[A young hawk, an unfledged nestling taken from the nest for training.]
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There was no caution when I found Mimi's folder, I opened it immediately, eagerly.
In her photograph, Mimi's face was puffy, and her cheek was swollen, starting to purple in a truly impressive bruise. The tear tracks of burns down her face were not there, her hair was longer- just a bit beyond her shoulders.
She wasn't gaunt, and her color was darker, healthier. The deep shadows under her eyes weren't there, Their absence marked by the twin smears of mascara this Mimi wore- like she'd been crying and had wiped it away. She looked a lot younger, more than I thought she ought to without the bags under her eyes.
Her full name was Mimi Harris. She'd been fourteen when she'd gained her powers. My age, she'd been my age. There had been a fire at her school prom. A list of deaths... pictures and even some newspaper clippings. I swallowed a sour taste in the back of my throat.
There were two fights on her highschool record, though I wondered if there were more that weren't reported. Stuff like that happened at school, sometimes. One suspension for shouting in class... A rough start to her freshman year. One doctor diagnosed her as probably having bipolar mood swings even before her power got involved.
She had existed on the social fringes, no clubs, no sports. Mediocre grades. A lonely and isolated freshman.
I remembered how I'd met her, crying into her knees.
Apparently that had all changed when a senior had asked her to the prom, but it wasn't to be. There had been some kind of altercation, but after that... most stories about what happened got confusing, the articles began to contradict themselves.
Two doctors theorized this was the point she'd gained her powers, and I suspected they were right.
A fire had broken out. Two alarm, an article explained, in a town small enough to only warrant one fire station. The school gym burned, followed by the cafeteria, and kept burning after the fire department arrived, even when they turned their hoses on them. Most of the school had gone up by the time the capes arrived. The fires resisted being doused in water after Cloudy and Seafarer arrived. It kept burning until Adamant arrived and waded in to find her at the epicenter.
Adamant had thought she was a villain, had attempted to detain her, and she'd fought them until the fires had been reduced sufficiently and she'd regained control, at which point she'd become hysterical.
Raging, uncontrollable sobbing gave way to shock, and then full catatonia. The local PRT transferred her to Alchemilla to be stabilize before she was rational enough to even be questioned.
I came back to myself and sat back, rocking back on my heels and letting the file fall back to the box. She'd been... She'd been a villain. I mean, Heather had insinuated she was. Said she'd killed people. Inkling had called her a villain.
Mimi herself was terrified of what her power made her do. She'd never gone out with the intent of stealing from or hurting anyone, but she'd attacked people. When heroes had shown up to try and save them, and tried to put out her fires, she'd attacked them. She'd killed people, and she had good reason to think it'd happen again. And the realization she'd attacked people, hurt people... Killed people... Mimi had needed medication to even hold a conversation after her Trigger Event.
Mimi thought of herself as a villain. I... I hadn't thought it was that bad...
The smell of the hospital, and the cloying scent of copper, and the feel I remembered. In the present I was numb, my fingers nerveless, but I remembered the feeling of the metal in my hands.
My throat tightened. Like me. She was like me, just like me.
I swallowed back the tightness in my throat and took a deep breath, steeling myself before I picked up her file again. I could do this.
Mimi's history after coming to Alchemilla was like her highschool career repeated over and over. Fights and outbursts. Mood swings and an endless series of medication adjustments. Her therepists came and went. She was a bad patient, hard to work with, or injured the staff, and they moved on to someone else. Or had to retire with their injuries. She was isolated, and isolated herself.
I felt hollow. Elle and I had stayed in solitary for three months, Mimi's in-processing kept her there for nearly five, and then she went straight to Medium security.
Where Labyrinth's introduction to Alchemilla had been marked by annoyances, the regular and uncontrolled manifestation of her power, the tone of Mimi's residency was different. Violent mood swings, outbursts and uncontrolled use of her power followed by crushing depression.
She did, I think genuinely try to integrate when she was given the chance, and the unending parade of bad news was marked, from time to time by notes from doctors or nurses that braved her flames- she wanted to do better. She didn't want to stay...
