The Urges

Mondegreen

2009-09-07T09:17:23Z

...Well, that was fun. But now it's done. New novel starting at mondegreen2.livejournal.com now.

CHAPTER TWELVE: AND THEY RUSHED FORWARD TOGETHER

2009-08-22T12:52:58Z

"What are you doing right now?"

"Tracing my finger along the... Bones of a new idea."

"Please don't get abstract on me, St. John. I need to know how fast you can get here, not how much pot you smoked today."

"Sorry, I was thinking pictures. I'm here. I can get your heartrate from your cell phone now, even when it's in your pocket. Buzz showed me how."

"Listen, I'm in the city and I can't get ahold of Nadine. I need you to come help me with an induction."

"Oh yeah? How long have you been here?"

"Sisterhood furlough. I just got in today, I have a week. I was planning on hitting the spa but I want to take care of this first."

"What are we looking at, Apache?"

"Gypsy."

"Gypsy, sorry. What's the situation?"

"The usual. Teenage girl, sudden expansion, sitting at a bus stop when it happened. She's choking on it."

"Can you lock her down?"

"I'm doing what I can, but I need somebody to do the low-level before I can move her."

"Where's Jane?"

"I'm on my own today."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Can I...?"

"Send Michael, by all means. I haven't talked to her in a week."

Nadine and Michael pulled up in a car ten minutes later.

"Sorry we're so late."

"I thought it would be a half hour!"

"It would have been, but Andrew's monkeying with the streetlights again. Hi, by the way."

Gypsy pulled her oldest friend into her arms. She looked amazing.

"I'm sorry I haven't called. We were in Arizona, and before that you know..."

"It's been almost a year, Gypsy. You couldn't drop a postcard?"

"Oh my God, remember those postcards I used to send you?"

"I still have every one."

Nadine was proud; her back was strong. She was wearing sunglasses. She'd lost some weight. Gypsy was proud to see she wasn't wearing those Claire suits, like she assumed. She was wearing just a simple sun dress, and some sandals. She looked like herself, but more. She took off her sunglasses and inspected Gypsy carefully.

"Are you eating?"

"Yes. Yes, mom, I'm eating."

"When was the last time you called Palatine?"

Gypsy giggled, and Michael stepped into her arms.

They got the girl into the car, Nadine looping up a strain here and a bulge there to make her easier to manage.

"She's really strong," Nadine said, huffing with effort, while Michael and Gypsy lifted her into the backseat. Buzz nodded, at the wheel. He winked at Gypsy, and the three women piled into the back.

All the way back, Buzz talked about this and that. Andrew was working on a deal to monetize his connection scenarios, something they didn't really understand all about, but he was excited because it would be the first publicly traded company for people like them.

"After Croatia," he said, and left it with that, but Gypsy nodded. Nadine shook her head.

"What's it like in Arizona?" she asked. "People have been appalling."

"It's just hard to accept that things have changed," Gypsy said breezily, and Nadine nodded.

"I wish Claire were here, she'd love to see you."

That evening, Nadine was exhausted. The girl had been too broken for her to do much good, so she'd left her with Andrew and Michael and called it a day. Her mother was in town, staying in Gypsy's old room -- Gypsy was staying with Michael -- and all she could think about the whole way home was slipping off her shoes and having a drink. Lord knew what her mother would have done with the place.

When she walked in, the furniture had been rearranged and her mother was attempting to put together a floor lamp in the living room.

"I think I might be electrocuted, and will probably perish as a result, but I'm glad you're here to see it. This room needs light."

Nadine agreed.

After a half-hour of conversation, she was still keyed up from the day, so without warning she retrieved her bathing suit and something for Marion from the bedroom, and started packing a big tote bag full of picnic foods.

"Get your towel, mom. The sun's going down."

Marion complained all the way out the door. But when they were on the sand, watching the sun go down over the sea, she quieted down. And when it was dark, she took her mother by the hand, and they rushed forward together, toward the ocean.

The next morning, salt clinging to her skin, she showered and dressed for work. She was on call, but for the new girl, and had already planned a date for that evening, with Jeremy. She'd expected Marion to complain, talk about how she was only in town for a little while, but she just giggled and said she'd already made plans with Grace and Michael.

"We're giving Apache a makeover!" she shouted triumphantly, and Nadine reminded her that her name was Gypsy now, and Marion rolled her eyes, and chuckled to herself.

And when she arrived at the clinic, she said hello to the desk girl, and waved to Buzz and Andrew in the staff room, and grabbed some coffee, and headed up to the third floor.

"You can stop it," she told the girl, who stopped twisting in the sheets at her voice.

"I can help you, but you have to do it on your own."

THE END

CHAPTER ELEVEN: DUSTED GRACE

2009-08-20T13:51:29Z

Michael was wearing a crown. Sometimes he was a man, sometimes a woman. Sometimes they danced. Other times, her nails raked across his chest, or her face. He kept holding on. She felt caught, horrible, claustrophobic. "Fucking let me go, you dyke!" she yelled, barely conscious. "No," Michael said, and only held her tighter. She became fire, and a tree. They were doves, fluttering madly in a column of light. They were tigers, clawing at each other on hind legs. They were fucking. They were fighting. He wouldn't let go. She slammed one fist into Michael's breasts, and grabbed at his cock with the other. He moved about her, infinitely flexible, evading her harsher attacks like smoke. "I have somewhere to be," she said, distracted. She was leaving a night club, two sheets in, unsteady on her heels. He was wearing a tuxedo and that crown, holding out a rose. She was on her knees in an alleyway, and Michael stood in the rain, holding out her hands. Apache took them, and he clamped the bracelets on faster than she could see. Their blue-black obsidian light was sickly in the circle. They moved like water, like hideous biology, curling around her wrists like an unwelcome lover and a parasite and a teacher and a punishment, licking at her hands, drawing tighter as they met in the center, drawing her hands together. Like handcuffs. Michael stood above her, looking down. Michael stood below her, looking up. She was larger than the world; she was invisibly small. And Michael stood there, arms held out, ready to catch her. Apache shook her head: Not that way. She became fire, and curled around him. The snakes clattered to the floor like chains.

Nadine shrugged off Jane and Claire, standing in the torrents. Fire rained on her; the wind licked at her burning lips.

"Michael, you can leave the circle."

"But this is what I do, here. I hold her."

"She gets it. We all get it. She's stopped changing shape. This isn't about you."

Apache nodded, huffing like a prizefighter, hands on her knees. She puked in the circle, and it burned like her skin.

"Apache Tear, can you hear me?"

Apache nodded again, still looking at the floor, bent.

"Tell me where you're at."

Buzz started forward, but Grace pulled him back, with a finger to her lips.

"I can't even remember my name, Blue. I'm fucked."

"No, you're okay."

"Blue, you have to..."

"-- Nope. You were right when you said Michael can't do this part. Grandmother can't do it either. I certainly can't do it."

"I'm losing control of my... Shit, my stuff. My body. I don't know..."

"Pick them back up."

"What? That's some S&M bullshit, I'm not into..."

"Just trust me? You don't have to put them on."

Apache nodded, barely conscious, and bent to pick up the snakes.

"What do you see, Patch?"

"I thought it was my totem. I thought I was a snake. Like I could just change into my next thing and leave everything behind."

"And?"

"And they're handcuffs. It's not that easy."

"Would you stick around to save Michael?"

"Don’t."

"Would you stick around to save me?"

"'Course," Apache said, losing her footing.

"But would you die to save me?"

"That's what I'm doing, Blue."

"I don't mean that. I mean, would you die, like, Elphie dead? Morally ethically spiritually physically positively absolutely undeniably?"

"That would be a start."

"Would you die like that for Michael? If you'd never met Grandmother, would you be willing to do that for one of us?"

"Yeah. Even Ruthie. But so what, I know what you're going to say..."

"-- Then don't make me say it."

Apache breathed, nearly falling.

"Look," Nadine said, pushing her luck. "Things are bad. I respect that. They've been bad for a long time. But they've also been good for precisely that amount of time. And infinity is automatically bigger than everything that's got you freaking out right now, which means things are going to get great again, and you're going to miss it. What if I told you that you didn't kill Sylvia Gostock?"

"Can you prove that?"

"That's not the question. I'm asking what it would change."

"Not really anything."

"What if I told you that you positively, absolutely killed her? What would that change?"

"Not really anything."

"Look, Apache Tear. Look at what you made."

A moth took flight around the room, light as a feather. It dusted Grace with its wings, and looped a slow delightful arc around the room before landing on Michael where he'd fallen. Apache stood, to get a better look, and it zoomed above her head, making her laugh, before circling around again and taking light on her outstretched hand.

She could crush it, she thought. Just crush it in her hands, easy as anything. It was small, almost made of paper. But it was lovely, and it was hers. She bent to kiss it, perched on her hand, and it shivered deliciously, but didn't move. It was hers. It always had been.

Michael was on his knees, burning red. The light around her suddenly blazed white, and the whole room seemed to lift into the air. She brought him up, off his knees, and smiled generously at him even as the light faded. He was nearly too far gone to care. Nadine, knowing that look as well as her own hands, or feet, or legs or breasts, sat back in the wheelchair, sweat across her brow. Grandmother blew her a kiss, and vanished.

