.

Now… I didn't know.

A hand touched my shoulder, Blake, we stopped in the hall, "Hey kid."

He peered at my face, "You feeling all right?"

I nodded silently.

"You sleeping all right?"

I shook my head, "No, I…" coughed, tried again, "I don't sleep, my power, I, uh, I don't need to."

Blake blinked, "Huh."

He rubbed the back of his neck, "Look, um."

"Was he your friend too?" I asked.

Blake closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath. I had a hard time imagining him as a supervillain. Someone dangerous and feared and larger than life. He seemed so… tired.

"… Yeah." Blake said softly, "Thought I was done losing people when I left the streets behind me."

I nodded, didn't know what to say, but then I hadn't known Benny very long. Maybe if I'd known him longer it'd mean more and I'd know what to call what it meant to me.

"Benny was made up of snips and snails and puppy-dog tails, and butterflies. Lots of Butterflies and sunshine. Trust me, I cut that bitch open once to check." Blake growled. I blinked up at him, and he grinned wide… But he was sad…

"But he wouldn't want you to take a hit on his account. You know?" Blake said.

"Yeah…" I said softly, "Yeah, thanks."

"Heh." Blake huffed a laugh, but it was a little forced, "See you around kid."

We stepped out and I started walking. Maybe I'd go to the library and see if there was anything to read? I'd asked Doctor Selmy about getting books in addition to the computer, anything to eat up the time after curfew.

But I didn't really feel like reading… I felt listless.

I kept walking, but now my path turned towards the exercise room. Maybe a few hours of mind-numbing physical activity to drain the extra energy.

I could run, at least. Maybe a couple of the other patients would want to play basketball? Heather might.

It was still an hour before lunch, but I could find out where she was from the nursing station. I kept walking, following the hallway back towards the cafeteria. There was a distant shout.

I stopped and blinked, listening.

Something prickled over my skin, a sense of different. My sense of direction was confused. Which was strange, because I'd gotten used to having a third sense of direction- to knowing where everything was with my power, around me -now it felt like… like I was in two places at once.

Something was interfering with my power.

There was a distant whine, like an alarm. But it was faint, far away, and a cool wash ran down my back, chilling me, goosebumps rose on my arms. It was cold! What was going on with the air conditioning?

And then the walls- I jumped back as one wall bubbled and peeled back, rotted away in rusty strips. There was chipped and crumbling concrete, and rusted wire mesh under it, stained with rust and water stains. The lights became bare bulbs in wire cages overhead, flickering and sputtering.

I the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

"What the fuck?"

The hallway transformed in a wave, flowing out from the door, leaving rust and concrete in its wake. It was cold. The lights flickered and cast garish shadows under me.

I was dry mouthed. Tentatively, I pinged my power, searching for the sense of location, or position I knew had been there a moment ago, that assured sense of knowing where everything was. Instead the shadow of my map echoed back, superimposed with a sense of change. Faint, indistinct, indecipherable.

The lights flickered, casting shadows over the nightmarish hallway, two thirds gone to rust and concrete, lopsided, the rest still peeling away in sickly strands of paint and rust.

I jumped back with a yelp as chains fell from the ceiling, slipping through rust-stained holes in the concrete with a clatter.

"Okay… okay." I whispered, heart pounding.

I glanced behind me, then back the way I had been walking. I waffled. Then I kept walking, avoiding the eerie, bare walls. I'd been closer to the cafeteria, and the security booth that adjoined it. I could still make it, right?

I hugged my arms to myself. It was getting colder. The hallway… was it shorter than I remembered?

I stopped and blinked, the hall now ended suddenly in a door, not one of the blank wooden ones, identical and interchangeable, found all over the wing. This was a huge, rusted, metal monstrosity that filled the hall in front of me, engraved with abstract shapes and patterns too eroded for me to make out.

There wasn't a doorknob either, just a rusted metal ring.

"Okay… okay…" I repeated. "Okay, freaky shit, but that's okay."

I took a deep breath, "This is okay."

My expectations of Alchemilla were completely destroyed at this point, I was very, very tired of feeling scared. Now… now I was surprised, my fists were clenched- I was starting to feel angry.

"Okay." I said, my voice still sounded thin and quiet, I coughed and tried again. "Okay!" … better?

I reached for the ring, gripped it and pulled… The door didn't budge.

Oh, oh yeah. It probably weighed twice what I did. That wouldn't work. I stared at the door, feeling silly. It was only a door…

I looked back the way I'd come. There were other doors, also transformed. One was slowly metamorphosing, from metal plate into a dangerous-looking rusty red grate. The walls were almost completely transformed at this point, only a few lonely trails of paint curled into the air, and then into nothingness, the lights flickering cast it in strange shadows. Chains still hung overhead, clanking as they lengthened.

I started walking back the way I came, shivering a little. It was cold.

"Hello? Anybody?"

I stopped to listen, then pinged my power- seeking out the familiar. Anything at all. It was odd, I'd never had to deal with interference before. The strange double-feeling persisted, the echo and static. Which was actually a little worrying. Usually my power filled in gaps and changes over time, but this wasn't clearing, not even a little.

If anything, it was getting worse. It almost felt like it was surging, or something was.

"Hello?"

My head snapped up, "Blake?"

"Over here!"

I ran down the hall. The turns were all wrong, the distance was wrong for the group meeting room, for the administrative offices.

"Blake!" I shouted.

"Here!"

He was behind one of the rusted grate-doors, the prison bar doors. I ran to him and grabbed the bars, "Blake, what's happening?"

"It's Labyrinth." He ground out, "Usually her blowups aren't this big, but I guess we were due one. Fuck this week."

That name again, "Labyrinth?"

"Real strong." Blake said, "Brings imaginary worlds to life."

I blinked at that. Imaginary worlds? Why would someone want to bring an even more hellish version of Alchemilla to life?

I stopped and thought a moment. That feeling was back- the sense of a distant pressure building.

"-get her to calm down. It always makes Labyrinth's fits worse."

"Blake, something's about to happen." I said.

He eyed me warily, "Thinker intuition?"

"I don't know, her power's screwing with mine, it's making it hard to read things, but it feels like this is going to get worse."

There it was again, a surge- rust trails snaked down the walls- and suddenly they bent, like we were standing in a tunnel or a pipe. I heard water drip somewhere.

"Damnit!" Blake swore.

Water was trickling down the middle of the hallway-turned-pipe now.

"Is it going to end? Does she stop?" I asked.

"If she falls asleep it retreats closer to her," Blake said, "But she's on the other side of the Wing, and they move her around to reduce how strong she can get. This shouldn't be possible."

The trickle was a steady steam around my ankles now, and I could hear a distant roaring. The water level was rising.

"Blake!"

There was a surge, I could feel it, and suddenly the water was at chest height. My feet lost purchase on the ground, and in a panic filled moment I started to move.

Blake's eyes widened, and he thrust his arm through the bars, but I was already too far away, I tried to grab his hand all the same.

I could feel his power, gravity surging to grip me. But that strange echo that had made my power unreliable acted on him too, I could feel it. Instead of arresting my movement, I started to slip further and further away, carried by the flow.

"Kid!"

I was carried down the pipe, moving faster and faster, I went under. I broke the surface coughing and sputtering. The last thing I saw before I was dunked again, was Blake gripping the bars with both hands, the water up to his shoulders, fountaining and spraying around him as he fought the pressure.

Then I was under again, and swept away.