Chapter 23 — Interlude (Panacea)
"Amy?" Carol called out as she entered the living room, phone in one hand. "Your sister and some of the Wards have been injured in a fight. Can you come?"
There was an edge in her tone, a challenge, as if Amy would ever let her sister down the way she'd let Mark down.
"Of course," Amy said, her voice quiet.
She'd just come back from the hospital, and hadn't had time to change out of her costume yet. She was exhausted in more ways than one, but it didn't matter. Not when Vicky's trust in her was on the line. What little remained of it.
Carol raised the phone to her ear to give a confirmation to the person on the other end of the line. After hanging up, she called Aunt Sarah to look after Mark while they were gone, then went to her room to change, leaving Amy alone with him in the living room.
Her adoptive father. Gone were the days where his clinical depression was the biggest problem hindering his daily life. The brain damage he'd suffered against Leviathan had robbed him of the skills he'd accumulated over the course of his life, and had rendered him barely able to move, unable to function by himself. They had to help him hobble between the bedroom, living room and bathroom. After much work on both sides, he was nearly able to feed himself, if somewhat messily and necessitating a bib to protect his clothes from stains. That was as much as they could expect from him now.
What kind of life was that?
What kind of person would condemn him to such a life?
That was the question that Carol and Vicky clearly pondered every time they looked at Amy. The one that kept her up at night, so much that she kept sneaking out to the nearest hospital to numb herself.
What kind of person was she, when she refused to step on her principles to heal him?
Carol and Vicky didn't understand how important her rules were. Now more than ever.
Yesterday, she'd been to her parent's bedroom to collect a change of clothes for Mark, and had found a letter on Carol's bedside. She must have been reading it to him late at night. Amy had been curious, seeing the header from the Guild and pondering the future of their family, so she read it.
If she could go back in time, she would, but now, that door was open, and she couldn't ever shut it again.
She now knew who her father was, and she didn't know how to live with that.
Maybe she'd always known, like Tattletale had told her months ago at the bank. Maybe she just hadn't put the pieces together.
Marquis had been an aspiring crime lord in the bad old days of Brockton Bay, as Carol and Mark referred to that time. The booming tech and banking sectors, as well as the unemployed dockworkers willing to work as henchmen, had sent villains flocking to the city. It had been an era before the heroes were properly established, and the villains had been confident enough that some didn't give a second thought to murdering any heroes who got in their way. Marquis included.
He'd been an osteokinetic, manipulating bones, and notorious enough that she'd heard of him despite him being arrested and sent to the Birdcage more than a decade ago. She'd spend the last night searching her memories for anything that might be tied to her early childhood, but it was hard to tell whether it was her imagination that provided pictures based on what she'd heard about him.
To all reports, the man had been heartless, callous. Wasn't she? She couldn't bring herself to care anymore when she went to hospitals to heal the injured and sick. It was a chore, something she made herself do because people wouldn't understand if she stopped. There were only so many people she could heal before she became desensitized to it.
The doorbell rang, and Amy went to open to Aunt Sarah just as Carol came back dressed as Brandish.
"Thank you, Sarah," Carol said. "It shouldn't take too long."
They took the car, navigating the streets of Brockton Bay in stern silence until they reached an abandoned building with one façade and the roof missing.
It was raining as she exited the car, and Amy lifted her hood over her head.
Her attention was brought up to the three bodies attached twenty feet in the air inside the building, each having suffered a different fate. Ominous, but not what she was there for.
Beside the building, a figure in black and red was tied up, a bag covering their head, with Flechette and Kid Win guarding them.
The new Wards captain, Weld, waved her over to the side of the neighboring building, and she hurried to Vicky's side, Brandish on her heels.
Amy's heart sank when she realized the nature of the injury. A head wound, severe enough that Vicky wasn't responsive at all and that her blond curls were now partially stained red.