They said goodbye to the towers, first Ruthie and then -- after a shove from Agnes -- Nadine, and then with regret Buzz. And Andrew closed the circle, as Jeremiah stepped regretfully away. Claire went to him, the second the circle had closed, and gave him a hug of her own. Andrew refused to look at either of them. The heaviness left, and the pressure lifted; the sounds were gone and the smell of electricity, and they were people again.

The White Sisterhood went for cakes and coffee, which caused Buzz to go into some kind of feminist tailspin until Claire patted his shoulder and shook her head. "This is what we do," she said, and shook her head. "They. This is what they do." The rest of them Chart-Danced awkwardly, and Nadine didn't have the heart to remind them that they had no patients.

Everybody trailed out of the room. First the Sisters, to earth the energy and get their gear packed for Croatia. Then, one by one, the Halcyon staff, with tired smiles and claps on the back, as though it were just another day in the life.

Jeremiah stayed behind, to make sure Nadine was put in a proper bed, in a proper room, on a proper floor, and her medical needs were taken care of before everybody passed out. It was sweet; she could barely care.

And so it was that when Jeremiah Tarquin kissed her softly on the lips, Nadine Blumenthal was nearly asleep.

She thought it was a dream for almost a year; it embarrassed her when she remembered it, which was often. More often than she'd like.

And when she finally told him, he blushed to the roots of his perfect hair.

Alone in the conference room, Apache held her hands up over her head, dancing the hula where nobody could see her. The blue snakes came alive in her hands, like lightning. Like fire.

There were blue sparks, all along Apache Tear's hands. She held them like lightning, high above her head. Not too hard and not too soft.

One snake bent and softly licked her wrist. She smiled as its sister burnt in turn.

CHAPTER TEN: KIND OF A TRICK

2009-08-20T12:33:35Z

"I call on Uriel -- thanks, Nadine -- I call on Uriel, Guardian of the North. I stand in the North and invoke the Powers of Earth, stabilizer and nurturer, White Buffalo Woman, Grandmother Spider. She rakes the ground and shakes the earth, she is solid as the mountains and quick as the water and the wind and the fire."

Jeremiah stared at Ruthie, intrigued. She'd been so quiet, so small, before now. Now he could see why Jane Crow chose her to hold the Tower: she was like a pillar of stone whose roots dove down below the crust beneath them. Even with the obnoxious pseudo-Native Wiccan deal, she was clearly in her element. So to speak.

At first he'd overlooked her -- Jane Crow was exotic, and Hannah was straight sexy -- but now she seemed like an axis of the world. He cast his eyes around the group, and noticed Michael noticing her as well, as if for the first time. This was somebody who'd been through the shit and come through it.

"Apache, I didn't like you when we were growing up because I thought you weren't serious. I was, and am, grateful for your help that time. I'm returning the favor. But I can't see that you're any more serious now than you were back then. Maybe I just don't get you. Like Buzz said, you live in the South. Winter Horse always said the other quarter is your blind spot, so maybe that's why we never got along. You're too much fire and I'm too much earth."

Apache nodded, splaying her hands apart in a movement of placation. Nadine could understand: it was so obvious it was almost past mentioning.

"But there's a thing that I can give you that nobody else can: I've been through this. I've made the choice you're making. And I can make sure you make an informed choice. I can offer you checkbooks and tax breaks and landscapes and laundry. I can offer you the most delicious food, and babies' diapers. I can give you money and success, and heartbreak and failure. I can give you everything that chases you down."

Apache dragged her brain back to the conversation, and turned near-comatose Michael around in the circle so she could look closer at Ruthie. She'd grown into a woman.

"You used to gather us around in the Sweat and teach us this stuff. You'd tell us how to put on makeup, and tell us myths and stories about men and women and the magic they'd make. You didn't know anything. You were reading from Danielle Steele and Babysitter's Club. Some of us knew, some of us didn't. I knew, but I kept quiet. You were pretending. And you've pretended yourself right into a trailer park."

Apache scoffed, looking around herself as though that would save her.

"This is all an act. You come to these people like a fucking addict and think that just because they love you, you've become a grownup. I own ten condos. It's how we pay for the Sisterhood."

"What is the Sisterhood, anyway?" Apache asked.

"We're like the Sweat. But on steroids. You guys at Halcyon wait around for people to come to you. We've got the best psychics looking for trouble spots. There are seven Halcyon centers in the entire world. Do you know how many Sisters there are?"

"Ruth," Jane said. Not harshly, but firm. "The subject. Stick to it."

"You taught me the world. You taught me to be afraid of it, and to love it. You taught me how to dress, how to talk, how to live. All the things you and Nadine forgot, you taught me. And I don't know why it took, for me. But I want to return the favor."

"You sound like a bitch," said Apache.

"I... Know. I know that, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a bitch. But my thing, one of my abilities, is looking at the clock over your head. And it's ticking down, Apache Tear. And that pisses me off. Because I've lost a lot, trying to save the world. My family is the women in this room. I wouldn't give that up for anything. But when I was little, I used to imagine my wedding. Did you ever do that?"

Apache's speech was halting when she replied. "When I was going to sleep, sometimes." She blushed, looking at Michael. "Sometimes still. Whatever a good day is. Sometimes it's being interviewed on Ellen."

"I won't have a wedding. I gave that up. I burned off a part of myself because I knew I could make a difference. And I'm standing here looking at you -- going through something I went through, and making the weak choice -- and I know, I can feel, that before you even started this shit you were more powerful than any of us. More than Nadine, even. And you're giving that up? That spits on me. You spit on me."

"I'm not spitting. I'm tired."

"We are all tired, Apache Tear. I'm tired. You've nearly killed Nadine and Andrew..."

"-- And Gostock probably, and a host of other people. Maybe Winter Horse."

"That's supposition. The person whose life you're responsible for is Apache Tear. You can save that life. You give up nothing."

"So they keep telling me. Nobody will tell me the catch."

"Here's the fucking catch, trailer trash: You have to eat, you have to shit, you have to get your period. You might get pregnant and have a baby. You have to pay your bills on time. You have to care for your credit rating like a fucking blind wallaby."

"What?"

"I don't know. We went to the zoo. I have wallabies on my mind. Fuck that. Don't drag me off-track. I'm talking about this," Ruth said, stomping one small foot. "This is all around you. You deserve it. You don't even know the deal. What people have given up. What people are going through. Because you're so busy feeling sorry for yourself."

Life flooded Apache. Her cheeks reddened, and she drew herself up to her full height.

"Listen, bitch. I have never felt sorry for myself. You don't know me."

"I know you've let yourself rot. You were the brightest among us. The last fifteen years have been a fucking litany of how much easier it would be if Apache were here, what if Apache just showed up and saved us from this fucking jam. We don't need you, but it's hard to hate you when we know you're just in some fucking trailer park letting it go to waste. At the least you could have worked here, at the Clinic, but no: not Apache. Too unique. Too burdened by a lifetime of pain."

Apache opened her mouth once, twice, and shut it again with a slapping sound both times. There was nothing to say. Ruthie was on a tear.

"I bring you numbers, and money. Good wine, rich food. I bring you the sky falling down with pleasure. I bring you your body, and all the wonders of the world. And all the terrors and inconveniences and annoyances, too. I drop those at your door. What makes you so special, that you don't have to worry about a mortgage? If you said it was because you were an artist it would make me sick, but you can't even manage that. You live above the world, skating over it."

"We're losing her," Buzz said, shuddering.

"Seriously. Ruth, can you possibly...?"

Ruthie shook her head at Claire and Jane Crow, separately, and sent an apologetic smile Buzz's way.

"I can talk to you like this because I know you. You made me. You took me out of heaven, or hell, or whatever it was, and you put me right back in the world. You know what you did. You fixed it. And it's not easy, and it's not nice, but it's life. Life, do you understand? I've met what they're turning you into. You think you're going to be like Grandmother? You're not. You'll be a clockwork thing, not alive and not dead. Just one thing, all the time. You'll be the Angel of Rape, or Revenge, or Adultery, or fuckin' Hedgehogs, and that's all you will be. You don't get a choice. They don't tell you that part. They just wind you up and let you go."

Apache shook her head.

"Grandmother said I would just nudge things..."

"-- Yeah. The Angel of Nudging. Of Inconvenience or Resentment or Bitterness or Dropped Cell Phone Calls. Or if you're really lucky, you can take over for the big boys: Mercy, or Justice."

Apache had no response to that.

"So Grandmother's really just..."

"No, she's awesome. There are plenty of people and spirits and whatever who would excel at that stuff. I'm just saying it would be the easy way out. For you. You excel at being alive. At being Apache Tear. You would lose that. And I would fucking hate you for it."

(Nadine nodded; it was too close for complete comfort to a frequent rant of Apache's: "I'm sure there are excellent bank tellers and apartment locators and infantrymen and kindergarten teachers and priests, I'm just saying most people who do that are choosing the easy way out. I've met very few people who were honestly put on this earth to do those things." She'd always found it offensive, but now she was picturing Apache as all of those, one by one, and realizing Ruth was right.)