Injuries to security and nursing staff, a fight with another patient that had to be foamed down. A laundry list of damages...
Then Elle was introduced to her, they entered the mentor program. A bright spot disrupting the spial of negativity.
("Burnscar has shown significant improvement following partnering with Labyrinth. I just spoke with Beth and Doctor Laffayette, and Beth suggested her medications might not need adjustment next month if this pattern holds. After the past year, I'll take just about whatever good news we can get.")
I leafed through summaries and memos, feeling a little hunted. Graphs, names of chemicals and anatomy and words with four and five syllables.
There was exactly one visit on her visitor log, a month after she arrived. Her parents. After that? Nothing. Not a single visitor for four straight years. I couldn't bring myself to read the transcript attached to it.
And another...
("I restate my objection to using Labyrinth to leverage Burnscar's cooperation. Labyrinth's difficulties communicating mean that minor burns might be missed and that offers the added danger of promoting the mentality that violence is acceptable, if one of her peers is incapable of objecting or escaping.")
...Wasn't there anything I could use?
("I don't want to send another one of my patients to the Baumann Penitentiary. Burnscar is a difficult case. I want to be optimistic, but we have been bitterly disappointed before, with patients more cooperative and less dangerous.")
Mimi did better, she was more in control of herself, when she had friends. People she cared about to snap her out of her power's influence. I'd seen it happen. Haden't anyone else seen it happen, noticed? But every time I went looking, I found more reasons she wouldn't succeed. I flipped pages quickly, skimming now. Mimi could get out. Elle could get out too. They could, we all could.
We all could.
Others. I wanted, needed the success stories. I needed hope. Because every time I went looking, I found more reasons they wouldn't succeed.
I put Mimi's file back, and stood, looking at the other boxes that I had looked at, the ones I had not. Still, a half dozen to go.
My tired gaze wandered over the PRT shield on the wall- Ad Tuendam Pacem a Potentibus. Over the desk and the small collection of folders there. There were only a handful on the desk, and despite my morose mood I wondered who had been looking at them. Enough so that I stood, wearily, and walked over to Director Foster's desk..
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I glanced at their labels on the tab dividers, then I had to stop and had to give them a longer second look in surprise. The moment passed, I pulled one from the pile. It was thick, and subdivided with the input from several different Doctors, but what had caught my attention was the name on the front- the patient's name.
Selmy, K.
Oh.
Kalie's files, I'd found Kalie's personal files.
Hesitation stilled my hands holding her folder. It was thicker, heavier than mine had been, closer to Mimi's. A deep breath, and I opened it.
The first thing I saw was a picture of Kalie, one much younger than the face I knew. Thinner, narrower; one eye and an ear were grossly swollen. I wondered what had to have done that, to leave half her face black and blue and more importantly, leave that kind of obvious state of injury despite her powers.
There were several loose photographs in the folder. One looked like a hospital baby picture with a faded and slightly smeared address scrawled on the back, Kalie was wearing a blue and white onesie, none of the more visible aspects of her power were present. She just... Looked like a normal baby. A series of photographs more like the first- early teens or a little younger. I could see her swollen face in the corner of one, but they framed other injuries, lacerations across her ribs with shirt raised to bare them... A puncture to her foot. The notes scribbled on the back with numbers and letters that meant nothing to me...
I picked through the papers, one looked like a summary of her medical history, blood type, a growth chart (I think...), the other was... I think it was a legal or criminal history. I remembered that she'd had one before Doctor Selmy had adopted her. There were three therapists that had regular contact with Kalie. Doctors Selmy, Marten, and Werneck. I skimmed Doctor Selmy's notes, then Doctor Werneck. I didn't stop and really read until I started reading Doctor Marten's input.
"...The subject is willful, intentionally rebellious even to its detriment. While much of this antipathy might be tied to its upbringing and formative years, I cannot ignore the possible agent stimuli. A common trend in subjects with demonstrated, heavily physical abilities is to be themselves inclined to physical expression. Given the violent history of the subject in question, it is my professional opinion that further ride-alongs be discouraged, and requests of that nature be deferred."