"She's still in stasis," said Clockblocker. "I tagged her a minute ago. Apiary will probably run out first."
She turned to look at him. He was crouching beside a nearby body dressed in black and yellow, ready to use his power again the second it ran out.
"What happened?" She asked, and the metal-skinned boy, Weld, answered.
"We were checking out the crime scene, and the Travelers were there and fought us. Ballistic used his power on Glory Girl, and she crashed into this building. I think we all thought that she just needed a few moments to recover, but Apiary knew right away that she was injured, so she came to check on her and called Clockblocker to freeze her."
Apiary. Skitter. Of course she would know Vicky's weakness. Tattletale had told her, and she'd exploited it at the bank.
Much as it pained her, she asked Clockblocker: "Are you sure Apiary will run out first?"
"Can never be one hundred percent sure," he answered, "but it's been five minutes now, compared to one."
"Can you go to Glory Girl? In case she comes out while I'm healing Apiary?"
"Of course," he said, getting up, and she took his place, crouching by Apiary's side. There was no exposed skin, so she would have to wait for the stasis effect to run out before removing her glove. She held the cape's hand, ready to take action.
At the same time, she was stalling. She knew she was stalling, but it allowed her to gather her thoughts about her other patient. First, she would need to stabilize Vicky. As for the head injury…
What could she do? What about her rules? They were there for a reason, even if she hadn't been able to justify it to Carol and Vicky when they fought about her refusal to heal Mark.
She knew what her adoptive mother was thinking. Marquis had his code, his rules, and so did Amy. Like father, like daughter.
Now that Vicky was hurt, though, where did she stand in regard to her rules? Could she condemn Vicky to a half-life like she had with Mark? Could she live with herself if she did that? Moreso, could she stand to lose Vicky in every meaningful way?
Apiary's hand went from rock solid to soft and pliable, and Amy pulled on the glove to remove it and touch her hand. The girl was unconscious, with a crushed ribcage and lungs, as well as several punctured organs. Nothing she couldn't fix.
In a minute, it was all healed, and Apiary woke up. The mask hid her face completely, but Amy could tell through her power that she was surprised and anxious. Amy stopped the contact and handed her her glove.
"Panacea?" Apiary said as bees converged to her.
Weld stepped forward, giving Apiary a hand to help her get up.
"You were hit in the chest by Ballistic," he explained. "Clockblocker kept you frozen until Panacea could get here."
Apiary looked at Amy, impassive mask hiding her expression.
"Thank you," she said.
"They said you helped Vicky," Amy replied. "That you knew right away that she was injured."
Apiary shrugged.
"I know her forcefield shorts out with a good hit. Figured with two in quick succession, it couldn't be good."
"Still…"
Amy couldn't bring herself to thank Apiary. It felt too wrong, knowing what she'd done during the bank robbery, and it didn't erase her past actions.
She walked over to Vicky instead, taking Clockblocker's place beside her.
She felt Carol's cold stare on her, her adoptive mother already judging her no matter what she decided to do. Either she would refuse to heal Vicky's head injury, without being able to justify herself, or she would, making her betrayal of Mark even more apparent.
She put a hand on Vicky's cheek, caressing it with her thumb, and her eyes traced the familiar ground of her sister's features. No injury marred her face, and she looked almost peaceful, like she was asleep.
After a few minutes, every detail about Vicky's biology submerged her as Clockblocker's power ran out. Broken bones, punctured organs, shattered skull, severe brain damage. Much worse than Mark. Without intervention, the best she could hope for was a vegetative state.
A sob caught in Amy's throat. She held her breath to avoid making a sound, and focused on willing the blood vessels, organs, skin and bones to repair themselves. In a minute or two, the damage to the skull and the rest of the body was healed.
Vicky remained still, her eyes closed. Carol's stare was still laser-focused on Amy, judging her no matter what she decided.
What to do about the brain damage?