"Don't get confused. If you do this, you do this, and Apache Tear -- the woman we're all here to save, the woman we all love, even if we hate your ass -- is gone. You're going to lose your genitalia, did She tell you that part?"

"No, she did not."

Michael laughed at that, still swooning.

"So what you're saying is, you hate me so much you'd die to keep me around?"

"No. What I'm saying is, and maybe I should have started with this, is that everybody else -- even Nadine, in her rambling way -- is here to give you something. Weapons or armor or stories or pictures. But I'm here to take something away."

"And that's what?"

"Hate."

"What?"

"You climb inside it, like a cave. You love it when people hate you, it's why you ask for it."

"So I want everybody to love me -- which makes me an asshole -- and at the same time I want everybody to hate me? Which also makes me an asshole?"

"Yes."

"What a worthless piece of moth I've turned out to be. You're losing me, Ruth."

"I take that away. I remove it from the equation. Nobody hates you. You've become invisible enough that the only people left, love you. Nobody in this room hates you. Nobody outside this room hates you. You have no enemies. You are surrounded by love. You have nowhere to hide. I love you."

Apache looked at Michael, who grinned.

"It's kind of a trick, Apache."

"Well, I won't stand for it. I can feel my body breaking. I can feel it peeling away. I can just stand here and let it take me."

Michael shook his head.

"Actually, you can't. You’ve got three circles around you. Andrew lit them himself. You don't have anywhere to go. You have to look at this."

"No. I don't. Fuck all of you. Got that? Fuck. All of you. I want out of this playground."

"Michael," said Claire, and he nodded at her.

"They've given you everything we can. It's your deal now. But you're not leaving."

Apache's eyes went wild, searching from face to face.

Michael was strong again. Her arms held Apache suddenly very tight indeed.

"They've got us there, Granddaughter." The old woman was standing in the doorway.

Something died, and something was born. Apache began to change shape.

It hurt. She didn't mind.

CHAPTER NINE: THIS TIME I WON'T BITE

2009-08-20T10:18:02Z

I've known you for half my life. It feels like my whole life, most of the time. I don't really know who I was before I met you. I guess that's just that age, for most of us. The people we know didn't really seem to figure themselves out until they were the age we are now. Or sometime in their twenties. So if I'd met you in my twenties then that's when it would have started. My life.

Well, not everybody. Just us. Like this place... I was always jealous of the people who seemed to know exactly what they wanted, and how to get it, when we were still floundering. I tried to keep up and I guess I felt like a fraud, I...

Sorry. I know I talk about myself a lot but it doesn't feel like it because it's just me saying I understand. So it seems like I'm talking about myself but really I'm just saying, "I already know myself, I'm trying to make you feel better by telling you we're the same." Or similar. Or just... Less alone. Both of us. By talking about myself.

Sorry. I was supposed to do the whole thing, the magic stuff, and I plumb forgot. Gabriel, Angel of the West. He was the one that stood in the doorway to Eden and wouldn't let them come back in. All I ever wanted was to let you back in. Let us both back in. All I wanted was to just go backward, somehow, so we could both be... Normal. Safe. Clean.

That word, now. Clean. I think that word shouldn't exist. Or at least we shouldn't apply it to people. Do you remember the poetry at the Sweat? Bethany loved teaching that stuff. Taking words apart and putting them back together. I loved Blake, and you hated him. Mumbo-jumbo and claptrap. And I agree about that, sort of, but that's not why I liked him. You always made fun of me for loving magic and fantasy and science fiction and stuff, but that's not why I liked him. I liked him because he talked about innocence and experience like they were just two...

Things. Places on a map. And we get further and further away from one, and closer and closer to the other. And we think that's bad, because we imagine that it was better when we were innocent, or that we were never innocent so things must have been better back there. But I don't know about that. Your hands get dirty, you wash them clean. It doesn't take anything away. It just adds. That's what Buzz means when he talks about causality, I think.

Sorry. Um, you used to drive around with a six-pack in your lap. I thought it was so cool. I also thought it was horrible. I thought most of the things you did were both. I loved them, and I hated them. You scared me so often. But I wanted it, too. You always seemed so much older than me. We were afraid of different things, but the things I was afraid of seemed so much bigger that you seemed braver, and I wanted it. And I couldn't do any of the things I wanted to do, secretly wanted to do, because it would damage your opinion of me. Or your image, your image of me. I needed you to think I was good. You needed that too.

I always thought that you were making me a stronger person, a better person. I don't think that anymore. I think we just kept each other alive. But I don't think that's bad anymore, either. If somebody had said that to me six months ago I would have been so grossed out. Now I think it's good. I think it is good to love somebody. Even if that's all you have.

You liked the trailer park more than I did. So that made me like the trailer park more, because I was trying to be more like you. But I know you would have liked it better if I'd refused to ever live there with you, because it would have pulled you up. You pulled me up all the time, and I never felt like I was doing the same thing. I couldn't help you, because you wouldn't let me. I think now that it just meant I was helping after all.

I couldn't stand to have a friend like me. I would have thought she was the most boring, hateful person in the universe. And I guess I always looked down on you for that. You're so beautiful and flamboyant, you could be friends with anybody in the world, and you chose me. It just seemed lazy. On my good days it seemed lazy. On my bad days I thought it was just to make you look good. If you walk into a place with a girl who's fatter than you and uglier than you, it automatically makes you look pretty. Before the hospital I used to tell the girls that: Always keep your ugly friends close. That was before I met you. I always thought you would have liked that girl more. She was hard and popular and mean and strong and funny, and by the time you met me I was so messed up I wasn't any of those things anymore. And I didn't have to be, because there was you.

The day we met, I felt like a girl. I mean, I felt like you were a boy. Your eyes picked me out of the crowd, and it was so flattering. It was like falling in love. I couldn't believe you, I couldn't believe in you, but then here you came. Like you were determined to be my friend no matter what. It took me so long to even trust that. Way longer than you probably think. We'd been friends for years before I believed you. And sometimes I wonder if that's why you kept things hidden. Secrets from me, the whole time, probably because you could tell I wasn't buying it. You probably thought it said something bad about you, but that's impossible, because all I think about is myself.

Sorry. Obviously. Obviously all I think about is myself. Apologizing even, constantly, just for existing, because I need everybody to like me all the time. To overlook my obvious faults and my not-so-obvious ones. And meanwhile you're just... I know it's not easy for you, making friends. I know the look in your eye when you decide to conquer somebody and make them love you. That's another thing I stole.

It wasn't him that cheated on me. It was you. I heard that you were talking to him, while I was asleep. (I can't wait to tell you about that!) I think that's probably good. I am peaceful or whatever about the fact that you and that bastard Roland have a thing, a relationship however slim, that doesn't have to do with me. A whole story. And normally, because Marion Blumenthal for all her faults is a decent feminist and raised me well in some ways, I would never go there: the person you should be mad at is the man, not the Other Woman, because he's the one cheating. Anything else is just bitches fighting, and that's another way they keep us down.

But in this case, Roland was the other woman. And you knew that. Which means that you both wanted to destroy me, in some way. Because I fucked up again. Because I was taking over your lives, or I wasn't living up to your expectations and I was warping the world around you. Don't bother disagreeing with me, because I want to keep this short: I can see inside your heart. Your heart is inside my little house. So I also know the whole story, stem to stern, fire and water, and when I say that I forgive you I can mean it. I can see my part in it without blaming myself. We were all adults. Three adults. Sort of.

Sorry. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it took a lot of things, a lot of causality, to get us here. And the part of the story that I'm responsible for is very grateful to be here. If it weren't for those effing bracelets and the whole thing, your trip to Halcyon even, I wouldn't have met Grandmother. Whom, and you clearly disagree, is on my side. And yours. I wouldn't have met Grace or Ruby, or Buzz and Airplane Kid, or Claire and Jeremiah, or any of it. I wouldn't have seen the women Jane Crow and Ruthie grew up to be. And I would still be in Bartleby Creek Trailer Home & Parking Lot, with or without you, working at Target, under a bushel.

But really, without you I wouldn't be alive at all. You taught me about the world, the good bits and the bad bits. You taught me about danger, and how to protect myself. And I knew where it was coming from, which made me even more grateful.

But I want to return the favor, and that means pointing out that you're in considerable danger. I'm about one centimeter from death right now, so I know what it looks like and I know what it smells like and I know how we're both picking at the threads in Grace's twinset sweater right now, just being this close to death.

You think death is going to make you clean, but it's not. There's still going to be a body and I'm still going to have to bury it. And the thought of that makes me so angry I can't fucking stand it. I'm like pre-angry at you, which makes it very difficult. Because I love you right now, today, more than I ever have in my entire life.

So here's what I can give you, I guess.

Before, when I said you were a butterfly, I looked a little closer and it turns out I was wrong. Your aura or whatever, back when I could see it, back before you started turning into pieces of God, wasn't a butterfly: it was a moth. Butterflies are for those girls, the pretty ones, the ones we hated. The ones that never had a problem in their lives, and just moved from one state to another. Embryo larva pupa imago. They turn them into effing tattoos. That's not how we work. Moths don't get the credit but they should. They're just as beautiful, but nobody notices. That's you. You're so busy being hot you forgot how pretty you are.

