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Crimson Claws

25.

Nora herself found it remarkable how well she could now ignore the trains rushing past, separated from her sewing room by only a few walls. It was like living next to a church. After a while, you didn't even notice the ringing bells anymore. Since she had made this her realm (only as a cover for her true mission, of course), the air conditioning had been extended to this area to preserve the clothes she hadn't discarded until one of the community wanted them, and she was less likely to clash with the other idiots.

Sewing had always brought her down, made her more balanced and bearable. Making or customizing clothes gave her a sense of fulfillment and self-efficacy, even if she missed seeing the delighted faces of her customers from the back room, as she had done at her first job in the Italian tailor shop. Nora didn't like people and people didn't like her. But Nora liked what beautiful, well-sewn clothes could elicit from people. That her work could elicit smiles, delighted sounds or simply breathless wonder. She had never seen these reactions in the theater.

Nor here. When Maggie or Erin brought one of the community here, the person simply grabbed something on the shelf that matched his or her size. Nora had to stop herself every time so that she didn't start ranting that just because someone said they were a size 32, those pants didn't fit! Not well at least. She kept reminding herself that these were poverty stricken social cases, homeless people, (former) junkies and were grateful for any clothes that covered their asses. No one here needed customized clothing or haute couture and off the rack was more than enough for everyone here. She reprimanded herself that it wasn't worth her annoyance. Still, she thought, these people here - including the mutants - didn't even know what they were missing. Clothes make the man. Some here could be more than they were, achieve more. Up there. It was superficial but it was a fact. Why was hardly anyone aware that if they didn't walk around like bums, they might not be treated like bums.

Nora stopped at the skirt, which was made of really nice chiffon that had only been donated because the hem had frayed at the bottom, pulled it out of the machine and looked at her work in the light of her bright new desk lamp. Claw had brought it to her. Dear, gentle Claw, too kind for his own good. Perhaps ... of course she would never be able to show her face in New York again, but maybe there was so much money on the card, which she would find and steal, that she didn't need it all. Maybe she would leave a few hundred thousand in a bag here. As compensation, so to speak. Well, she didn't need to think about that just yet.

Nora nodded with satisfaction at her work and hung the skirt on a hanger and at a distance from other items of clothing on one of the coat hooks that stood out from the racks. She had sorted out a lot from the clothes rails, but chiffon should not be squeezed between other clothes - the fabric had to fall freely to remain beautiful. Nora looked at her watch and decided it was time to call it a day. Claw and the other winged mutants often spent the first half of the night in the labyrinth on patrols or above ground stretching their wings. This gave her the best opportunity to search for the card. Nora opened her door and immediately grimaced.

In the brief silence between passing trains, the sewing machine that had been turned off and the large laundry machines that hardly ever ran in the evening, Nora heard a shrill howl. That of a child. In the laundry room where all the washing machines and dryers for the community were located, a woman was kneeling in front of her five-year-old, who was clutching a flat, ragged thing. A stuffed animal, Nora realized. A probably homemade, ancient cuddly toy that must have once represented a squirrel before it was so worn and battered from years of cuddling and groping that it had lost most of its orange fur and what might once have been a bushy tail was so bald and limp that it resembled a possum tail. But what caused problems here was that the stuffed animal was as flat as an airless basketball and even from a distance had more than one tear in its fabric. Oh Nora, saw what had happened. As a professional, she found it hard to sympathize with so much stupidity.

"My Munchy! She's torn, all flat. The machine killed her!" the child wailed, completely distraught and shed large tears, making it difficult for her mom to calm her down.

"Honey. Hush, Honey," she cried over the wailing. "Hey, I'm SO sorry. But your Munchy was so dirty and sticky. I didn't realize the machine would be so rough. I'm so sorry but it's your birthday soon. I'll get you a new, much nicer plushie."

"I don't want a new one! I just want my Munchy, Grandma Mimi made her for me before she died. No new one is like Munchy because Granma wouldn't make the new one. Bwähhh..." the girl bawled and Nora rolled her eyes as she tried to avoid the shitshow with a wide arc and as invisibly as possible. Just because Michael had convinced everyone that he had made up with her and that was probably why she hadn't been stabbed in the back yet, didn't mean it couldn't still happen. And parents were SO finicky with criticism and took everything about their little ones personally. That's why she kept her know-it-all mumbling as quiet as possible. And didn't think they would even hear her whining.