She thought of Vicky, the Vicky of before Leviathan, brimming with life and energy, shinning like the sun in Amy's otherwise dull life. The only member of their family who really made her feel like she belonged. The only one who loved her unconditionally.
It was easier when she put it like that, even if the choice remained selfish.
She closed her eyes, trying to ignore Carol's judging stare, and set to heal the brain damage.
Vicky was the only person who truly loved her, and Amy needed her. She focused on that, rather than on the fact that she was breaking her rules.
Once she was done, Vicky's eyes fluttered awake, then took sight of her, and Amy knew right away that something had gone horribly wrong.
Vicky climbed to her feet and backed away from her, revulsion spreading over her features. Amy rose from her crouching position.
"What did you do?" Vicky asked, her tone accusatory.
The magnitude of what she'd just done hit her like a brick to the chest. "Oh god. Please, let me undo it."
She reached out, but Vicky stepped back.
"Victoria?" Asked Carol. "What is going on?"
Vicky seemed to realize that they weren't alone, and took off flying, soon disappearing at the turn of a building.
"Amy Dallon, what did you do?" Carol asked in a stern voice.
Tears welled in the corners of Amy's eyes as she answered. "This is what I was afraid of. I healed her brain, but I didn't heal it right, and now… We need to go home. I think she's headed there. I need to fix this."
They left the Wards behind and climbed in the car.
The whole ride home, Carol's cold, accusatory silence filled the car.
As soon as they arrived, Amy ran up the stairs to Vicky's room, and made it just as her sister zipped up a gym bag and slung it over her shoulder.
"Victoria, please! I need to fix what I did," Amy pleaded.
"And what did you do, exactly? I feel different. You changed the way I think, the way I feel."
Tears rolled down Amy's cheeks, and she wiped them away.
"I'm sorry. I knew this would happen. I was okay as long as I followed my rules and didn't open that door, but now it's open, and—"
"What door?"
"You have to understand, for so long, you were all I had. I was so desperately lonely, and that was at the same time I was starting to worry about my dad. I got fucked up, my feelings got muddled somewhere along the line, and it's like… maybe because you were safe, because you were always there."
"You have feelings for me," Vicky realized. She couldn't keep the disgust out of her voice, didn't even try. "That's what Tattletale was using as leverage, wasn't it?"
A sob escaped Amy, more threatening to deprive her of her voice when she needed it most.
"What did you do?" Vicky demanded to know. She almost sounded like Carol.
It took a long moment of Amy holding her breath before she got the sobs under control, allowing her to answer.
"I… I made it so that you would reciprocate my feelings."
She couldn't bear to look at her sister. She continued, eyes cast down and hands joined in prayer.
"Please, let me fix it. Then I'll leave. I'll heal Mark and leave. You won't ever have to see me again."
She took a step closer.
"What in the world makes you think that I'd let you use your power on me again?" Victoria shouted, taking to the air in a short flying bout to put the bed between them. "Who knows what you're going to do to me?"
"Please?" Amy begged.
"I can find someone else to fix it. Or maybe, at the very least, I can show some fucking self-control and realize it's my sister I'm having those feelings about."
Victoria opened the window and flew out with her bag.
Amy sank to her knees, sobbing.
I can do this, Amy told herself.
Carol was on the phone in her office, leaving Amy alone with Mark. It was the perfect opportunity. Up in her room, she had already packed her bag, ready to leave as soon as she was done healing him.
She sat down beside him on the couch.
I can do this.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to him. "I'm so sorry for taking this long."
She took his hand between hers, and instantly became aware of every cell in his body. She reached with her power, repairing the damage and restoring his motor skills while blinking away tears.
Once she was done, she dared to look at his face, and found him looking at her with an unreadable expression, but the sharpness of his eyes told her he was better.
"Amy…" His voice was rough and ragged after weeks without using it to full capacity. "Thank you."
She went straight to her room, her face burning with shame.
She opened the window and climbed out with her bag.