I can't produce it for you right now because you're glowing like the sun -- frankly, I think I'm going blind right now anyway -- but it's true. Which leads back to the thing.

I can give you the loveliest, most delicate moth. It flies at the fire and returns to the earth. It gets burned, and it learns. I can give you my love, and the love of everyone here. Even if neither of us remember it, they love you. More than me. I love you more than me.

Stop waving your hands and let me say this. You have to at least let us get through this ceremony or whatever before you make your decision, and that means letting me speak. That's the thing I've always hated most about you: the interrupting. You always say, "But I won't remember!" And I always think, "Millions of grownups are able to remember what they were going to say, every single day, and still demonstrate basic etiquette. So what makes you so special?"

I know what makes you special. And it's not me. And it's not Michael, and it's not what happened when you were a kid or when your parents died or when you nearly died or whatever other awful stuff you're too scared to tell me about. What makes you special is a secret that Grandmother whispered into your ear the first second of your life, when you were new. And it still does.

Your hope is that there's a room in your house that's clean, and untouched by all the horrors of this world. And what I wanted to tell you is that you have it wrong. At most, you have a room that could use cleaning up. And the whole rest of your house is spotless: you just forgot to live there.

Did you ever have that dream? For me, it's a big to-do and they hang curtains out of the castle windows, to find out which rooms are hidden. Probably for you it's simpler, or nastier, but it's the same thing. You're living in the smallest, scariest room in your house, guarding a cupboard with secrets inside. And I almost died finding this out, but: Just open the door. Just look inside. Tell somebody your secrets, just to prove you're brave enough. And if you can't tell somebody else, tell yourself. Own it. You've spent your whole life thinking your body, your story, your little house isn't your property. That's the harshest, ugliest lie of all. The only person that ever owned your body is you, and the ground you stand on, and the fire in your heart.

Okay, okay. One more thing, sorry. I get carried away because I love you so much. One more story, and one more thing to give you, and then you're all Ruthie's.

Farmer guy finds this snake. It's cold, like it's snowing, it's about to get really cold for the winter. So the choice is, get inside where it's warm, or deal with this snake. Bring it inside. It's nearly dead when he picks it up, barely moving. He takes it inside, and lays it down by the fire. Every day he brings it grasshoppers and stuff, and finally the snake wakes up, and she goes, "It was so cold out there, and so warm here by your hearth! Thanks!"

And the farmer says, "The rules are, you can't bite me, because we're friends." And the snake agrees and goes, "Maybe we're friends, maybe not. But you're not putting me back out in the snow, are you?" Of course not. Of course he's not going to. They're friends. All through the winter.

And that day comes, that spring day, when the flowers bloom and the sun is totally self-assured, and the farmer heads over to the snake to take her outside. And the snake, she loves the farmer so much. Not because of what he did for her, or what he fed her, or for saving her. She honestly just thinks he's great. They love each other.

But the farmer's clomping over on his giant feet, and there's a snake brain part inside the snake that gets nervous, and the rattle starts up. The snake's going, "Don't come any closer!" And the dumb farmer's like, "What are you doing? We're totally buddies! It's all sunshiny, come look!" Not getting it. And the snake tells him to get out of the way, and he doesn't do it. He thinks there's no danger at all.

And he reaches down for the snake with his big dumb hand, and the snake's just about crosseyed with wishing -- "This time I won't bite, this time I won't bite" -- but they're both wrong. She bites him anyway. Sinks those fangs in deep. And the farmer, he's losing consciousness, and he reaches his hand out like this as he's dropping, like, "Why?" And the snake, embarrassed but not a prohibitive amount, is like, "Um, pretty sure you knew what I was when you brought me into your house."

And you're looking at me with this horrified look on your face, because after all this time you still think you're the snake. And it breaks my heart, because I love you so much, but I know that's what you're thinking.

And what I'm trying to say is that you're not the snake and you never were. You're the farmer. We all are.

The snake is love.

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE GODS LIKE NOTHING BETTER

2009-08-20T10:17:13Z

Andrew wavered on his feet. Apache had hit with something there at the end, some kind of wave, that hit both him and Michael square in the knees. Jeremiah rushed forward, putting his arms around Andrew's chest so that he didn't let go of Buzz and Grace and break the circle. Nadine could feel the energy, dancing across their fingertips: From Buzz, through Claire and to Nadine. The thought of the circle being broken made her want to cry.

Andrew's face was screwed up like a child as he tried to get his footing, pressed back against Jeremiah with his eyes shut tight, repulsed by his touch and frustrated by his need to be held upright.

"Shh, shh," said Buzz, and Jeremiah sighed, resting his face against the back of Andrew's neck, ashamed.

"That was a long time ago, Andrew. I... Just let me help you."

The tears running down Andrew's face were hot, embarrassed. Buzz blushed, but held onto Andrew's hand tightly, almost crying along with him.

"Buzz, get this fuck off me."

Buzz shook his head.

"This is what he's doing. This is his part in this. Just let him help. I know it's hard..."

"We've all got things to apologize for, Andrew. Let this be mine."

"I said you would never touch me again and I..."

"I'm not touching you. I'm holding you up. I'm sorry. God, Andy, if you only..."

"Boys." Claire's voice was harsh. "This is not the time. This is why Ben left. We don't have time for this shit. Andrew, suck it up. You're at work."

He nodded, the tears on his cheeks drying as he stared at the carpet.

Apache's face sought out Nadine's face and she mouthed a wide-eyed What. The. Fuck.

Sex cult, Nadine mouthed back, shrugging weakly, and they both giggled.

Andrew's back finally relaxed against Jeremiah's body, and he tightened his hold, his olive arms tightened around Andrew's chest, crossing. Andrew looked to Buzz for comfort, and he nodded: firm, but sad. He looked older, more mature, than she'd seen him in a long time. She was too tired to reach out and find more, but given the look on her face she knew Grace would be able to give her some information later.

"Michael. Great snake of the hearth. I stand in the South. I call to you. I invoke the Fire."

Apache's eyes, glassy, were drawn back to Nadine's face at that. Nadine wondered if she'd encountered Snake, or something like her, during her time with Grandmother. Apache patted Michael's hair; he was leaning into her neck, sweating, and had jerked awake when Buzz called to his namesake.

"Apache, I can give you..." He laughed, deep in his throat, and she rolled her eyes. "I can give you dreams. The future. The possibility of life. Of any number of lives. I can give you lightning, crossing from heaven down to earth. I give you the breath of life. I give you sparks, and flames, and fleeting images of heaven."

Nadine was amazed.

"I bring you a story, about a girl who burned in the fire until there was nothing left. I bring you a story, of the girl who was born from the ashes. I bring you a story of the girl who grew wings. I bring you joy and the sparks between bodies. I give you the story of a girl who went down into the labyrinth..."

"-- I know that story, that's not how it..."

"-- I bring you the story of a girl who went down into the labyrinth against her will. And when she came back, she was darker. There were scars on her body and on her soul. And she thought she had to spend her life there, in the dungeon, in the fire. She thought she deserved a week without danger, but a year without sun. I bring you the truth of that story: She was wrong. She brought the fire with her. She brings the sun. To all of us."

"I don't know what you're trying to do here..."

This time it was Michael's turn to shush his lover. She struggled in his arms. Buzz looked at Claire, who nodded sharply.

"I give you a body made for love. Never anger, never pain. Never shame. That's someone else's taint. Some other soul carries that sin. You are clean. I give you a body that could never have been taken away. I bring you the knowledge of your own perfect body. I bring you an unblemished soul, and the possibility of joy. I give you the option of fucking. I give you permission to burn."

"I didn't ask for it."

"You already have it. You've spent your life embarrassed for someone else's mistake."

Apache grew uncomfortable. The light pressing down on them added heat to its gravity, and the chittering sound of a thousand insects. The room within their circles went red.

Buzz's voice only grew louder.

"I bring you the story of a girl, standing at the edge of a lake, ready to dive. I bring you the story of a girl, standing at the edge of a cliff, while the wind washes her clean. I bring you a story, of a girl who nearly died for wanting. I bring you the story of a girl who held the fire in her hands, and was not burned. I bring you the story of beauty, and a burning in the throat."

"What beauty? What are you talking about?"

"Yours. Your beauty. Your love. Your dreams. A whole world, yours. I can give you a reminder that the future is unwritten, and the strength to write upon the page. I can give you the fire to carry you over the darkest places. I can give form to your passion, I can help you hold the fire. You have always lived in the South, where I am now. In the fire. You danced in it. Let me show you how to make it dance in its turn. Let me help you take hold of it, and shape the world according to your will."

"I already have that, apparently."

"No, you don't. You have fear and hate and shame, but you have no will. The world responds to your most hidden thoughts and dreams, the secrets you can't tell yourself. That's the opposite of will. I can show you will. You shape the world, every second of the day. I can teach you how to choose."

"Grandmother offered me the same thing. I'm dying now, because of it."

"You make pact with witches and gods. I can show you how to steal that fire."

"I don't think Grandmother would like that very much."

"I will tell you a secret: The gods like nothing better. They wait on their mountaintops and in their sacred places, waiting for us to be brave enough to live our lives. They weep when we don't."