It made sense for clinical observations to have a purely clinical tone, sterile and Impartial- but it unsettled me. Probably because I knew her, knew the person... and they called her 'the subject' and 'it'.
It reminded me that I had been lucky with my therapists, they were all of them caring and compassionate, invested in my well being...
I leafed through more of Kalie's file, but that was most of it. A few more notes and a reference code to her Protectorate file. I set it down and reached for the other. My hands shook a little in anticipation.
Muradasilova, Maria Evetta. What a mouthful. Maria's folder was a bit thinner than Kalie's.
Opening it, I stared down at a picture, a mugshot. A girl glaring back with a sneer on her face and in her slouch, all so completely out of place on her compared to the person I knew. She had a small scar crossing her eyebrow, and a cut on her lip. Freckles. But her face was the same shape, the features still fit in broad strokes. It looked so utterly unlike Charnel it couldn't be her, but it was.… Charnel. It reminded me of an antique photograph with people sitting all stiff and wooden with the wrong color, the sepia tones but still recognizeably them.
This was like that, but in reverse, Charnel in person was washed out, wooden, and stiff. This girl- this Maria was alive, dynamic.
Another photograph, this one more familiar- her face was blank, the little imperfections like that scar and the freckles... Gone. Set side by side, the Charnel I knew looked like a mannequin displaying clothes, not a person.
I started paging through her file.
She was a minor villainess with the ability to rapidly regenerate any physical injury by bathing the wound in blood. There were some notes, about secondary powers, some enhanced strength, the ability to sense body heat or people.
I paged past the notes on her power and on to the ones for her personal history. Words jumped out at me, signposts that outlined who this stranger was. She was originally from San Francisco. Recruited into a gang young. A rap sheet. Drifting from one faction to another. Moved around a lot up and down the west coast...
Why was she all the way out here in Philidelphia, in New England? There couldn't be many hospitals that specialized in parahuman mental health, but surely there was one closer to the west coast? There was a gap in her history, about eight months of nothing. No lead-up. Prior she'd had a fairly steady trail of minor crimes, it was easy to follow- there was a summary of dates going back two years like footprints before suddenly she dropped off the face of the earth. And then she was found, in a Tinker's laboratory, her file didn't elaborate except with a footnote full of reference codes. What about the 'Professor'?
("...DNA confirmed a match, but aside from what are likely intentional cosmetic similarities the subject is fundamentally an entirely different individual. This goes beyond physical changes- emotional markers and behavioral patterns altered in a similar fashion, possibly by the same mechanism. Due to the profound alterations, the changes made to Charnel's body are effectively permanent. Consultation with Green Thumb, Mortician, Dragon, Armsmaster, and independent consultants listed in appendix E."
"It is worth noting that, due to the unknown nature of the power in question, it is safe to assume some manner of influence over Charnel, either at will, or with minimal preparation and resources. This assumption is reinforced by her increased suggestibility following her alterations. As such, Charnel, despite low violence or activity level as a patient, is designated Security-Level ORANGE, and full Stranger-7-B procedures are in effect."
"Accessory note: her condition bears similarities to patients listed under Case 53- PRT archival records, and two other patients (appendix B). Charnel also displays some infrequent symptoms similar to cases of a functioning Corpus Callosotomy Patient. (Alien hand, speech irregularities, ect)")
Notes on several other parahumans with similar powers: Crimson, Hemorhagia, Marquis... A list of prior accomplices and organizations.
I turned the page, wondering. More memos, more remarks from her doctors. Kalie came up several times. But few other names, Maria was very passive, the doctors kept saying. She hardly spoke and didn't seek out contact. She hardly did anything at all and even her therapy sessions were marked by how bland they were.
No Professor, and no explanation for the cosmetic changes either...
I dropped her file to the desk in frustration. I was here for answers. Answers, not more questions. Solutions, not problems. Nothing. My eyes were starting to ache, I closed them and massaged the bridge of my nose.
There was nothing.
I hesitated, looking at the time. Two thirty five. I had a little less than a half hour until the shift changed. Maybe fifteen minutes, if I wanted to get into position. I still needed to put everything here back in its place before I did...