Amy had been walking aimlessly for what felt like hours when she heard steps behind her in the flooded street. They weren't walking, not quite running either. It sounded more like skipping.
She turned around to find a girl, maybe five or so years younger. Her blond hair was curled into impeccable ringlets, but the rest of her was filthy. She wore a blue dress and yellow rain boots, with an apron too big for her and scalpels and other tools gleaming in the front pocket. The apron had multiple brown stains.
Not dirt, she realized. Dried blood.
Amy had heard her name, had seen the pictures. Had sometimes even been called to consult on some of her victims.
"Bonesaw," she stated.
"Hi!" Bonesaw waved with a wide, toothy grin.
"What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see you, duh," the girl answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It's so good to finally meet you! I've been looking forward to this for a long time!"
How to even respond to that?
Movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention to the side, and she startled, seeing the monster that stood there.
A woman, her face more rat-like than human, conical, ending with a squashed black nose that had staples around it. The jaw was stretched forward with too many teeth, all canines, and drool leaked in long strings where the mouth couldn't close completely. She was a hodge-podge of both pale skin and ebony black skin, staples holding the pieces in place. Her long, dark hair was unwashed and greasy, but most unnerving of all were her fingers and toes, which had been replaced with what looked like machetes.
"Don't mind Murder Rat," said Bonesaw, rolling her eyes and gesturing dismissively to the monster, "she's just here to make sure you don't run away."
"O-of course."
"We were going to each nominate a candidate and then have them all go through the tests to pick the best one," Bonesaw continued, "but after learning that you finally broke your rules all by yourself, I managed to convince the others to give you a chance, so it's just you. I mean, Shatterbird is still sulking about it, but the majority ruled in favor. You still have to get through the tests, but I'm sure you can manage it. Isn't it exciting? We're going to be sisters!" Bonesaw sounded almost breathless from excitement.
"Sisters?"
The word stung.
Bonesaw continued, oblivious. "Yes! I've always wanted a big sister. I thought Cherish would be one, but she sucks."
"I'm the only reason you knew about her breaking her rules. How's that for sucking?" Said a voice behind Amy. She whirled around, and the people she found there made her lose what little hope she had of getting away from Bonesaw.
The first was the Siberian, a nude woman covered in black and white stripes, yellow eyes wild and feral. The woman who had killed Hero, and countless others.
The second was a man with a goatee, a partially unbuttoned white shirt stained with dried blood, and knives at his belt. Jack Slash.
And the girl who had spoken, who looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. She was slim, attractive, with delicate features and a red streak in her dark hair. She didn't look like she belonged with the rest of them.
"That's where you'd be wrong, but we'll get into it later," said the girl.
"Over the next few weeks, each of us will test you," Jack spoke. "If you succeed and survive our tests, we will leave the city, and you will come with us. Of course, we will need to find ways to amuse ourselves during our stay since there won't be as many candidates as usual, but Bonesaw had an intriguing suggestion that will serve as additional incentive for you to play along. In exchange for your participation in our tests, we will focus our attention solely on the people of your choice, and will set up games and challenges starring them for our entertainment. If you refuse to participate, we will target the people you love, starting with your dear Victoria, before rampaging through the city. Your choice."
What kind of choice was that?
Either join the Slaughterhouse Nine, or be responsible for their carnage? And what about Vicky? Amy thought back to the victims she'd seen of the Nine, her sister's image superimposed over them.
No. She couldn't risk Vicky falling prey to them. But she couldn't join them either.
What did it mean, that the Nine thought she belonged with them? What kind of person did it make her?
She didn't say anything. There had to be a way out of this, or, failing that, a way she could kill herself to escape them.
The girl with the red streak in her hair rolled her eyes.
"Don't even think about it. Bonesaw can raise the dead."
"So," Jack said, idly playing with a knife, "which one is it going to be? The tests? Or your sister?"