[A young hawk, an unfledged nestling taken from the nest for training.]
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"Let's find our girls, I'm on a time limit." Gretchen said. "Here, this pile- everything's organized by year, then security level, then civilian name. And your case number, I guess... Do you know Burnscar and Labyrinth's civilian names? Their full civilian names?"
"I, uh... No. I just know Burnscar's name is Mimi. Labyrinth's name is Elle."
"... Do you know when they got here?"
I knew Mimi had been here four years. I didn't actually know anything about Elle, that was the whole point... Wait, no. Elle had arrived around the same time Mimi had, Mimi had mentioned they both went through early testing together.
"I think both of them arrived about four years ago, but I don't know exactly when," I hedged. "Is that enough?"
"I'll make a troublemaker out of you yet." Gretchen made a considering noise and drifted above the boxes. "There's a manifest on one of the lids here somewhere, but it's all in case numbers. Looks like we have to do this the hard way."
I was silent for a moment, watching as she floated overhead. "What did you mean, that we're on a time limit?"
"I gotta get back down to my room." Gretchen said. "I'm a troublemaker, so they pretend I cooperate as long as I'm there when they turn my body and give me meds and everything." She made a face at that.
That made me nervous. "That sounds like you're going to leave. You're coming back, right?"
"...Probably not."
"Then... Then how am I supposed to get back to my room?"
"It's a straight shot back," Gretchen said, giving me an odd look. "You've got superpowers, you can do it."
"...Why does everyone use their powers everywhere? We aren't supposed to," I complained. Yes, I knew it sounded petulant, but... It was the rules.
Gretchen was very unimpressed. "Newsflash, Taylor: the rules are mostly for people with destructive powers. Burnscar and Wendigo and shit. People like us got it easy, we're supposed to use our powers because we're useful."
"But..."
Her expression softened. "It's just how things are. Thinkers and Tinkers get passes. They're rare and useful, and usually not as dangerous as someone who can blast people with fire."
Mimi...
Gretchen shrugged and... I thought I could almost sense emotion from her. "Look, it's fine. Just go back the way we came. Through the elevator shaft and back down. It's easier to close the elevator doors than open them, believe me."
"...Okay." I said finally.
"Right."
We started on the boxes, and the monumental task of untangling what was inside. I focused on narrowing them down. Focused on finding a system to sort the ones I needed to look at out from the ones I didn't.
Each box was labeled, but not all of them were labeled in what I'd call a useful manner. I quickly realized that a few boxes were devoted to single parahumans, or even multiple boxes- after I opened one labeled 'Fironic, case files 1998-2006 et al'.
Some weren't patient files at all, I pulled open a box labeled 'Misc c stubs and rcpts 2006' to find files of purchasing receipts and payroll records and set it aside, everything with the word 'Financial' was right out. What year would that have been for Mimi? ...Right. I kept an eye out for any boxes labeled 2006 and 2007.
Progress was slow.
My mind wandered as I leafed through a stack of binders. I still wasn't sure what Gretchen got out of this. She wasn't doing it out of some aimless rebellion like Heather might have; I'd never had the impression that she was anything but sincere. Was there something I was missing?
I didn't like having to guess.
"Why is everything so jumbled?"
Gretchen poked her head through the side of a box. "Well, I'm pretty sure some of these are from different rooms and maybe even different departments."
"... You don't actually know if they have Mimi and Elle's files, do you?" I sighed. "This was all to get me to come along."
"Nah, I really do want to help. Already went through a lot of these." She waved a hand towards a pile by the wall.
I eyed the pile. That was a lot of boxes. Maybe a dozen. There was so much; those had to have taken hours. I wondered how bored she got, and if it was like me, and staring at the ceiling into the small hours of the night.
"Why were you going through all that?" I asked.
"Lots of people want to know stuff," Gretchen replied, "I just find it out and tell them."