"What! What was that?" the woman behind her barked in a belligerent tone. She was probably looking for a distraction because anything was better than dealing with her child's misery. And wasn't Nora always obliging in giving others a target for their hatred?

Nora stopped, tightened her grip on her crutch just in case and half-turned.

"I said ... that the old thing wouldn't have ripped if you'd put it in a pillowcase and washed it on the cold wash cycle. And you could have saved yourself the spin cycle." Nora said as calmly as she could. She didn't mind kicking a mother's ass in front of her child if she started a fight - but she was honestly a little tired and didn't want to get upset. Sometimes she didn't feel like exploding.

Fortunately, neither did the woman, because after giving Nora another hateful look, she dragged the crying girl out of the room.

"I hope your brother finds you soon," she hissed as she walked past.

"Wouldn't bet on it," Nora muttered, looking at the fatally mangled cuddly toy that the woman had thrown into the open garbage can for unsalvageable clothing. You could see that it had been the work of a doddering but loving grandma. Not a professional like Nora but driven by affection for what was probably a newborn at the time. God, that thing was SO shabby. Even if you sewed up the tears - new tears would pop up right next to them, the fabric was so thin. You could tell from the slightly more colorful fabric on the limp body that the sucker had probably worn clothes at some point that had long since gone missing. And the tail ... that was a drama all of its own. There was a tattered white piece of fabric under the squirrel's snout that had probably once suggested incisors and now looked like a piss-yellow Hitler moustache. Everything - really everything - except the black button eyes on the toy would have to be replaced. Nora took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of her nose between her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. She ... could still look for the card tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow. She picked up the stuffed animal that no longer even deserved that name and carried it to her workshop.

.

.

Goliath just couldn't figure this young man out. Neither could Grant. But they had promised Elisa and by now he was also intrigued. And worried. Oh so worried. Without seeing the possibility of making things worse by intervening. He had been sporadically shadowing the child for a while now and it didn't look like the boy was ever going home. He wasn't stupid, in fact he was downright sensible for the fact that Goliath now thought he was all on his own. Perhaps he had been mistreated or at least neglected at home. Something to make him not want to go home. Children quickly learned to hide the signs and most adults didn't ask, too busy with their own lives. His daytime allies had done research on Warren Hill. Warren went to school every day. His grades were above average but not phenomenal. His behavior was unremarkable. He didn't attract particularly negative or positive attention anywhere, flew under the radar. His mother was deceased, his father worked a lot but signed permission slips when needed. Last month, his father had come to a parent-teacher conference and had made a good impression. Warren always did his homework, always had all his books, could pay for his school trips, didn't seem like he was in need financially, physically or emotionally. When he had problems, he was a fantastic actor and extremely resilient for a twelve-year-old. And tricky not only in avoiding nosy adults. Goliath was convinced he was playing a role. That everyone thought everything was fine at home. Right now, at 10 o'clock in the evening, the boy was sitting calmly in a laundrette, his and his sister's laundry rumbling in a dryer behind him and his homework spread out on one of the tables.

Goliath rested his chin on his fist on the roof opposite, wondering if this would be a good time to make a third or fourth attempt to get Grant to talk to the boy. Yes, Warren was good at slipping away. But the boy certainly wouldn't leave his laundry here. He wouldn't get to new clothes so easily if he didn't want to go home. But he didn't necessarily want to drive the child into the arms of a violent father either.

While he was still pondering, the boy packed away his school papers, took his laundry out of the apparently ready dryer and started ironing one piece after the other. Okay, he no longer had a mother, but Goliath knew that very few young people bothered to iron their clothes. NOBODY, not even the strictest old-fashioned teacher would blame a child for coming to school in crumpled T-shirts, and certainly nobody would conclude that they were neglected. Then 70 percent of all parents would have to be under surveillance. But he also knew that it made a good impression when clothes were ironed. It wasn't just about not making a negative impression - it was also about making a particularly good impression.

