When I get back to Brockton Bay, I have to rapidly let myself drop down the canyon again, as I almost climb out exactly where I left from. Only this time there are gangsters walking around with torches. Why is it only now that it sends me right back where I started, instead of all the other times.
The constant tug of the canyon beneath me has me slapping my forehead, of course! It's because cracks never run straight, while the canyon is a straight drop. With a sigh I turn west and start walking.
5 minutes later, I attempt to climb up again, and end up smiling broadly a I come out on a completely different street. Well, the first time I almost came out in someone's house, but it didn't take much for me to walk a little further and pop out in the street. It takes me substantially longer to find a road I recognize.
I'm around halfway home when the canyon closes up, and a tension I didn't even know I was carrying eases. After that it only takes me around half an hour to finish walking home. Of course, I could have walked it faster if I wasn't following the roads, but I'm not confident about my ability to navigate the cracks. I'm sort of aware of my notebook coming out and writing in it as that thought crosses my mind.
- get more accurate with the cracks
As I get into our block, I pause for a moment as I notice that none of the streetlights are on. Neither are the normal porch lights. Dad keeps saying how bad the city services are, but surely, they'd have fixed at least a few of them in the last week. Shaking my head, I continue through the darkened streets to my house. Well, my old house.
Given that it's been a week, I fish my front door key out of my pocket rather than heading around to the back door. As I open the door, I keep my other hand against the door frame to stop the slight creak it makes if you don't. Carefully, I close the door, making sure to hold the latch and the frame so that it doesn't make it's god awful crack that can be heard upstairs.
Rather than cutting through the living room, I carefully make my way down the hall and ease open the kitchen door. There I take of the rucksack and place it against the back door and flick the light switch. I frown when it doesn't turn on, maybe I caused a bigger problem than I thought. As I'm looking around, a candle floats out of a nearby drawer and ignites. I quickly grab the candle and dribble a couple of blobs of wax onto the counter, before sticking the candle down. The last thing I want is to accidentally wake Dad and out myself. It's best if he doesn't know, that way he can't accidentally let the ABB know, and they won't hurt him to find me.
By the light of the candle, I grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it from the tap. Lifting it up to my lips I take a gulp before grimacing at the taste. Gah! What do they put in this water? I should get a cantee…
That thought is cut short as the candlelight flickers as though something passed in front of it. A moment later I grab my notebook and pen out of the air and firmly put them counter. Then I deliberately add a tin mug and a thermos to my list of things to acquire before I leave; by hand! With that written I firmly put the notebook and pen in my hoodie pocket and down the glass of water.
With some extra hydration, my bladder makes itself known and I try to hold it as I light the grill. I guess we're lucky in that respect, as we're one of the houses that still has a gas cooker, even if it is older than I am. Apparently gas cooking and heating was very important back when the Docks worked, because of the constant brownouts.
Anyway, I don't make it to the fridge to get some bread, instead I divert to the small restroom under the stairs. I can't believe how much I missed not needing to use my cleaning power when I finished. I carefully put the seat down before I flushed the toilet, as I know how much sound carries in this house, and I don't want to wake Dad. Then I open the door straight into a blinding light right in my face.
"Taylor?"
My Dad's voice forestalls my first instinctive response and I straighten up, "Dad? You should be asleep."
My dad, Danny Hebert, points his torch at the ceiling, illuminating the hall in that weird dim light you get from reflected plaster.
Dad looks a little sheepish as he says, "I fell asleep on the couch waiting for you when you weren't in. Mr. Persons caught me as I got home, said they'd been a power cut this afternoon and his insurance company sent out an ambulance when his panic button base station failed to phone in. I didn't want you to come home in the dark. Are you ok?"
I look down and towards the kitchen as my mind races, 'Mr. Person isn't dead?' 'This afternoon?'.
I obviously waited too long to answer, as dad asks, "Did they…?"
The half-asked question hangs in the air like a loaded gun, 'Did they dump me in a rough part of town again?' Just like in January when I was found passed out in what used to be the South Docks and is now just the Downtown slums.
I shake my head minutely, "No, I, ah, needed some fresh air."
Absently, I take hold of Patchy and squeeze him tight as I try to understand everything that dad just told me, along with the memories of waking up in South Memorial Hospital wearing a hospital gown because my clothes had been taken for evidence. That was after two days of IV antibiotics to treat sepsis. Not that it turned up anything, as my locker had been cleaned out by the time they got round to checking the school.
"Taylor, what was that?" Dad's voice sounds a little faint as he interrupts my spiraling thoughts.
I look around, "What was what?"
Dad turns his torch onto Patchy, "That, it just came floating round the corner and you grabbed it."
As I look down at the bear my brain stalls, "Uh, I can explain!"
Dad chuckles darkly, "Well, this'll be good."
I can't remember the last time I heard dad laugh like that at anything, and so I say the first thing that comes to mind, "Dad, are you ok?"
Dad points his torch at the back door, and the rucksack leaning against it, "Were you ever going to tell me?"
"I, uh, wanted to, but after I killed Mr. Persons, I…"
At that moment, all I wanted dad to do is hug me and tell me everything would be ok. Instead, he turns the torch back to me, "Taylor, you are my daughter, and you always will be. I know I'm not good at talking about feelings, that was always your mum's thing."
I wince as my mind turns to the self-help book I 'borrowed', a book that floats out of the rucksack to beside me. When he sees it, Dad looks sad, "Oh, Taylor. How long?"
I look down and mumble, "Since I broke the plates accidentally in January."