"Like who?" My imagination began to fill in the blanks. "It's not someone outside the hospital is it?"
"Ha! No," Gretchen said, floating over my way, "That'd be a really bad idea. I find out stuff for people here, patients, sometimes doctors if they ask nicely. I do them a favor, they do me a favor. Sometimes they get me books and music and stuff. It's hard to do favors for a girl who's actually a vegetable. I can't taste or smell like this either, so snack bribery is out too. I was big into fashion a year ago, got a lot of magazines- because my powers mean I can try everything on, everything that I've seen, you know? And I have an amazing comic book collection..."
I hmmed, somewhat mollified. "What do people ask you to find anyway?"
"Sometimes it's stuff from outside. News. But usually stuff about themselves," Gretchen said.
Puzzle pieces fell into place. Mimi's disheartened and despairing resignation, Nick and his listlessness. Blake's hints and knowing smile. That was why he knew so much about me.
You never get out of Orange. "You give them information on their own files," I said. "You tell them what the doctors are saying about them."
"Yeah. Sometimes."
That was why. That was why Mimi was so depressed. She thought that way because she knew.
... No. No, I couldn't accept that.
While I was stilled in horror Gretchen floated over. "Here, I got your file over here. You'll want to keep the door closed, but the night watchmen don't poke around in the offices unless they hear something. You ought to be fine. Just don't turn any more lights on." She waved a hand with a manila folder in it, offered it to me, "Here. Your file. Take it. I gotta scram."
I shook myself from my musing. "Already?"
"Yeah. The... Thing got moved up." Gretchen made a face that I had trouble interpreting. Disgust, maybe?
"Listen, it's one o'clock right now. Graveyard shift gets off at three, and the morning shift is on until eight. If you want to sneak back down, that's when it's best to try." Gretchen said, "Anything you need before I go?"
I took a deep breath, "Just a straight shot back?"
"That's right."
"... No, I think that's it."
"I'll swing by your room around seven, if the doctors are done with their thing, and see if you made it back. If I can't find you I'll go looking, all right?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Good luck."
Gretchen bobbed in place, then with a wave of her hand, she took a swan dive through the floor and the hazy, ever so faint, impression of her presence dropped away and quickly vanished. The room was larger and emptier in her absence.
I felt cheated, a little. She'd dragged me out here, if I was found I'd probably be in enormous trouble. But... I looked at the boxes.
They were still there, waiting for me to start looking again, but my heart wasn't in it. Gretchen's words weighed on me, turning over and over in my head. It was true most patients were not encouraged to use powers outside of very controlled circumstances.
A nagging suspicion in the back of my mind prodded; I had been using my powers freely, hadn't I? I'd been encouraged to use my powers, it was part of my therapy. And it had helped me, too. That wasn't possible for someone like Mimi, probably not possible for someone like Elle either; their powers were destructive and disruptive.
For people who couldn't use their powers freely, it meant that using powers couldn't be therapeutic. It wasn't something they could acclimate to. It was something that couldn't be used as a tool to help them grow. It couldn't be used to help them heal.
Not unless they found other ways and places to use them. And I didn't think Mimi had that. Not if the one disastrous testing session we'd shared was any indicator. I didn't like the idea implied, the division between the staff and the patients... We should not be set against our doctors, against the staff. That would hurt us, it would make therapy impossible.
Was Gretchen right?
I wanted to say she was wrong. That Alchemilla was not stacked that heavily against Mimi and Elle. But... My current doctors were not the only therapists here... I loved Yamada and Selmy; but I'd had a few, early on, that rubbed me sharply and painfully the wrong way...
Papers and folders shifted listlessly in my hands as I continued to sort the folders into piles of looked-at and not-looked-at while my thoughts spiraled. I came back to myself with a blink, looking at the folder in my hands I'd just picked up. The name at the top read Lasseter, Gail. After a moment of hesitation, I opened a it, hoping for a distraction.