I put everything back where I had found it, replaced lids and closed the door.
Alchemilla was starting to feel different now. With the shift change approaching, there was more movement. The early shift was stirring in the hospital proper, and there were a handful of people moving nearby. Staff arriving early?
Where I was, it was still nearly empty, I had the office block to myself beside Bralow, but I felt urgency. I didn't want to have to dodge more people once they started arriving.
I didn't need to visit the security station this time, Bralow was on the other side of the floor as I skirted around his patrol route. Just me and the cold blast of air conditioning, and the empty halls. I could move faster, more directly. It was like security didn't even matter...
I caught myself wondering if the effect would last even after they fixed all the cameras, what effect changing the floor layout would have. Would adding or tearing down a wall remove my prescience? Would it fade away, or remain in the last state I had observed it until I refreshed my connection?
The problem engrossed me so much I almost missed the sound of footsteps.
It was quiet, so quiet and muffled I hardly heard them. The steps were light, someone smaller than Bralow. Even listening, even pushing my power out around me. They had to be bare feet, or socks like me. In the dark, I froze, and my heart leaped to my mouth.
Everything jumped into focus as my power sharpened. For an instant, the dark didn't matter.
Sound out ahead -growing louder- the stranger was approaching from directly ahead. There was empty space behind the acoustic tile above me I could hide in. Further away, there were painter dowels, brushes, roller, screwdrivers, paint cans, screws, nails, a circular saw; things that could be used as weapons scattered across the floor. Fingernails needed trimming, getting long, they could be used as weapons. My muscles tensed, and I was flooded with an awareness of how I could leverage my strength, and how much it had increased since I'd taken up doing pushups.
I could backtrack five feet, to the junction in the hall, and duck into the room that was missing a door, try the lock on the door to my left, or run ahead a short distance and see if I could get past the next junction without being seen. That would put me in the lobby, where my options would be-
I had an instant to consider a course of action, and in the next moment I spun and darted back the way I had come.
The smell of new carpet, sawdust, and fresh paint was all around me. In the distance, I could still hear footsteps, but I wanted more. I couldn't see, but I pushed my power into my senses, trying to hold onto the spike of clairity. Like I had with my hearing in Elle's nightmare.
And as I put pressure on it, smell became nuanced. Fresh paint, and slightly-less fresh paint- The sensation of air moving on my skin, the way the draft from the open door was directed by the shape- My hand resting on the door frame, and the vibrations in the building; from the unfinished air conditioning, from-
Too much, I clenched my jaw and struggled to narrow my perception. The buzzing of the emergency lights faded from my hearing, the vibration of the footsteps sharpened under my hand.
Long seconds passed. A presence materialized in the hall, and a chill ran down my back when I realized, that while I could sense the movement and the sound, the vibrations- the effect this person had on the building around them... I couldn't focus my power on them. The source of the sound was a blank spot in my perceptions. Which... It probably meant a power.
Who- the bewildering thought. I knew patients that had some kind of resistance, or that confused my power. Gretchen, Charnel, Mantellum. But why would any of them be here?
A hitch in the footsteps, they turned the corner. I shrank soundlessly back against the wall, but didn't take my eyes off the empty door frame. I didn't retreat to the corner, didn't break line of sight- a curiosity held me there, watching.
The footsteps grew closer, slowly shuffling past, and then I saw.
White hair, tall, orange scrubs.
Charnel? Maria?
I almost said her name out loud. My blood froze at the realization- for just a moment, I almost spoke out loud. She stopped beside the door and my mouth snapped closed. She had some kind of power that allowed her to sense people, I remembered suddenly. She probably knew I was there.
"Why did you stop?"
The whisper was so quiet, I could barely hear it, even with my power. There was a rustle, and a tiny figure stepped around Charnel. It took me a moment to realize it was Marionette. I had seen her on occasion, but she'd been punished for her part in Lizard Prince's last infraction, and had spent most of a month in solitary. I couldn't see her face in the gloom, but my overclocked senses gave me the impression of the tiny doll-girl staring up at the taller doll-girl with arms full of plastic bags.
