15. Healer

The sane thing to do was to skip town now that she had what she needed.

Still, as she laid in the reclined driver's seat, in a mall's parking lot at the other end of town, Riley couldn't sleep.

Every time she drifted off, the victims' eyes burned into her, snapping her awake.

They wouldn't be the only ones. The hospital must be filled with the Nine's victims. If she could somehow get through the hoops of her power being vetted, she could help them too, but would run the risk of exposing herself.

Was it worth it?

Could she forgive herself if she had a chance to fix her past misdeeds and took the selfish option instead?

Occam's razor suggested the Nine's implosion was due to infighting, not time travel, and that Bonesaw would be running around with the remaining Nine, not showing up to help her victims, so the authorities would be on the lookout for their usual MO. On top of that, Liminal's truth aura had painted the portrait of someone different than the authorities would expect her to be.

If nothing else, she always had the option to knock out everyone with gas and make a break for it. She made a mental note to prepare for that eventuality.

She gave up on sleep, working on her disguise instead. A new flesh mask, this time of a young woman, that fit with what Liminal would have glimpsed of her face in the darkness, and flesh gloves with painted nails and altered DNA, to avoid leaving her own around. She straightened her hair and dyed it a mousy brown that reminded her of Amy.

Riley spent the rest of the night working on healing supplies, to support her pretend power.

It wasn't her best work, but one-size-fits-all solutions were always tricky, especially in a field like hers. You had to take into account the injuries of the subject, the blood loss, their physiology, their history, the interaction with their power… Generalizing came at a cost.

It was easy to do plagues that would affect everyone. Easy to create an organism that would rampage through any living matter. Easy to destroy on a large scale. But healing on a large scale? Without side effects? A cure too specific could be corrupted into something worse if it wasn't handled correctly. A parasite could mutate unpredictably after a few generation, despite the safeguards.

Which was all fine and dandy when you were looking to do something interesting, but people got mad when they were expecting you to cure the flu and that their organs got all wonky as a side effect. Even if it did cure the flu.

She suspected her passenger had put restrictions in place, like with tinkers who sculpted metal the way she sculpted flesh. You couldn't rise too high without backfires.

Or maybe her other half was unhappy with her new occupation and was being less cooperative.

In any case, anything that would hold in the long term, like a cancer cure, would have to be tailored to each patient, and anything that worked on a large scale had to be much simpler and more straightforward.

Which was why she stuck to making low-level salves and balms, that could accelerate the healing of superficial injuries, and fluid to replenish blood, that kind of stuff.

She was reasonably confident she could explain away her miraculous healing of the three victims as making a salve with their own stem cells, even under Liminal's truth power. People like Lab Rat had done similar things, after all.

Come morning, Riley ate a bowl of Frooty Toots while playing Go Fish against the collective forces of her spider boxes and the dead raven. After winning, she combed her hair with her fingers, still feeling too raw from Siberian's death to use the brush, and gathered it in a ponytail. Then, she pulled on her raincoat and boots, and covered her face with the goggles and a new surgery mask.

She parked the truck away from the PRT office, just in case Liminal had someone snoop around while they were gone, then walked briskly to her destination.

At nine sharp, she walked into the PRT office, squeezed between the DMV and a chiropractor. A woman in her twenties, with black hair and blunt bangs, was stationed at the reception. Her blue eyes rose from her laptop as Riley entered.

"Hi, I have an appointment with Liminal, I think."

"You think, or you know?" The woman asked as she typed on the computer with her talon-like nails.

"It was an open invitation."

"You would be… 'No-name with the amazing technicolor dreamcoat'?"

A judging eyebrow rose as the woman gave her a once over, making Riley self-conscious over the multicolor raincoat from the eighties that she wore.

"I'll call her," said the receptionist. Instead of picking up the phone, she swiveled in her chair and yelled "Liminal!" to the corridor behind her.

Liminal appeared at the end.

"Ah, good. Wasn't sure if you would show up," she said while walking over.

"Me neither," Riley admitted.

"You ready to go to the hospital?"

She nodded.

Liminal lead her to the employee parking, where a motorcycle was parked. Riley was handed a helmet, and she put it on over her hood. Then, she climbed in behind the woman, and they drove off.

The ride was smooth and silent in a way only tinkertech could be, and she had to wonder who maintained it. Was there a tinker on Liminal's team? Or did someone from out of town stop by every once in a while? From the size of the PRT's office, she guessed there were maybe two or three affiliated capes at most in the city.

They arrived at the hospital after a short ride. Like the rest of the city, it was in reconstruction following Shatterbird's song, with new windows in the process of being installed.

Liminal lead her to the entrance of the ER, where a security guard asked where they were headed, eyes on Riley.

"Visiting the ICU with a junior hero," answered Liminal, putting one hand around Riley's shoulders. "How's the wife and kids?"

"Recovering, like everything else," said the guard. "On you go, down the corridor."

Liminal offered him a salute, then led Riley to the ICU. They stopped at the nurse's station.