A photograph was pinned to the first page, a girl- maybe eighteen? -with a hesitant smile and brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Like me. I stared at the photograph, there was a tightness in my chest, a moment of intense kinship with that person I had never met.
I glanced to the page behind her, her name.
Shrike. A Protectorate hero I didn't recognize. The date at the top of the first page was two years ago. She was a Mover, an Alexandria package. Increased strength and aerokinesis in relation to her own body, with a high degree of control that allowed her to fly. She also had an exotic third power, the ability to communicate with birds.
What did that mean? Did it mean she could control them? A mental connection or awareness? Did she have a thinker power that allowed her to understand their calls like speech?
The summary page wasn't specific.
I looked over the rest of the summary. Her stay. Turned pages. Found a set of graphs and diagrams that I couldn't make heads or tails of. A small section listed several other case numbers and a reference page. Patient contact? Names and case numbers beside them I didn't recognize. Gamma Jack, Meta Man...
Wait...
Wait. If our case files contained reference numbers for other patients... What if my file had Mimi and Elle's names and case numbers? I hadn't considered that.
I mean, I'd started working with them after the fire, after Mimi trashed Records. But maybe... My file was still sitting there, where Gretchen had dropped it. It could be somewhere I could start, something more concrete.
Curiosity and eagerness warred with a morbid dread. Gretchen's words echoed in my head, cultivating every worst-case scenario, each worse than the one before.
But I had to try. Even Mimi didn't really believe in herself, in her succeeding; and I didn't know if anyone else really knew how active and frustrated Elle was behind her blank expression. I needed to help my friends. I didn't know if someone else would be able to, not the way I could.
I reached out and picked it up.
It was... My file was smaller than I'd thought it'd be. Which was silly, really, I hadn't been here six months yet. The summary page with my photograph- I looked terrible. It was right after the hospital, and the girl staring back at me was blank-faced with a thousand yard stare and shadows under her eyes. Hair, brown. Eyes, brown. Height... Weight... Codename, Auspice.
My power.
Class: Thinker/Striker. Clairvoyance tied to proximity, familiarity, physical contact; as the parahuman in question grows more familiar with the subject of her power's focus, her power grows in acuity. This nuance is not dissimilar to a lingering or infused effect. If the effect accumulates sufficiently prescience develops, tying Auspice's awareness to the subject of her power even outside her effective passive range. The limits, duration, or scale of this effect are not currently known- though physical contact has been noted to produce a sharply more defined awareness much more quickly.
Similar powers... Clarity and Watch... Apex. Names I already knew.
I sighed and turned a page.
"Auspice has displayed a willingness, even eagerness to work with others and assist in their growth and healing. In addition to altruistic aspirations and a profound sense of duty and moral obligation, she has expressed the desire to join the Wards and Protectorate."
The next lines stopped me, and I had to re-read it again.
"Recommend expediting her case, pending approval of regional PRT office, ENE."
An obscure thrill shivered down my spine. I'd grown up with stories of classical heroes told by Mom. I'd always dreamed of becoming a superhero. I was going to be a hero! The thrill faded, the excitement was a possibility, but it was a distant aspiration. Helping Mimi and Elle was here and now. "Focus, Taylor." I reminded myself.
I turned a page, looking for the references, patient contact.
There.
My eyes jumped down the line. More names than I would have ever expected. More than a dozen. And there, Burnscar, case number... And there, Labyrinth too.
I memorized their case numbers. I knew where to start looking now, I'd find them.
My search took on a fresh intensity. It wasn't for just some file anymore. Numbers blurred past as I thumbed through folders as quickly as I dared. I was looking for case numbers 078-02-07 and 080-02-07... Gretchen had made plenty of progress on the mountain of boxes, but with a mission in mind and specific objective, I surprised myself with the pace I set. Despite this, as the pile of unchecked boxes shrunk my apprehension grew, until I was left staring down at a box full of receipts and requisitions, empty-handed.