"...I thought I heard something." Charnel replied, "It was nothing."
Marionette huffed, closing her eyes. I held my breath again. I didn't know what Marionette's power was!
I tensed, still holding my breath. There was a flicker of... something, on the edge of my awareness. Just for an instant, and then Marionette shook her head. "I don't see anything either. Keep a lookout." She turned and started walking again, tugging once on Charnel's pants leg.
For just a moment, after Marionette had turned her back, I thought Charnel turned her head in my direction, but for only a moment. Then she was walking again, and both of them were gone, and I was left with only the quiet sound of Charnel's fading footsteps.
I thought about following them, I honestly did. But the notion passed. Why was Charnel here? Why were Marionette and Charnel here together? Charnel had never interacted with Marionette or any of Lizard Prince's circle that I had seen... I knew almost nothing about Marionette's power, but I was pretty sure Charnel had sensed me, and I wasn't entirely sure why she hadn't said so to Marionette.
...I shook my head. There was an ache behind my eyes, and the tension in my neck had started to settle in. I was probably going to have a proper headache tomorrow.
I climbed back down the stairs to the lobby, slipping past the tarp and through the door was almost an anticlimax. The elevator shaft vibrated with the sound of engines- the winch that pulled the elevators was active somewhere. Adjacent shafts were active, ferrying people to work. I could feel them, some of them, moving up and down around me. It helped me keep my mind off what I'd learned, and the questions I still had.
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Later that morning, my headache was still there. Gretchen poked her head in before breakfast, grinning ear to ear. Somehow, though... the faint impressions I pulled from her were subdued. She didn't even try to sneak up on me, and only kind of... Poked her head in before flitting off with hardly a word. She didn't even ask how my search had gone. It was so out of character I hardly knew what to think.
Of course, my head was so full of questions and confusion I didn't remember to ask her either. Maybe there was something on both our minds.
Breakfast passed quickly. Elle was able to eat by herself, and Mimi didn't immediately gravitate to me. Instead, she sought out Gretchen, shyly hovering at the edge of our conversation until Gretchen reached out and waved her arm through her face a few times and startled her. I turned up my cheerfulness and energy enough to get something going. Elle even got in on it a little.
It was... Pleasant. IIt was nice. Adequate. tried to be pleased with the progress everyone was making, and to ignore the lingering words. "Reccomended increased doesage." "Poor long-term prognosis." "No signs of treatment efficacy."
I tried. My thoughts kept spinning in circles until I caught myself and took a deep breath, only to find myself biting my lip and watching my friends. Assessing them with a new perspective.
My nightly excusion had remained undetected, I guessed. A part of me expected something to happen, some doctor with a concerned expression pulling me aside, or two burly security guards to ask to have a word with me. Nothing. It was just weirdly normal. Even Gretchen hardly tried to scare anyone.
She remained frustratingly hard to read.
We had our first real recital that afternoon, I ran into Doctor Widmark and a pile of scripts on the way there. He wanted to know if I wanted to take charge as the director right off the bat, or if I wanted to take it slow at first.
We met in the gymnasium this time, on the stage behind the basketball court and the energy was positively frenetic almost entirely due to Heather, whose bombastic posturing could be heard in the hallway. Of course, the moment I stepped through the door with Elle and Mimi, all of that intense chaotic energy was focused on us.
Quilt was attempting to escape her. When she saw us she very pointedly and loudly said "Oh hey Auspice!" Handing the problem off to someone else, but I couldn't begrudge being the lightning rod. At least Heather seemed to be feeling better.
"Heeey!" Heather crowed, bouncing over, "I already talked to Gretchen, and I want to hear all about you-know-what!"
I maneuvered Elle to the front row, and swept the room with a glance. The number of patients attending had swelled, though Heather said many of them were just coming to watch us make fools of ourselves. There were about twenty- I think the entire ward must have shown up. A handful of nurses moved among the patients, shepherding them. A pall floated over the gathering, anticipation mingled with resignation. I could not determine where one began and the other ended, or from whom I felt it. Too many of the audience were passing acquaintances, and I hardly knew them.