"We were hoping to have a chat with Doctor Martinez about the three patients from last night," Liminal told the receptionist.

She nodded and paged the doctor.

Riley fiddled with her gloves while waiting. They weren't perfect, she noticed, the skin having a bit too much give. She would have to correct the mistake later.

Dr Martinez was a good-looking man in his forties, with a symmetrical face, strong chin, and black hair down his neck, with a touch of grey at the temples. You could tell just looking at him that he had a good heart, and strong circulatory system.

He offered a firm handshake to Liminal, then Riley, and brought them to his office.

Once they were sitting, he began.

"At your request, we ran every test we could, and as far as we can tell, those three patients are in perfect health. No sign that they were ever… not in this shape, either."

Riley let go of a breath she didn't realize she was holding, and glanced at Liminal, who was looking at her from the corner of her eyes.

"Good work," she said, eyes crinkling from a smile.

"So, this would be their mysterious benefactor, then," said Dr Martinez. "I'm curious how you managed that."

"I make stuff that can help people heal," Riley said, mindful of Liminal's presence and aura. "I used some stem cells from each of them to make a special salve." A partial truth.

"And this salve put them back together?"

Tricky question. She took a second to think of her answer.

"You said it yourself. They're in perfect health."

"They will probably be transfered to an Asylum specialized in parahumans and victims of parahumans," he said, "at least until they can recover."

"Why?" Asked Riley.

Had she done something wrong?

"The brain needs time to recover."

With no reason to mess with it, she had steered clear of the brain, but now, she couldn't help but think about what she could have done to ease the transition.

Should she have done something?

"That's not on you," the doctor continued, eyeing her carefully. "It's the natural process after dealing with trauma."

Riley nodded mutely, taking notes for dealing with Murder Rat. She could do better.

"Do you want to see them?" Asked Liminal.

She wasn't sure she wanted to.

Dr Martinez rose from his seat.

"Come on, there's someone who wants to meet you."

She followed him and Liminal down a corridor with rooms on either side, stopping at one of the last doors. There were three beds, and a woman was sitting on a chair besides the man's bed, holding his hand. His eyes were wide open, staring at something only he could see, with the occasional spasm in his arms.

"How are they doing?" Asked Dr Martinez.

"Better. I can't believe they're back…" the woman drifted off, swallowing a sob, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"This is…" Dr Martinez looked at her, waiting for a name. She had none to offer. Names weren't her forte.

"Salve," suggested Liminal. "She's the one who healed them."

The woman rose from her seat to join them at the foot of the bed, then abruptly wrapped her arms around Riley. Riley bristled reflexively, but this wasn't an attack.

Her first hug since Siberian. She pushed the thought away and tried to enjoy it, but she felt too numb.

The woman hugged her for a long moment before whispering, her mouth next to Riley's ear: "Thank you. Thank you, for giving me back my husband and children."

Riley didn't know how to react. She didn't want the woman's gratefulness. Not when it tasted like guilt.

The woman let go of her to wipe her eyes, and Riley looked at the children in their beds.

A family, just like hers, with a mom, dad, son and daughter.

Why had she picked this family? Why had the Nine picked hers?

She couldn't remember on either count. Maybe there was no answer to be had. It wouldn't change what had been done.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, needing to say it, but the woman waved her off.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I'm sorry this happened to you, to them."

The woman nodded mutely, eyes red and puffy.

One of the children stirred, and she hurried by their side.

Riley met Liminal's eye, then glanced at the door, and they retreated to the corridor, retracing their steps.

"There's others you could help, if you went in for power testing at least," said Liminal.

"I'm not… I don't want to commit to anything."

"But you want to help?"

Riley nodded.

"We could also send some of your creations to a lab, to clear them for use. Do you have any samples on you?"

"Not the one I used on them. That was custom-made. But I have some more generic stuff."

"We don't have a lab here, so I'd have to send them out of town. Is that okay?"

"How long would it take to get cleared?"

"Depends. Normally, it would be anywhere from a few days to a few weeks, but I can call in a favor and have it done by the end of the week."

Again, it was a gamble, but the risk to be recognized seemed minimal. This was far enough from Bonesaw's usual creations, and her DNA wouldn't be identifiable. She'd made sure of it.

"Okay."

It took several days for the results to come.

In the meantime, Riley stayed on the outskirts of town, tinkering away the time.

The bed of the truck now held the incubation chambers for Mouse Protector and Ravager, with a test run inside just to check that everything ran smoothly.

She'd removed some of Bonesaw's most lethal arsenal, and crafted more flesh masks in case she needed to change her identity in a pinch.

She'd altered the DNA on her skin, hair and mucous membranes, so it couldn't be matched to Bonesaw's.

She'd done a whole lot of thinking about the problem that was the broken network, and concluded that "not soon, but later. Later than you think," also meant that she could afford to procrastinate a bit.

She'd brainstormed more things her "Salve" persona could make, and ways to fix other victims without involving surgery.