I felt cheated. All that, and their files weren't here... I felt hollow, and sank back against the wall, sliding to the floor to just sit and think. What now? This felt like a waste, I felt defeated.
I sat there, working over my options. Gretchen had mentioned a manifest, right? Where was that? Three minutes of hunting found a manila document envelope taped to a lid, I pulled it out and read it by the light of that little desk lamp, leafing through the list. Box numbers, departments. I could see why Gretchen hadn't simply read the manifest, it didn't actually say what was in the boxes. Everything was a mess of numbers and reference codes that meant nothing to me.
But it did mean I could see what boxes were there, and which were missing. The listed number at the end of the inventory was sixty-eight. I counted the ones in the room, and found... Twenty-five. Just twenty-five? The number had seemed so much larger when I'd arrived.
So... Where were the rest of them? There were only three or four outside the door.
Gretchen had said some were in the director's old office... Where was that? Damnit, I should have asked her! I glanced at my mental model of the floorplan.
Bralow had stopped moving some time before. His current location was a junction, a crossroads of four halls, so I guessed it was a security station.
I traced the faint outline of the floor in my mind. Even without my direct attention, my awareness of him, of his movements on his rounds had filled in gaps with faint understanding. If I had been paying him more attention, would I have more than the faint outline I had now? I wondered. But that didn't help me find the director's office now.
...There would be a map at the security station. Yeah, I'd bet that. Or a register of rooms, or something. I could start there, if he left.
But... If I did that. If I left and went further instead of turning back like Gretchen had advised me... If I pressed on beyond the spaces I knew were unoccupied and safe... I wasn't very strong up here. I was barely attuned to Bralow. I could be surprised and discovered much more easily than I might be on floors I was more familiar.
The yawning, empty, sleepless hours in my room stretched before me. I hadn't even found what I'd come for. It felt... Like cowardice. Maybe my requests would bear fruit, I'd get access to Mimi's full files, to Elle's... But with everything trapped behind some kind of non-disclosure clause I doubted it. I might get Mimi and Elle's files eventually, or files on cases like theirs, but even if I did, I probably wouldn't get everything I actually needed. And how long would that take? What else would get in the way?
I had a choice.
I thought about Feral, and what it had to take to come back to Alchemilla. About Mimi's despair, and Elle's frustration. Doing good wasn't important because it was easy, it was important because it wasn't but it needed to happen anyway. And they were the good right in front of me now. If I turned back now, it would be like... like I'd missed the point. And even if this was breaking the rules, I wanted to try.
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A quick double-check of boxes outside the door, just in case, but they were all budget reports and requisitions. So many receipts. Bralow was back the way I'd come, and one hallway over. The outline of the floor that I had was faint, and I could only sense the general shape. But... the layout reminded me of the floor plan in medium security, but doubled side by side, and vertically. Two blocks of offices and two more, a double figure eight and the lobby at one side. Bralow, and I could only assume the security station, in the middle.
The remodeling and repairs were mostly centered on and slightly off center of the lobby and the elevator bank, with tarps and plastic cordoning off the work; cold air blasting from busted ducts, the missing flooring and carpets, doors leaned against walls, ladders, buckets, and everywhere the smell of fresh paint. The rest was comprised of offices with neat room numbers and name plaques in perfect order, silent and empty, the contrast between the two eerie.
I puzzled on the damages while my familiarity sharpened. This floor was not used for counseling, and it was my understanding that patients rarely came up here- the damage was a lot more extensive than I'd anticipated. Elle's changes always reverted, who had done this?
I started moving, swinging wide around the security station and my dim awareness of Bralow and his attention. I think he was... reading one of the screens for the cameras? Or maybe watching TV...
Maybe talking on the phone, that sounded more like what I felt. He didn't move much, and I wasn't tuned to him enough to pick up emotions reliably.