Elle tugged against my grip, pointing plaintively towards the table beside the stage littered with scripts where Doctor Widmark was trying to set everything up.
"Alright, we-" And that was all I had time to say before Elle pulled me along behind her as she made for the table.
Widmark smiled, wiping his brow as I arrived. We didn't waste time on introductions as I jumped to organizing his stack of scripts, letting him run over to start coordinating the nurses. A couple people asked me questions, but all I could really do is pass them on to Doctor Widmark.
I did grab one of the sample scripts for Elle. She had less trouble holding it than I thought she would, though turning the pages was a little tricky. I helped her when she huffed in frustration.
A shadow fell over us, it was Heather. Back and still grinning. Her energy spilled over me like a wave of static electricity, crackling between her and everyone nearby.
And she wouldn't leave Elle alone. "Awww, you're so adorable," she cooed, pinching Elle's cheek. Elle gave me a look, but I could feel her simmering anger and resentment under her blank stare. She turned back to stare at Heather fumed, staring blankly back at Heather's grin. Glaring in a way only I could see. Behind the frustration and resentment, every time she pinched Elle's cheeks Elle was only a year younger than I was, and it was a little startlying just how much she hated being treated like a baby.
"Heather..." I chided. "Elle really doesn't like it when you pinch her cheeks like that."
"Yeah, yeah." Heather let go and turned to me. "You and I are gonna talk later. You have officially joined the bad girls club! You see Gretchen or Feral?"
"I saw Gretchen this morning," I said. "She said she had something. There was something last night too, you know anything about that?"
"Ooooh, she better come," Heather said, and bounded off to bother Prowler. "Hey, Whiskers-"
Elle watched her go.
I could only sigh as Elle fumed silently. "Don't be like that. She doesn't mean anything by it." Heather wasn't a bad sort... But she needed to be taken in small doses.
Elle answered with a quiet sigh and a flick of her eyes that was... A 'yeah, sure'? I was almost positive. It never failed to make me look twice, just how sassy Elle could be in her own head.
"Stupid." Elle muttered.
Heather nearly got into a fight with Prowler when she asked if he wanted to be 'the guy with the ass-face thing'. Doctor Widmark defused the situation and explained Bottom had a donkey's head, and no, Heather, stop that.
I was watching when Kalie walked through the gym door, Gretchen floating behind her.
"Hey, Taylor!" Kalie grinned.
"Hey," I replied a little limply. Heather immediately detached from Prowler and huddled with Gretchen, whispering. I was curious, but I was fairly certain they'd corner me later and I'd be able to ask my questions then. Ask why she'd had to leave, ask how I was supposed to help Mimi. Ask if anyone had ever heard about a 'Professor'.
The conversation milled around me, I couldn't muster the energy to engage it. Mimi hovered beside Quilt and Oilbloom, nervous enough I didn't need my powers to tell, and awkwardly attempted to hold a conversation. Kalie seamlessly joined in and included her. Why couldn't I do that?
"All right, we will start casting in a few minutes," Doctor Widmark said. "Does everyone have a copy of the script? I can print more..."
Doctor Widmark began to explain the roles and lines and how many places were available, and I tuned him out, thinking. My mind was only half in the present. Even after couple patients took the stage. I hardly heard them until Elle tugged my sleeve again. "Elle?"
She paused, opening her mouth soundlessly, instead of speaking, she pointed. Ah, she wanted to get up on the stage.
It took me a moment to connect, "Sure, sorry. Let's get you up there."
I helped Elle stand and climb the stair beside the stage.
But then, as I turned to walk back down, I froze. A chill down my spine, and then a prickle of goosebumps as all the little hairs on the back of my arms stood up.
The rest of the room receded, falling away as my attention sharpened to a knife's edge. There, on the back row of the improvised auditorium, hands folded primly in her lap, face serene, was Charnel.
I hadn't seen her arrive. She hadn't been in the room before us, I... I was sure of it.
But, when? When had she walked in?
Our eyes met across the room, and there was no spark of recognition.