"I'm sure I would have remembered that."
I hung down lower into Patchy's head, "I fixed them. It's one of my powers."
Dad yawns, "I need to be more awake for this."
I quickly say, "We could talk about this tomorrow."
Dad shakes his head, "Would you be here tomorrow?" When I don't answer he shakes his head, "You got far too much of the bad parts of both of us Taylor. Plenty of the good parts too. Taylor, I'm not going to ask about what's going on at school. When you're ready I'll be here to listen, but don't run away. This is your home, and it always will be."
I don't know what it is about what dad just said, but something rubs me the wrong way and I shout at him, "I almost killed Mr. Persons and Lung almost killed me! I'm not running away, I'm keeping you safe."
Dad's face turns ashen as I try to bring my emotions back under control before my powers go out of control. When he next speaks it's almost in a whisper, "Lung. Taylor, why shouldn't I call the PRT right now?"
That, more than anything else, quashes my rising anger, "I'm dangerous dad. My power, I can't control it and…" I wave my hand at the dark light bulb, "when I lose control this happens. I did this accidentally when I teleported away from school. What if I did it on the Rig? How many people would die because of me? I can't be around people dad, not until I've got control. That's why I ran away a week ago." I slide down the wall beside the toilet and squeeze Patchy tightly.
Danny shakes his head, "You haven't been gone a week, I'd have noticed."
I don't answer as I'm too busy soaking Patchy with my tears as my fight with Lung, school, my fears, and everything else catches up with me.
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I wake up slowly and stare at the ceiling of my room for several minutes as I try to remember how I got into my own bed when the last thing I remember was crying into Patchy's head. At some point during that process, I realize that I'm not wearing my glasses, but I can still make out every single crack in the ceiling. A snorting snore to the side has me looking over to see dad sleeping against the bed like he did when I was 8 and I had nightmares about disappearing at night.
Come to think of it, maybe those scary tales about children being stolen away by the fae, if they didn't go to bed on time, had a grain of truth to them. Maybe I can find mum's old copy of Grimm's fairy tales, the antique one from before they started sanitizing stuff. I'm almost surprised that my notepad doesn't come floating towards me, until I realize that I'm only wearing my t-shirt and panties. Dad must have undressed me when he brought me to bed.
As that occurs to me it's a trivial matter to reach out towards one of my desk drawers and have a notebook float out, along with a new biro from the box I keep there. After making a couple of notes about re-reading the Grimms fairy tales, and also checking at the library to see if there's any way that I can avoid going back to school while keeping dad happy. As there's no way I'm going back there. Not now, not ever. The Trio are bad enough, but now I've got the ABB to worry about. Notes made, I crawl off the end of the bed and consider kicking dad for being in the way of me getting out of bed. Instead I wave my hand to open my wardrobe door and pick out a pair of comfortable jeans and a clean t-shirt and hoodie. A pair of panties and socks follow from one of my drawers.
While I'm 'enjoying' my cold shower, the water stutters as dad flushes the downstairs toilet. Maybe I should've tried to use my ignition power to heat up the water in the storage tank.
Once I'm dressed, I walk out of the bathroom to the smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee. With a night's sleep between me and the events of yesterday, I'm able to walk down the stairs with a slight smile. That smile drops away when I get to the kitchen and dad's radio says, "There is a local advisory for North Brockton Bay. Elmwood road is closed for major repairs after an altercation between two unknown capes last night…."
The click of the volume dial catches my attention as dad reaches over and turns the radio off as he turns to face me with an unreadable expression on his face, "Taylor…"
I shake my head, "I'm not running away dad. I'm just going to the library."
"French toast?"
I nod, and take the peace offering, "Please."
As he's cooking the French toast I pull one of the double doors to the lounge closed so that I can see the bookshelf behind it. A bookshelf that has been mostly hidden for the last two years since mum died. It's where I found the camping guide after all.
From the kitchen, Dad says, "You know Gerry?" At my silence he continues, "You met him once or twice when you've visited me at work. Big guy, burly, Black Irish?"
I poke my head back around the door to say, "Maybe?"
It's one of the weird quirks about the house, you can hear a mouse sneeze if you're upstairs, but if you try to have a conversation between the lounge and kitchen, nothing, nada, zilch. The other person might as well be saying nothing. But from the kitchen to the lounge, crystal clear.
"Rumor's going around he found work. Guess who with."
I shake my head, "Dunno."
Dad turns back to the stove to flip the toast, "He's going to be one of Uber and Leet's henchmen."
I lean back to look around the door, "Really? They going to make him wear a uniform? Bright primary colors, Tron style?"
Dad chuckles, "Probably."
My mood immediately drops, "We were supposed to talk about how the powers thing has influenced our lives last Monday."
"Taylor, do you mean this Monday?"
"Dad, I can't go back."
Dad shakes his head, "Taylor, I can't afford to send you to Arcadia."
I shake my head and shout, "Dad, it's not about the bullies!" Softer I say, "It's not about the bullies. It's about Lung. He saw my face dad. Lung saw my face, he was staring into my eyes when I escaped. I go to school and I'm dead. If I escape again then he'll come after you."
The door to the cellar opens with a bang as my backpack flies out towards me and I catch it with one hand. With the other I catch a slice of French toast as I'm stalking out of the house, the front door opening and slamming closed without my input. By the time I've made it to the bus stop I have time to regret leaving so quickly, because I left my purse in the rucksack. Instead, I turn towards Downtown, and the library and start walking.