With careful slowness, I eased one eye around the corner and spotted him at the big security desk. Heavyset, broad shouldered, and currently looking away from me. There were television screens suspended from the ceiling above him, some of which showed idle static, but at least three were active, though too far away to decipher. The second floor opened into an overlook above him, and I could see stairs from where I sat.
I considered making some kind of racket to draw him out, then double back and search the desk. But the only reason that he'd dismissed the sound of me moving around in the lobby was because there was enough background noise it hadn't been clear there was an intruder. I wasn't sure I could reproduce that again, and doing so too many times risked him becoming suspicious.
Wandering blindly through the offices was ill-advised. I knew of one camera, but the other two were mysteries. He had to make regular rounds, right? I settled in to wait.
I had no way of telling time- could my power do that? Something to try later... I waited until Bralow's next round began, and I could feel him start to move.
A camera covering the security desk would have put an end to this venture, I didn't have a way to deal with something like that, but more electronics dangling from the ceiling and no camera in evidence emboldened me. I could do this.
The security desk was a donut with two office chairs inside it, drawers, clipboards, a bank of... what looked a little like hand-radios in a bank of chargers, and several binders. The screens overhead were still mostly snow, I glanced at the three that showed something. One was the lobby, where Bralow currently was. The other two were... An empty hallway, and a hallway with a pallet filling most of the screen.
There was a floor map on the wall, one of those fire plan maps, with all the walls, stairs, and fire extinguishers on it. A plan for evacuating the floor was spelled out directly under it, the lobby and elevators were labeled, but the actual offices were all labeled with numbers and letters.
Well, it was progress. I circled around behind the desk and glanced at the drawers, but the binders looked more promising. I'd seen nurses using registers like them. The red binder was labeled 'emergency procedures' on the spine, and the yellow binder was labeled 'PRT action codes'... Curiosity tickled, I really wanted to look at that one, but I didn't have any time. The blue binder was what I was actually looking for. 'Floor register'.
The register had a table of contents, hmm.
A moment and I mentally glanced in Bralow's direction, moving in a steady circuit, placed a metaphorical finger on the pulse of his distant presence, and ran my less metaphorical finger down the listing. Everything was listed by hall, then by room number...
By the time Bralow returned to his desk, I had already climbed the stairs and slipped away, the binders back in their places and him none the wiser.
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The director's office was down hallway C, room 413. It still had the Director's placard.
J. Foster. Director.
I paused by the door, pushing my power out into the room. Bralow startling me was not the kind of surprise I wanted twice in the same night. It also occurred to me, looking at the heavy wooden door and the impressive, modern lock with keypad, I might not be able to get in.
But when I tried the latch, it opened. Luck, it seemed, was with me for the moment.
A few minutes were lost fumbling in the dark for a light switch, before I could take in the wood paneling, carpet, and large desk, only slightly obscured by boxes. A small, round utilitarian wall clock. The Parahuman Response Team Shield and motto over one wall.
The Director's office was larger than Doctor Yates' office had been, and the piled boxes were arranged in neater, more ordered stacks all two deep. Though, maybe the disorder in Yates' office had been Gretchen's doing. There was a small pile of loose folders on the desk, but nothing more. There wasn't anything that really betrayed a sense of ownership, it was just a room that didn't belong to someone.
Director Foster had a standing lamp in one corner, a long couch and a fairly impressive desk made of real wood. But besides that, his office was quite empty. The bookshelves were bare, there were no framed pictures or art. He'd been gone before the boxes had been moved up here.
I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me with a quick sigh, then got to work. I started at the far end, the boxes piled beside the desk. The boxes were more organized here, the labels easier to find and read.
The wall clock ticked away. I lost track of time, shifting through folders with names and numbers that meant nothing to me.
I found Elle's first. Brown. Her full name was Elle Brown.