After Warren had dealt with his clothes and his sister's pieces, he packed the neatly folded items just as neatly into a sports bag, handed the iron back to the delightedly smiling owner of the laundrette, shouldered his rucksack and left. Goliath knew he would probably be going to the hospital to see his sister. Almost every night he had seen from outside that the boy climbed into her bed and slept with her. He always disappeared before the morning shift came and he only slept there when certain employees were on night shift, so Goliath believed that they at least knew about it and were covering for him. But why? The other nights Goliath didn't know where the boy was staying and that really worried him. Maybe in the subway stations like many did. The nights were very warm, he could also sleep outside. He lost Warren too often to be able to tell.

Goliath followed his target as he walked down the street, covering several blocks to the nearest train stop. Until a car pulled up next to him. Teeth bared, Goliath saw someone he couldn't see roll down the window and say something to Warren, who had stepped up to the car. The boy answered something and not a moment later was in the car along with his school backpack and sports bag.

THAT worried both Goliath and Grant! Time and time again Warren Hill disappeared into random cars in an area of Manhattan where only the mafia or johns invited people into their vehicles. Again and again Goliath had lost the child after he had been approached by different men. He had photographed many of them from a distance, had run their license plates through the databases. They were all normal guys, not known criminals. Family men, aging desk jockeys, no one with more than a drunk driving or speeding ticket record. WHAT was Warren doing with these guys? Or what were they doing with him? Goliath shuddered at the answer. The nicest option would be that Warren was selling drugs. But he needed proof. Which he wasn't going to get if Warren wasn't doing anything with these guys out in the open or at a window without the blinds drawn. He couldn't land vigilante-style on the car like he used to, yank the suspicious guy out and shake him until he got an answer. And scare the kid to death or cause the car to crash. At worst, Warren would then go into hiding - he was likely to do so, as he obviously went to great lengths to make sure no one found out about him and he ended up in some kind of social system. The boy was already hypervigilant. He COULD dive completely into hiding if he or Grant cornered him. And then his sister would be all alone. Although it was hard to imagine him leaving her behind. Goliath couldn't act too impulsively. He had to gather more information and wait until the boy let his guard down.

.

.

Maggie smiled broadly, if a little puzzled, as little Susie proudly held up the magical gift that her dead grandma had left on her doorstep last night.

"Wow, beautiful," she acknowledged the girl, who giggled and skipped away as happy as a child could be down here. She had seen the sad stuffed squirrel before. Children were attached to things, however disgusting and broken they might be - if they were important to them, their anchors in a difficult time or reminded them of loved ones - that was enough. And now Susie had a clean, brand new, gorgeous 2.0 Munchy to show around the labyrinth. The squirrel hadn't just been mended by a kind soul. Someone had made a brand new stuffed animal except for the button eyes, which were a little chipped. New orange fabric, bright and velvety, gleaming white "incisors", shiny black stubby nose, the same size and body structure as Susie's old Munchy used to have. A tail reinforced with steel wire under bushy fluff that had probably once been part of a feather boa, so that the tail also had the typical squirrel swing or could be bent in other directions. Munchy 2.0 even wore a purple ballet dress with a tulle skirt. All the children and adults marveled at the skill of Susie's ghost grandma.

Maggie straightened up with baby Aby in her sling, shared a mutually perplexed shrug with her husband and stepped up to the food counter behind which Claw grinned broadly at them. He always looked droll with his hairnet, which tamed at least the longest hair in his mane, and since he brushed himself thoroughly before every kitchen duty, there was never any hair in the residents' food.

"Do you want to tell us something?" asked Derek, on whose tray two plates with plenty of eggs, toast and sausages were pushed by two other community members who were on kitchen duty this morning. Claw added two bowls of porridge with fruit topping, swayed his head smugly and gestured for them not to hold up the queue. Maggie drew them both half a cup of coffee, which she made more palatable for their feline tongues with plenty of milk. She covered Derek's cup with 4 sugar lumps because her husband was a sweetie and he just didn't want everyone to notice. They sat down at their usual table where Thomas and Erin were already seated. It wasn't obligatory for everyone to eat together and Benny took his time polishing the segments of his exoskeleton. For being an anthropomorphic Roly Poly Bug, he drew self-worth from his well-groomed appearance like almost any self-respecting young man.