She'd spent more time than she would like to admit thinking about the family of victims she had fixed, and the gratitude that burned like guilt. It wasn't the same kind of guilt as when she had seen the files sent by doctors to give them pointers about how to fix her victims. It was more concrete, more personal. Someone had hugged her in gratitude for undoing something she never should have done in the first place, and they wouldn't have if they knew the truth.

The guilt was good, she had decided. It meant that she had grown enough to confront her wrongs.

By the time her new burner phone rang, with Liminal confirming that her creations had passed whatever tests the PRT had subjected them to, she was ready to go back to the hospital and face her victims.

She met Liminal on the front steps of the hospital. There was a man with her, wearing thick glasses and a suit, who introduced himself as Agent Robert Cataldo from the PRT. The glasses alone marked him as being from out of town.

He explained that Thinkers had vetted her products, and the PRT had allowed them for experimental use, but would require consent forms to be signed by the patients, a nurse to be witness to the administration of the treatment, and documentation by Cataldo.

A nurse escorted them to the first patient, an elderly man who must have been in close proximity with a window when Shatterbird sang.

What she could see of him, his arms, shoulders and face, were raw and stitched. His eyes and right hand were bandaged, and his left arm was amputated below the elbow.

Once Cataldo had secured consent from the man, he motioned for Riley to proceed.

The nurse removed the bandages around the man's right hand. Riley put on nitrile gloves, and took the man's trembling hand to apply her healing cream. It turned blue after a minute, indicating that it had done its work. She delicately wiped it with a washcloth, revealing healthy new skin. Below it, the muscles and tendons were repaired.

Cataldo got closer as the man flexed his fingers experimentally, examining the unmarred skin that looked years younger.

"How do you feel, Mr Roberts?" Asked the nurse.

"I can move all my fingers again…"

"I can see that. That's good. Do you want us to proceed with the rest?"

"Yes, please."

One by one, every section of injured skin was treated with the cream, leaving only the man's eyes and amputated arm.

"I can heal that too, but not with these," she told Liminal and Cataldo. "It would need to be custom-made."

"How would you do it?" Asked Liminal.

"I would extract some stem cells, then essentially program them with the appropriate function."

"Not today," said Cataldo. "The healing cream was approved, but for the rest, you would have to go through power testing, so we could really understand what you're doing and its impact."

"Wait," said the man. "If you can heal me, I don't care what the PRT says. I want to be healed."

Riley glanced at Liminal, who was shaking her head.

"Sorry," Riley told him, regretting already to have brought it up in front of him.

Liminal and Cataldo ushered her out.

"I know you want to help, but we need to focus on what we can do today, and that's the healing cream," said Cataldo.

Riley nodded, eyes cast down.

"Hey, it's okay," said Liminal, elbowing her gently. "I know you want to prove yourself, but there's no rush. C'mon, there are other patients you can give baby skin to."

The nurse led them to a woman with abrasions on her exposed skin, to the point that she looked like a burn victim.

The cream did its magic, restoring the skin.

"The hair will grow back, unlike with scar tissue," Riley told the woman as she wiped the cream from her scalp.

"Here," said the nurse, producing a small mirror for the woman to look at herself.

A hand flew to her mouth, and she swallowed a sob, eyes filling with water.

"Thank you," said the woman, squeezing her hand. "Thank you so much."

Amy had talked at length about how she resented people who were grateful for her healing, and in that moment, Riley thought she maybe understood what she meant. The woman insisted to shake her hand, calling her a miracle worker, and she didn't know how to react other than by offering a small smile before hurrying out the door to hide her shame.

They moved on to another patient, then another, until they began to blur together. Most had suffered injuries due to Shatterbird alone, and she was both relieved and disappointed not to encounter any of Bonesaw's victims. She asked Liminal and Cataldo whether there were any like the first victims she had healed, and was told that the ones the hospital couldn't treat had already been transferred to other hospitals or long-term care facilities.

She nodded as if the question barely held any importance.

"I know people at the Asylum," said Liminal. "I can always put out a word. Give them your contact information, if that's okay with you."

Riley nodded, then resumed her work.

By the end of the day, everyone who could be treated by her was, including a few who showed up at the ER with cuts unrelated to the Nine.

She had thought she would feel good, but she only felt numb. This was a small fraction of the people impacted by the Nine's arrival in their city, none targeted directly by Bonesaw.

Was it selfish of her to want to treat her own victims in priority?

She was shaking the hand of her nth patient when both Liminal and Cataldo raised their hand to their earpiece, in a dual move that couldn't mean anything good.

"What is it?" She asked, but was dismissed. Liminal exited the room.

She listened to another effusion of unearned gratitude, then exited the room with a frowning Cataldo, joining Liminal, who just finished talking to her earpiece.

"…I can go, it's no problem."

"What is happening?" She asked again.

"The Nine have resurfaced," answered Cataldo. "Shatterbird just sang in Shelburne, a few miles from here."