"You're all about antiquity, right? What about hubris?"

"That word means nothing," Andrew said, having recovered. He leaned easily against Jeremiah Tarquin now, as though he'd never freaked out about it. Nadine wondered if she'd somehow pushed a button there. She was still getting used to her new house.

"That word means thinking that we're gods. All-powerful. Eternal. I don't have that problem. Do you?"

"Not yet. But I'm working on it," Apache laughed, but Nadine could tell she was trying to understand him. She was so dreadfully afraid. Nadine was proud of her.

"Hubris as a term has been so bastardized it doesn't mean anything anymore. We use that word when we're afraid of reaching too far, or trying too hard. When we're afraid of failing. So then we can look back and say it was a sin of pride."

"I don't have that."

"Then how can you risk hubris? Find a better word."

"It's too hot in here for semantics."

"Then cut it out. Listen to what he's saying."

"I'm trying."

"Apache, we've talked about it before, and I know you agreed with me."

Apache hunched her shoulders, confused again. It was so hot there were waves occluding Nadine's vision. She hadn't thought about the physical effects when she came up with this brilliant plan. She could feel herself fading.

"We already know everything there is. We pretend that we don't."

"That's a cool idea, I like it, but I don't see..."

"What Buzz is offering you -- what he will refuse to shut up about, now that it's come up -- is the possibility of knowing that stuff. Remember how you felt, reaching out into Halcyon and helping all the people? What if your life could be like that?"

"Um, it will be."

"That's why you chose death, so you could have that? That's not life. That's just... Lonely."

"I am already lonely." Her voice was rising, and with it the temperature. Buzz's sweat glistened, as he reached out to Andrew and placed one heavy hand upon his arm.

"Apache, I can't hold the South Tower much longer."

"Then by all means let's move this along. I'm still not convinced."

"Okay, but let me say one more thing."

Even Grace rolled her eyes this time.

"I used to drive down the freeway, and some guy would cut me off, or be talking on his cell phone and fuck something up, and I'd sit there and think about how this jerkoff would probably be doing this for miles, and eventually he -- and other dicks like him -- would accumulate all their little stops and starts and general dick moves, and before you know it there would be a traffic jam. Or a pileup."

"Sure," Apache shrugged.

"But it goes both ways. Because if you flip that guy the finger, or punish him in some way, speed up and slow down in front of him or whatever, then his day is going to get worse. Maybe on top of some problem he's having anyway that you don't know about. And then he gets to work, and he's mean to somebody on the phone, and they're mean back, so now he's in a bad mood and he's a jerk to the next five people on the phone. And those five people are now having worse days, so one of them is a bitch to a waitress..."

"Please don't use that word," said Jane, and he grinned.

"So one of them is rude to a waitress, and one of them is rude at the bank, and one of them feels entitled to cut in line at the movie theatre, which ruins five more people's experience at the movie because the guy's being a dick..."

"This is the most boring story of all time."

"Well, but think about it. Those little rudenesses become war eventually. Or murder, or violence. Somebody goes home frustrated and takes it out on their kid, and that kid is stuck with it."

"People suck? That's your point? Well, let me join that nasty, brutish, short little existence! That sounds way better than living in the sky."

"Your power means you don't have to be a part of it. Well, being a person means you don't have to be a part of it. I'm still working on that. But your ability... You can jump levels. That's what your power means. You can reach back and chill those 128 people out by making patient zero's life better. Don't you understand that?"

"This is my first day in the selflessness game, so I'm a little rusty..."

"I'm not talking about selflessness, I'm talking about the opposite. I'm talking about giving yourself a smoother ride by being kind to everybody else. What did Nadine call it? 'A house as big as the world.' You can live there too. You could keep the patients from ever coming in our doors, just by thinking about it in your spare time. Do you know what I would give for that? Any of us?"

"You're saying..."

"I'm saying I can give you a choice. You see a million futures laying before you, every second of every day. I've watched you, in the last year, be paralyzed by them. I'm telling you that you could just choose the better ones, for everybody. You can be a superhero right here on earth. You don't have to die to do that. You don't have to take yourself out of it, to enjoy that. You deserve to enjoy it."

"Compelling," she said snottily, but Nadine could tell she was considering his point.

"All you have to do is allow yourself to know all the things you're afraid to know. To understand the dreams and fears that brought you here. To be conscious of the thousand tiny shitty things you do every day -- that all of us do -- and be strong enough to avoid them."

"You mean like recycling? Saving the world?"

"I'm not interested in saving the world, I'm into changing it. You'd have to ask somebody else about that. I'm into the future, half there all the time, and that's what I'm offering you. I just know that your relationship with time and causality is beautiful, like something Andrew would think up. And, coincidentally, it happens to belong to somebody I really respect in her own right. Become an angel or a demigod or whatever you're doing, and that power still exists, but you become less interesting. We don't get to hang out anymore. It's not your power I'm asking you for: it's you. I want you to stay. I can help you deal."

Apache looked up, and to the side. Michael's arms, as he stood against her, her were in constant movement. His head, buried in her neck, only nodded. Nadine thought he wouldn't last too long, and cleared her throat. Jane and Claire smiled, and gestured her on.

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE OPPOSITE OF EXORCISM

2009-08-20T10:16:10Z

Claire arrived with the snakes, and everybody shuffled into their places. The light was pressing down so hard it felt like gravity. It felt like being facedown on the concrete, but up instead of down.

"I feel like I'm standing on my head," Andrew said, and Nadine nodded. He rolled his eyes and smiled.

The seven White Sisters were standing in a circle around the Halcyon workers: Nadine, with Jane and Claire holding her hands, and Apache Tear in front of her. On the other side was Andrew, with Bethany and Grace. Nadine nodded at Jane Crow, who'd given everybody their positions easily on sight. This was really more of her thing anyway.

"First we need to call the quarters, so this space doesn't get any unnecessary attention and we don't lose anything while we're working. Dr. Tarquin, you need to run support with my girls, so I'm going to ask Ruthie to take North. Is that okay?"

Ruth nodded and stood in the north corner. Thought that meant Earth, if Nadine remembered correctly. She and Apache had always made fun of Winter Horse's Wiccan stuff, but she'd take anything she could get at this point. Plus, it was nice to feel like she was there with them.

"Hannah, Vera and Agnes, you're on the perimeter with Jeremiah. Watch us."

The four of them stalked to the corners of the room. The woman called Agnes, a middle-aged Korean lady in a red caftan, stood behind Nadine and Jane; she could feel her back there, as solid as a wall. Jeremiah went to the opposite corner, behind Andrew and Grace.

"Andrew, you're East. Dr. Aldrin, you'll take South." Air, and Fire. Still good, still making sense. It was coming back to her. That probably meant Gracie would be West, Water. But then why was Jane looking at her?

"Nadine, you have to do Water. This stuff is all around you, and you're the only one strong enough to take it."

"I'm falling down here, Jane."

"I know. I'll be here, between you and Ruth."

"But can't Grace..."

"Dr. Connelly will be supporting St. John and Aldrin. I wrote all this down on a napkin, I don't remember where I put it. We have to make the circle as tight as can be, which means we all have to do it."

Apache opened her mouth to protest, but Jane shot her a look neither of them had ever seen on her face, in the old days, and she shut it again.

"Bethany and Claire, you'll take the other two corners."

Andrew took hold of Bethany and Grace's hands, and smiled easily; Claire put her hand into Nadine's and trembled at its weakness. Buzz winked wildly at them both, and Claire jerked his hand in a vise grip, nervous. Nadine could tell she hated this stuff almost as much as Apache did.

"Okay, everybody's in line? The inner circle, and the guys outside. Jeremiah, the girls are used to this but I should probably say it: you need to keep your eyes peeled. It's not just me and Nadine and Ruth that will need you -- you have to be able to get around the room at second's notice if one of the towers starts to give."

Jeremiah nodded, knowingly, and Michael cleared his throat.

"Aren't you forgetting somebody?"

Jane blushed. "Dr. Palatine. The, um, the best for last. You're going in the middle of the circle."

Apache groaned, shrugging her head down into her neck, but Nadine could see that he was pleased.

"In here? With me? While I... Whatever happens, I don't want him getting hurt. In fact, why don't you just leave, Michael."

She looked at the floor.

"Not a chance?" He stepped through their hands and into the circle, taking her shoulders gently in his hands. He didn't try to touch her face or make her look at him, just stood there with his hands on her arms, breathing softly and looking at her face, memorizing every angle.

"Let's call this our first date. Jane, what do I do?"

"Just hold her."

Apache began to cry, embarrassed and frustrated, but Nadine knew she would go along with it. They'd already wasted so much time, and they were sweating already: to turn them down now would be too much embarrassment.

"Patch, I don't even think this is going to take too long, honestly. We'll get out of this and go back to normal and we'll sleep for a week. I'll even take a drag off your cigarette, if you'll let me."

Apache smiled, that goofy smile that was all teeth. She hated that smile, she always had, and she tamed it whenever possible. That meant that when you saw it, it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

"It's true," Claire said. "We're all due for some vacation time after this. Especially considering we don't have any patients anymore, thanks to Dr. Tear."