"Heard about our local ghost?" Thomas asked casually without looking up from his newspaper where he was studying the sports page.

"Mhmm," Derek confirmed as Maggie checked to see if the baby was still asleep and then set about eating while she had the chance.

At that moment Nora came hobbling in, looking around for a seat as usual. There was plenty of choice at this time of day, because few of the residents had a job that required them to get up at a certain time. Or a job at all. Even if they made an okay impression on employers, the Labyrinth Community address wasn't enticing.

She was walking so much better and it was clear she'd have her cast off by next week at the latest, but today in particular she looked tired, her eyes owlish as she joined the queue. Just as it was her turn, it looked like there was going to be some new Nora drama as some of the Dropouts (the ex-members of the teen gang who had sought refuge down here but were generally behaving rather poorly) tried to push their way in, but before Nora could rant, bite and kick, Claw growled loudly. And even more discouragingly, Michael joined Nora. Maggie knew all the mutants were watching as the young men raised their hands to show they would be good and stood at the end of the line where they fooled around and pushed each other as was customary among them. They had a healthy respect for all big mutants and clones and knew, at least since Nora, that they would be in trouble if they messed with Michael. But even more interesting was the look their child and the problematic woman exchanged before Michael took a tray from Claw that was meant for Nora and she told him where she wanted to sit. She had taken to always looking for a place with one of the concrete pillars behind her, perhaps to avoid being exposed to another citrusy hit and run. Their relationship was not one where Michael abandoned his place among his friends, but he was friendly to her and obviously Nora Sykes behaved towards him in a way that she deserved it.

I don't know whether to be worried about or proud of our son," Derek grumbled, scowling at his son's benevolent alliances.

"Worried," Erin said, where Thomas said, "Proud.

He looked at his wife, knowing, as a man who had grown wiser over the years, that his spouse tipped the scales. She sighed into her coffee.

"In the normal ideal case, you're always both. But you know the saying; Don't worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you. Maybe we should re-evaluate Nora - like Michael ... and to know if history is repeating itself."

With that, she raised her wing (much more eye-catching than a hand) and waved it at her son. As he was still carrying Nora's tray, she hobbled after her food with a sour face.

"Jeah, mom?" he asked innocently and sweetly.

"Put Nora's tray down here, she's eating with us today," his mother said, and Erin rolled her eyes so intently, unseen by Nora and Michael, that you'd have to fear they'd pop out of her turtle head.

"Whaaaat?" Nora asked saccharine, exaggerated and almost unbearable after just one word. "I get to sit with the cool kids? What did I do to deserve this?" she asked as she plopped down on the bench opposite Derek and Maggie and Michael pushed her tray in front of her. Just porridge. Not even anything to drink. She patted Maggies son chummily on the back and he scurried off to his friends at the other end of the atrium. It wasn't easy being the child of non-humans, but it was even harder being the child of "the bosses" down here. He didn't make it any worse by sticking to adults' butts.

Maggie smiled good-naturedly. She didn't like Nora Sykes, didn't have to like her, and hoped she left all their lives soon like pretty much everyone else here. But she had evolved over the last decade into a calm, reliable mediator, less daunting than the boys but with an experienced aplomb that came with being one of the leaders of a larger community. She wouldn't let Nora get away with anything overly offensive, even if she was happy to leave the decision-making power to her husband in the event of an offense. But if Nora Sykes had done nothing. Or rather nothing bad, but rather something good, then she was happy to be the first to acknowledge it.

"You look tired," Maggie said sensible.

"Jeah, no shit, Mags? Takes a shitload of time to sort out your thrift store, let alone fix the junk that's salvageable. In this town, they only donate stuff that's fucked up. Fucking hypocritical do-gooders."

"Could we please not swear in front of the baby?" grumbled Derek.

Nora looked at him with wide eyes.