Hesitation stilled my hands. It was thicker, heavier than mine had been. Which... Well, of course it was. Elle had been here years to my few months. It didn't mean anything by itself.
A deep breath, and I opened it.
Elle's vacant expression stared back at me from the front page. A little younger, still pale and golden. I started reading.
She was an orphan, had gotten passed around in the system. Four foster families were mentioned. Her life was not... It hadn't been perfect. But it hadn't been terrible either.
She'd won several art contests, gone on to some kind of statewide sculpting contest for school, big scholarships on the line. That was when it went wrong. Elle suffered some kind of episode, a fit. A panic attack. The gallery hosting the contest had transformed.
There was a note here, an analysis of her home life, written by a doctor I'd never heard of. I couldn't make heads or tails of it- something about consistent stressors...
Elle hadn't been arrested. In fact, in the original report, she hadn't been identified as the parahuman responsible. Her fugue was written off as shock. It wasn't until later, when she was being driven to the hospital the next day by a concerned foster parent that her power again manifested, on a highway overpass in the middle of rush hour deadlock. There had been injuries, tens of thousands in damages. The PRT had taken her into custody, and later remanded her to Alchemilla.
My spirits started to sink. I imagined a little girl, quiet, retreating into herself. Lost in her own head until her inner worlds escaped and no matter how much she wished, they wouldn't go back where they had been.
I kept reading... There was a long list of memos and reports dealing with power type and composition.
("As detailed in incident report 2-6, this is not strictly limited to solids. The water damage involved, not to mention the prevention of attempts to reach Labyrinth required a revision of her threat level. Due to the wide-ranging aspects of her power, and the tremendous potential for property damage, her threat assessment was advanced to Shaker 9...")
None of Elle's foster families' contact information was listed in her file. I looked over her visitor logs, which started out intermittently, a few months of regular contact, one Christmas, and then contact tapered off.
Then there was Mimi. Never referred to by name, her case number appeared several times. First as a suggestion by one of the doctors, a mentor program for certain younger patients. Elle and Mimi had arrived during the first trials of the idea, and were some of a handful that had gravitated together and stayed there even after the program had shut down.
There were memos from several doctors, commenting that they seemed a poor choice for any involved group mentorship. The next page detailed Elle's medical history, a series of burns. Mostly minor, but constant and usually on her hands. Once or twice on her face. I had a good idea where she had gotten them. Was it just Mimi hurting Elle? No scuffles with other patients, why was Mimi the only one?
A visitors list, painfully thinly populated. It couldn't be that she never had contact with anyone else, could it? Even withdrawn as she was, there had to be someone, somewhere. Elle's bitterness and frustration came to mind, and left a sour taste in the back of my throat.
A long list of medications and jargon. Dissasociative disorder, episodes of catatonia. More summaries from therapists and attending doctors...
("Doctor Watts,
I received your report on patient 078-02-07. I have also received reports from several of your colleagues and have arrived at a decision. I am authorizing her dosage be adjusted. Yes, I am aware of your feelings on the matter.
As a reminder, I have always been opposed to relaxing security protocol for our patients, regardless of therapeutic necessities. I am aware of 078's unique situation, and take this opportunity to remind you that the integrity and welfare of this facility, its staff, and residents is my first priority.
078 displays little control over her manifestation. Attempts to promote, suppress, or direct manifestation have met with limited success. Rehabilitation and socialization prospects are limited if she cannot control her power.
We need a solution to this problem. Last month's fit will not be repeated. 078 is being moved to Medium security clearance until further notice. Standard Protocols for Shaker with Suffusive/Imbuing properties in place. That is final.")
The date was from more than a year ago...
And Blake had said Elle's fits had been repeated, had continued regularly. They hadn't found a solution. Not in years. How had that impacted Elle's therapy?
The folder in my hand shook slightly as I set it down.
Mimi. I needed to find Mimi's record. Maybe Mimi's was better, I couldn't imagine it was worse.
I was wrong.