"Apache, Claire."

Claire grinned to herself and Nadine wondered again if that were her version of a joke. Grace squealed, across the circle from them, clutching at Andrew's arm.

"Oh! Let's all go somewhere together!"

Buzz snorted, and she slapped at his arm.

"Like where, Gracie?"

"Like an island, or something. The beach. Nadine could really use some color. And we could get to know you guys," she said, gesturing around the room at the White Sisterhood. Jane Crow shook her head. Nadine couldn't get over her short hair.

"We were actually on our way to something when Tarquin called us. I don't think we'll be able to go on any trips for a month or two."

Claire cocked her head with professional curiosity, and Jane shook her head apologetically.

"It's not top secret or anything, but honestly I'm not sure what it is. This occult group in the Balkans is sort of losing it, some kind of fifth column deal with a local spirit..."

"--In the Balkans, you said?"

"Yeah. I think it's a Halcyon-related facility, actually. A bunch of refugees from the Shh..."

"Šumska Hajduk," Claire said easily. "In Osijek."

Buzz reached out to take her hand; she was shaking.

"I'm sure Ben can handle whatever it is. He would have emailed or called if he needed help."

Claire shook her head, staring at the wall.

"No, he really wouldn't. But anyway, none of this is crucial at the moment. Jane, when we're done here I'd like to discuss this with you in further detail, if that's all right."

Jane nodded, obviously concerned, but Claire waved it off with a smile and a light laugh.

"Grace, what do you think about a vacation in Croatia?"

"I'm so sure," Grace smiled, and shook her head. "Polish guys are cute, though. Maybe a whole Eastern Bloc tour. I never get to wear my really good winter wool."

Andrew shivered elaborately and opened his mouth to complain, but Michael finally looked up at them with a stern, firm set to his mouth.

"We could keep talking about it all night, or we could stop procrastinating. Claire, I know Dr. Almondine is important to you -- he is important to all of us, in some way or another -- but if we don't take care of this situation we're all probably going to die. Apache is going nuclear. So I'd appreciate it if we could all put our big-girl panties on and deal with the task at hand. This is exactly why all our staff meetings are a fucking year long."

"Point taken," Grace said, obviously offended, "But I think we're all adults here and we need to be in our best form for this. If that involves a little office banter beforehand, I don't really feel like we need to be chastised for it. Look at the Sisterhood, they're not bothered at all. And we did just find out that a beloved colleague is being menaced by some kind of Croatian yeti, or something. Try to be a bit more compassionate."

"I'm just asking for a little focus."

"No, you're just asking us to take this more personally than usual, because it's your girlfriend..."

"-- Not his girlfriend..."

"Shut up, Apache. I'm doing something here." Grace cleared her throat, and Jane's ladies laughed, amazed. "Michael, as I was saying, you're asking us to take it seriously, but what you mean is take it personally, like you are. But it's not about you. It's about Apache. And we all love Apache. So stop taking possession of this, and stop trying to prove you care more about her than we do, or we really all will die. It can't be about you."

"But I wasn't..."

"You certainly were. And now all that earthing Claire was doing with the vacation talk -- which took a lot out of her, considering the Ben thing -- has gone to waste, and we're all keyed up again. Stop being selfish."

Apache reached out, and drew him to her, planting a kiss on his lips. He didn't know it, but it was their second kiss. It was the first for him, and he lived every moment of it. Nadine could see his tensed-up back slowly relax under her hands, as he gave in to her kiss, and the smack when they separated was as satisfying as a ripped-off Band-Aid. After twenty years she never thought she'd see Apache look that self-satisfied. She sighed to herself, pleased beyond the telling of it to see the look in her friend's eyes.

The breath of her sigh blew back Claire's hair, and she smiled despite herself, looking at Nadine with surprise.

"Nadine, what did they do to you in there?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're transmitting like an empath. We're picking up all kinds of stuff."

Claire looked at Andrew, who turned an eye to Nadine.

"Nadine, your little house..."

Nadine smiled proudly, and they all looked closer.

"It's everywhere now. I don't know how to explain it. I just... It's the same in here as it is out there, now."

"You're not..." Andrew sputtered, and she laughed.

"I'm not headblind. It's like the opposite. I can feel everybody, it just doesn't hurt anymore. I could probably do an airport, the way I feel right now. My house is like... Everybody. Big as the world."

Apache shook her head.

"Isn't that what sent you to the boobyhatch the first time?"

"Yeah, right? But it's like... There's nothing to be afraid of. I was so bothered by everybody's nasty little fears and thoughts, and mine, so it made me feel bad for them, but now it's just like... I have to love them, either way. Maybe especially when they're afraid. I can just watch them go past."

"So you don't care anymore?"

Grace shook her head. Buzz nodded at her, grinning.

"I know what she means. It's bigger than that."

"We don't have a word for that," said Claire, "But I think it'll come in handy. Nadine, can you give me a hand here?"

She followed the train of Claire's thought, and sent a calming wave through the room. Everyone relaxed, even Michael. Jane Crow nodded at Andrew, and they began to call the Quarters.

"Raphael," Andrew said, halting, "I invoke the spirits of the Air." He reached out with a hand and the floor lit up: a circle around Michael and Apache, and a greater circle around them, and outside the corners, a greater circle still. The room within the circle grew darker; he was lit with a golden light.

"Apache, I can give you history. And ghosts. I give you the story of your life. You are its author. You, and no one else. I give you the beauty of its architecture and the light upon its floor. I give you memory, full-born, unending. And the strength to bear it."

He looked at her, waiting for a response, and she shrugged, confused. She looked to Michael, who seemed just as confused as she was. Finally she spoke.

"Well, that's bullshit. I'm not... I don't have beautiful architecture. I have a rotten bag of shit. Without Nadine I'd have died a long time ago."

"Your story doesn't end," he said, in his strange new voice.

"It's ending now."

"Nadine, you stand in one corner of a vast library, looking at one book, and thinking it contains you. Your story ends, again and again. You turn the page."

"It's just that simple, huh? Don't give me that crap. You have no idea."

"I think I do. I think you don't know enough about me to have any idea what my stories contain."

"I'm all out of sympathy today. But I could probably kill you by accident if I looked at you wrong."

"I give you an infinite number of pages, to write the next chapter on."

"I thought I had that anyway."

"All you have to do is take it."

"I give you four walls, and a ceiling open to the sky."

"Meh. When books get wet they start to stink, and it invariably rains on me. Twice as likely if I'm wearing mascara."

Andrew giggled. Claire shot him a look and he straightened up.

"Apache Tear, I give you the gift of thought. Cold and rational and heartless. Everything you are afraid to be."

"That's not true, I..."

"You are a Survivor Type."

"Yeah. That's what we're doing here. Ending that."

"Apache, you already know everything that's going to happen. You're so afraid of it that you blind yourself to it. And what happens?"

"Horrible things. Unforgivable things."

"That girl died. You're just cleaning up her mess. Start here. Take responsibility. We can help you learn to control your gift, if you stay with us. You could save millions."

"I'm a loose cannon, St. John. That's not going to happen."

"That's your choice."

"No, that's a fact."

"No, it's a choice. It's easier for you to say you have no control over your actions than to take responsibility for them. I am offering that to you. I can give you the support to work through your fear, and find the cold equations. To map out the dark territories and the light, and find a path through the forest. That's what I can do for you. It's what I do."

"You vastly overestimate my ability to suddenly stop being a fuckup."

"We are all fuckups, Apache. Nobody suddenly stops being anything."

"Unless they're brave enough to jump."

CHAPTER SIX: THE OTHER KIND OF STRONG

2009-08-08T03:46:54Z

Apache smiled at the staffers as they shook themselves awake. Claire was the first to speak.

"Apache? What happened? You look all..."

"You look amazing," Michael said.

She grinned at him, looked down at herself. She couldn't see a difference. At her shrug, Andrew laughed.

"Apache, look at yourself."

She nodded, and dipped into that other vision. She'd been avoiding it so long.

Seen from outside, she was a wonder. Her face was prettier than she'd ever thought possible -- "Hot isn't cute, and cute isn't beautiful," she'd always told the girls of the Sweat -- and she shone like the sun. She was nearly embarrassed; it felt naked.

"You look like champagne," Michael said, and blushed at himself immediately. Buzz grinned. Apache turned to Grandmother, but she was gone again.

"I just wanted to thank you guys before I left. Everything's going to be okay..."

Andrew gasped, eyes up and to the side, and stared at her again.

"Apache, what did you do?"

"I fixed some things around the place, that's all. Least I could do."

Claire fixed him with an eye, and he nodded, gulping.

"They're all... She fixed everybody. Or not fixed, but... There's nothing else for us to do with them. They're going to be okay."

"The whole place?" Jeremiah asked, giving her the thumbs up.

"Everybody but Nadine, but I think she's on her way back. It's probably best for me to leave before she wakes up," Apache said, edging toward the door, and Michael stood.

"But where? What are you talking about?"

"I'm done, Michael. I killed Sylvia Gostock. I can't be trusted."

"Apache Tear, that's what we do here. Come on."

She shook her head. "I need to go where I can't hurt anybody."