"The baby's two weeks old! Are you scared she's a prodigy and will be babbling after me next week? If that's really the case... then kindly explain to her that she's only allowed to say words that the evil aunt doesn't use, so she still has plenty of vocabulary at her disposal. Seriously Der, don't be ridiculous."

Thomas laughed quietly behind his newspaper and with shit eye to Nora, Derek shoveled sausages into himself in frustration.

"What do you think of the rumors about Susie's ghost grandmother?" asked Maggie.

Nora didn't stop to scoop up the top, already cooled layer of her porridge, always garnished with a few small pieces of fruit.

"I think it's fucking amazing that here are not more ghosts scurrying around here than at Hogwarts. Would be such a place for it."

"And such helpful, nice ghosts too," Maggie said, smiling at her husband, who of course knew what she was alluding to but narrowed his eyes suspiciously because it couldn't be. Nora Sykes did nothing nice for others. She poked and annoyed everyone here. That wasn't compatible with whipping up a whole new wonderfully cute cuddly toy for a random child overnight. Nora Sykes was EVERYTHING but cute and nice. But honestly- they knew by now that Nora had apparently been a professional seamstress in the upper world- no one except her would have the skill for Munchy 2.0. Not that they knew.

"Well," Nora said snappishly. "I'd know better things to do as a ghost ... if I were dead. Than mending cuddly toys for blubbery brats. But if Snotty Susie's grandma's in the mood for ironing out her brainless mom's mistakes," she concluded, fumbling some colorful pills out of her pocket without looking at anyone and wolfing them down with a spoonful of porridge. Her mood stabilizers, Maggie hoped.

"I think her grandma Mimi did a great job. Maybe she'll be in the mood again sometime. Susie is happy like we've never seen her before. And she's infecting everyone she shows her magical Munchy to. Many children and adults here are not used to unconditional kindness and it is the seemingly meaningless gestures that have the greatest impact. Everyone appreciates acts of kindness. Even from ghosts."

Nora hadn't looked up during Maggie's speech, only grunted to show that she had been listening. Although her head was now almost completely in the bowl as if that was the most important thing, everyone could see that she had blushed to the tips of her ears. Maggie smiled at her relatives, Thomas grinned toothily where Erin looked rather bewildered. Her husband grumbled in his hard-to-interpret way, but sounded quite content.

Maggie saw a little more clearly. Nora Sykes was probably not quite as bad as she had wanted to appear, needed time to warm up and also the right situation to show a different side. She was also not used to and embarrassed by praise and was more of a hot and cold type. What did they call it? A hidden heart of gold? Maybe. It didn't by any means erase the anger and grief she had caused and probably would cause but it helped to make her less repulsive.

They all looked up shortly afterwards as Claw left his place behind the serving counter, or rather was pushed out by the others so he could eat with his family. Susie jumped at him, he picked her up and had the magic Munchy explained to him in detail. And with childishly wide eyes on top as if it was the best thing he had ever seen. After a brief, very meaningful glance at Nora, he turned his full attention to the child in his arms, nodding understandingly as Susie explained that the tail could be bent this way and that way, that the cuddly toy could now even sit upright thanks to this. Nora chuckled quietly and everyone looked at her, whereupon she lost her previously warm, almost affectionate look.

"What? Stripey is the fluffiest marshmallow ever to fluff, hanging on the child's lips like a dork with his big kittenish cat eyes and nodding like a bobble head. He looks SO but is super mom. It's adorably funny."

"Yeah, it kind of is. Most kids are infatuated with him," Thomas agreed suave.

"He loves kids. He's just a caring guy," Derek commented.

"Yeah, I guess he is. And who could resist the world's biggest plushie," mused Nora, turning back to her porridge. Despite her flippant, amused tone, Maggie did notice the small smile at the corner of the woman's mouth, whose last sentence hadn't sounded as if it was only referring to the children.

And when Claw came to them a short time later without the Susie package but with a tray of his food and two glasses of orange juice, pushed one of them to Nora, she thanked him with the proper ASL hand gesture and they both grinned like idiots (whereupon Erin choked on her tea and almost suffocated) Maggie saw in which direction this was going.

Oh dear, another thing they had to worry about?

Thanks for reading, Q.T.