Claire shook her head definitively. "We're not losing you again. Now let's stop this craziness and go check on Nadine. I'm sure she's got some stories to..."

"-- Claire, you're not listening to me. It's time."

"It's past midnight, Apache. No time to make decisions."

"No time like the present, lady. I've got a date."

"With who?"

Michael asked it automatically, but in the quiver of his lip she could tell he already knew.

Nadine woke up starving, ravenous. Everything hurt. There was a figure leaning over her bed, and for a moment she nearly struck out. But as her eyes learned to focus again, she saw eyes shining, and a bright smile. The shape became a face, and the face became Jane Crow.

She was older, less luminous. Maybe she'd never been as pretty as they thought. She had a deep loveliness, perhaps born of age: lines at the edges of her eyes, her once-huge black hair cropped short and framing her face. She wore tiny, delicate silver earrings like spiderwebs, and a long white dress.

"Jane?"

Jane nodded, taking her hand. "It's been so long... Blue, you look the same. The exact same!"

"You're still beautiful," Nadine said, still woozy. She tried to sit up and saw stars, so she lay back again.

"They were all around. Little scraps of darkness, like bats, with tiny teeth. And I just opened the door to them. They flooded all around. The house was gone, Snake was gone, my wolf..." She teared up, afraid of the memory. "It was like being in the middle of a storm. It hurt, Jane. My God, it hurt so much. They tore me apart. I could feel myself, bleeding. It was like ice. I held them tighter, tighter. I couldn't even remember what I was doing. Who I was. All I knew was that I had to hold them."

"And?"

"I did. And then it was light. And I had no body at all. I was only light. And they were light, too." She laughed. "All that time, and they were just light. Why was I so afraid?"

Jane nodded. "It has its uses. I wouldn't worry about it."

"And there was this... Song. A sound, like..." She closed her eyes, trying to remember. "It was like pipes, or a harp or a..." She clenched her fists. "It was like..."

Jane hushed her, putting one cool hand against her cheek.

"We forget. That's how it works. You can't stay there."

"It was all white. Jane, I don't want to forget that. It was..."

"It was perfect. I know."

"There wasn't anything wrong with me. Anywhere, anyplace. All the way back and all the way forward, I was beautiful. I was bathed in light. She held me in her arms, and it was... Every part of me was good."

"Hold onto it as long as you can, Nadine. But now, you need food."

"I feel like I could just lie here, forever. It's beautiful."

"No, it's starvation. That has nothing to do with what happened to you. That's your body shutting down. Get up."

"Jane, where's Apache? Is she okay?"

It felt like something splitting apart. The light that surrounded her was getting too bright. She'd known this would happen. What had Grandmother said? "Like a cracked vase with the world inside." That was how she felt now.

"I've wasted too much time already. It hurts too much. I'm seeing too much. And if I don't do it now, I never will. And then I'll have to live with what I've done, and I can't do that. Not anymore."

"Apache, we can fix that. We can work this out." Jeremiah sounded panicked.

She pointed at the painting over Andrew's head, hoping to convince them the way she thought Grandmother might have been convinced. "Her halcyon days were only pain. She would have died. She should have died."

Andrew nodded. "Some say she did. That she hung herself with her golden thread, or leapt from the cliffside in her loneliness. Or that it came later, when Perseus showed her the Gorgon's head."

"Madness and suicide. No thank you."

Michael struck the table with his open hand. "Or Dionysus found her, on that island, and made her a goddess. He put her crown into the sky. And when Perseus killed her a second time, he went down into hell to find her again."

"More mazes," Apache smiled, and touched his cheek. "You shouldn't have to come to hell to find me. Not when I can do this, instead."

She closed her eyes. The room became so bright that nobody could see. And just before she jumped, just before she let it shatter, she heard a familiar voice.

"Apache Tear, you cut that shit out this second."

Nadine stood in the doorway, supported by Jane Crow, with a half-eaten apple in her hand. With her hospital gown and her paper shoes, hair in a frizzy sweaty halo, she looked like a lunatic. Apache wept to see her.

"What the eff are you up to now?"

"I killed Sylvia Gostock. So you wouldn't wake up. I can't be this person."

"You're Apache Tear. The rest is negotiable."

"No. Look at what I did, to you. Look at what I made."

Nadine shook her head and rolled her eyes, standing up straighter. She reached out with her mind, and plucked the shadows away from the corners of the room, where Apache's brightness had chased them. She held them in her hands.

"I could never see your aura, after those damn bracelets. When I tried, here, I just got a headache. You want to see what you made? This is what you are."

Nadine opened her hands. A butterfly wavered softly into the air.

"Ariadne is Cretan, you cretin. It means utterly pure."

Apache laughed hatefully; her light dimmed.

"More proof that my mother had a real sense of irony."

Nadine shivered with rage. "I have been through hell. I touched something I won't ever touch again. I saw the world, Apache. Your place in it."

"Grandmother. She was different with you."

"No, she wasn't. She gave me a choice. The same choice you have now. I left that behind for you. I could have stayed. They told me I could stay."

Apache laughed, tears buried deep in her throat.

"It's too late, Nadine. I already... I'm going, one way or the other."

Nadine looked closer. It was true. She fell to her knees, suddenly exhausted, and began to retch. Nothing came up.

Jane leapt to catch her, barking orders at the doctors. Claire and Jeremiah sprung to attention, even as Andrew began sketching out schematics in their heads. Apache shook her head sadly.

"They can't deal with us both, Blue. Don't put yourself through this. We shouldn't bring the place down around their ears, just because they had the misfortune to want us."

"You'll keep saying that forever, now. It doesn’t mean it's true. I'm allowed to love you. It doesn't make me stupid, loving you. I know you think that, down at the bottom, but it's not true. Loving you makes me strong, and smart."

"But it does nothing for me, Nadine. I would have killed you."

"No, honey. That would not have happened."

"I killed Sylvia."

"Do you even know that? Did you even effing confirm that, before you did this to yourself?"

"I'm beautiful, Nadine. I feel strong. I can do something good."

"Taking yourself out of the world is not good. It's selfish and stupid."

"It's too late. Please don't end things like this. Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad, I'm scared to death. This is not how it should end."

"Things, Nadine. They happen. Grandmother taught us that. I can see it in your eyes. You said you saw the world. That gives you peace."

"I refuse. I am going to fight this one."

"Who the hell are you going to fight, Nadine? Look at me! I'm breaking apart like stars."

"Stars. Like back there..."

Nadine's eyes briefly closed, as they hooked up the saline right there in the doorway. She could barely speak. Her lips were too dry. They cracked with her speech.

"Walpurgisnacht."

"Gesundheit," Buzz said, deadly serious as he shoved the apple back into Nadine's hand. Jane Crow looked at him, angry, but he shrugged. There were tears in his eyes.

Nadine rested a moment, as the fires built in her friend.

"...Jane? Jane Crow."

Jane knelt by her side, taking one limp hand in hers.

"Jane, you brought your people?"

"They're downstairs, earthing some of the runoff."

"Remember Walpurgisnacht?"

"Nadine, fucking stop it! You cannot save me from this one. I did this. Let me do it."

Apache stamped her foot, and the room shuddered.

Claire and Grace looked at each other, worried, and a silent thought passed between them: that if it got bad enough, they'd take her out. Both of them, if necessary. They were the only ones strong enough to do it.

"We're both more powerful than you," Apache said, without even noticing she'd read their thoughts.

"Not like that," Grace said sadly.

"The other kind of strong," Claire said, apology deep in her voice.

Jeremiah and Andrew were on their feet in an instant, standing between the women. Buzz spun a web of light around the room, to protect them. Michael sat, mute, in the middle of the storm, staring from one to the other. Nadine rolled her eyes.

"Guys, I've got like five minutes before I crash. Don't throw your weight around like that. Jane, go get your girls. Jeremiah, you can take over for them. Andrew, build a circle. I know you've got wires and stuff in the architecture, so warm 'em up. Claire and Grace, stand the heck down. That is uncalled for. I am going to fix this."

Apache raged, shining ever brighter, but a part of her heart remained. She nodded and shrugged. "If you think it'll work, I can try. But you only get one shot, Nadine. And it'll probably kill us all."

"I'm fine with that."

Claire coughed politely, and Nadine smiled at her, weakness shaking her body in the chair.

"It won't, Claire. I can do this. I can do it now."

Nadine's gifts poured against her rage, and she softened. Her fists were still clenched.

"Okay, go get those bracelets. The snakes. I know you've got them around here somewhere, and we might need them."

Apache shuddered. "I don't ever want to be in the same room with them again."

"I know, honey. Don't be scared."

The White Sisterhood stood in a circle around them: Jane to Nadine's left and Winter Horse's old lover Bethany to her right. She was feeling somewhat stronger, but she still couldn't stand. Claire assured her that her body would get stronger quickly, and she'd nodded gratefully, but she didn't really care anymore.

"I don't think we should call ourselves doctors anymore," she said, waiting for the others. Claire cocked her head, bemused.

"Not even the ones who are doctors. It's too confusing. For us, and for them."

Grace smiled at her, thankful for the break in tension. "What should we call us?"

"I was reading about old, old healing. They called all kinds of things surgeons, back before. The town dentist could set your bones. The lines were wigglier, bendier. I think we should use an old word."

"Surgeons," Apache mused.

"And older than that, a wonderful word: chirurgeon. Somebody who did whatever. Healers, before residency and specialization."

"The Urges," Claire laughed.

"From ergon," said Andrew, coming into the room. "To work."

Michael was caught too, in Nadine's excitement and curiosity: "Theurgy, as opposed to theology. God's Work, instead of His Word."

Andrew shook his head: "What are you guys talking about?"

Claire laughed, despite herself. "Nadine is redesigning the org chart. She's decided we can't be called doctors anymore."

"It's dishonest," Nadine said. "I mean, imprecise."

"Friendly Urge St. John, at your service," he said, trying it out. "Demiurge, too. A skilled worker. Or in Gnosticism, somebody who pretends to be God."

"Sounds like a doctor to me," laughed Apache.

Jane squeezed Nadine's hand, reminding her they had some urging of their own to do. She cleared her throat and looked around, as the staffers took their place among the Sisterhood. All told, there were thirteen of them, not counting Apache. She recognized Ruthie herself among the Sisters, and gave her a half-assed wink.

"So, a long time ago something happened. We still don't know what it was. This was back at the Sweat. A friend of ours, younger than us, something happened to her. She got ahold of something, or it got ahold of her, and she couldn't get it out of there. We couldn't wake up Winter Horse, or Bethany..." Bethany dropped her head, in shame, but Nadine squeezed her hand with all her strength. "We couldn't wake up Bethany, but we did it. There were thirteen of us, thirteen little girls. Some of them are here tonight. We're older now. I think we're better looking. Apache brought us water to drink, and Jane made a fire, and we were so afraid!"

Ruth cleared her throat, still a little afraid to speak, just like when she was little.

"It was terrible, but it's not a bad memory now. I have never felt so loved. It's the reason I joined the Sisterhood..." She trailed off, and her Sisters smiled at her tenderly. Everyone looked at Nadine again, so she breathed deep. Ruthie grinned toothily at her, and she laughed. It was like a reunion.

"So here's what we're going to do. You know what an exorcism is? This is like the opposite of that."

CHAPTER FIVE: A SPOONFUL OF SUGAR

2009-08-02T05:32:24Z

"Remember what I have, she said. Remember my options. Consider the alternatives."

The snake rattled more insistently. "The sun's not coming up, Nadine. This is the final exam. Either you leave this place alive, or not. A girl needs a room of her own. This is yours, or nothing."

"So you're saying I'll die if I..."

"Hell, you might die anyway. But shouldn't you at least be brave enough to..."

"See, this is what I can't stand. You effers are always saying I'm weak because I prefer to look on the sunny side of things. Like I must be soft in the head because I try to be kind."

"This isn't about the sunny side. This isn't about kindness."

"It's always about kindness."

"Not in here, girl. You're losing time. Look, in here, there's nobody to be kind to."

"There's you, and there's the wolf..." The wolf raised its head mournfully and put its paws back over its eyes. "And there's those... Vampire kids out there, or whatever they are."

"We don't actually exist, Nadine. I am a talking snake. That's your aura in the form of a silly-ass timber wolf. Those vampire kids are pieces of you. There's nobody here to be kind to. Except you. You, and this house. Where you are dying."

"What if I... What if I let them in, and I become mean? What if I'm like my mother, and I know I'm right, and that means I can tell everybody what to think and say and how to act, and then everybody's scared of me? Or what if it makes me Apache, and I go around screwing people's husbands? There are plenty of reasons not to kiss vampire kids. Those are merely two!"

Nadine looked at the painting on the floor, where it had fallen in its shards. "That's Ariadne. That guy is finding her on the beach, where she fell asleep after she was abandoned."

Grandmother chuckled. "I know the story."

"I'm sure you do, old woman. She sent her lover into the labyrinth to kill her brother. He was ugly, with horns; the child of a bull and a queen. He howled and moaned and lowed through the night. She hated him."

"She loved him, Granddaughter."

"She did both. And finally she'd had enough, and she wanted her father's reign to end. So she sent her lover into the maze, with a golden thread."

"It was red wool."

"...With a golden thread, and a sword, and her kiss on his lips. Into the dark, where the wild things are. And he found her brother there, and she listened as her lover murdered him, and she knew she was in love."

"You are really something, my dear."

"They set sail the next day, for her new home. And they touched down on an island, and partied. She got pregnant. She woke up alone."

"On the shore, with the kingfishers for company."

"With the kingfishers and her grief. The halcyon days were only pain, for her, alone with her loneliness. And she knew she deserved it, for trusting me."

"Granddaughter, you forget justice."

"Right. She cursed him, on his voyage, and he failed to put up the great sail that signaled victory. So his father the king jumped from a cliff, thinking his only son dead."

"But she was still alone."

"Grandmother, why do people jump off cliffs constantly in these stories? I honestly want to know."

"Because that's what it feels like, child. Eventually it gets easier, but it never gets less scary. You could live a hundred years and still fight the same battles, in different ways."

"That is a very imperfect system."

"You rest, you rot. The system keeps you moving."

"Like a shark."

"Like a spider. The wind tears her web, she doesn't lay down and die. She starts to build again."

"Like a snake... Grandmother, does it hurt when they leave their skins behind?"

"You'll know soon enough."

The snake looked at the tired wolf, and back at Nadine. "You wanted to learn to play the guitar when you were fifteen."

"Because of Jane Crow, and because I knew Apache was tone deaf."

The snake almost smiled, nodding again. "But you gave it up. Why?"

"Because I didn't want my fingers to get all calloused and rough."

"Because..."

"Because it would make me look like a gravedigger. I'd have hands like that."

"And?"

"And because Apache told me if I ever tried to give a... a handjob... The guy would die of lacerations. Or abrasions, I forget. And he would never call back. Boys don't make passes at girls who... something-something-asses."

"And why did she tell you that?"

"So I wouldn't learn to play the guitar. Obviously."

"And the gravedigger thing?"

"That would be Marion Blumenthal, also obviously."

"So where did your desire to play the guitar go?"

"I got into other stuff, I don't..."

"And now when you think about music, you feel a little stupider, don't you?"

"Hug a vampire kid, make beautiful music."

"You really have an eye for synopsis."

"But those hard, horny, rough hands. When we'd sit at dinner and Jane Crow would tap her fingers on the tabletop, it made me want to vomit."

"But it didn't make Jane Crow want to vomit."

"Snake, I didn't think Jane Crow went to the bathroom."

"I assure you she did."

"...Why are we talking about this?"

"You're afraid of who you'll be, if you take possession of a witch's house. You're afraid to change, because it feels like dying. Which it is. Which is why I'm here, incidentally."

"Fine. I accept your terms. Pucker up."

Grandmother smiled, and leaned forward to kiss her, but she held up a finger with a smile, and Grandmother shook her head, sitting back. She walked to Michael, his brow furrowed, lips like a woman, and tipped his head up to hers. As the clocks struck midnight, nobody moved. She kissed the hell out of him, and stepped back. The clocks went silent. She shrugged.

Grandmother kissed her softly, on the lips. Something died. Something caught fire. Apache became something new.

"You know what I want."

The old woman nodded. A tear dropped to the floor.

"And you know I have the power to do it."

"Granddaughter, I have no power over you. I never did."

"Tell me the downside."

"You already know the downside. You know everything I know, now. You know what it looks like, from out here: how we can see everything, and love it all, and hold it in our hands... Anything I say will just seem like a platitude, and you wouldn't respect me anymore."

"True."

"All I can tell you is that you have the chance to be a force, in the world."

"But not a force for good."

"Just a force. Isn't that what you wanted? To be above all that?"

"I can't go on living in the world on those terms. I can't just do without Nadine."

"In the blink of an eye, Nadine will die. Her children will die. Her children's children. That's the world you live in, now. Don't be silly."

"I would go back if I could."

"Anybody would. It's easier."

Apache laughed angrily, but she nodded.

"I never thought of you as lazy, Granddaughter."

"Who the fuck are you talking to?"

"You've been running an awfully long time, dear. You're crossing a finish line, and all you want to do is rest. I'm sorry."

"Well, what about that? Can I think about it awhile?"

"You're still in your body. We don't have a lot of time. That kiss started a clock ticking."

"Grandmother, there's so much I want."

"I know."

"I wanted to do so many things, but I never could. Why can't I do them now?"

"Granddaughter, nobody ever stopped you."

"But you're stopping me now?"

"That'll teach you to bargain with witches. You're not human anymore. Soon you'll have no body at all."

"Would he have loved me?"

"He already does, Granddaughter."

"Would I have loved him?"

Grandmother began to weep in earnest, tears of diamond, and sand, and warm rain. But she wouldn't answer, even with her shoulders shaking.

The old clock radio in the corner began to buzz, and she jumped. It sent the snake rattling again, but she didn't worry about it. As though she'd always known, she pulled out the radio antenna and pushed it into the hole at the top. It didn't fit well; it fit well enough.

"Nadine? Nadine, can you hear me?"

"Patch, my God. What are you up to now? I'm in the middle of something."

"I know. It's midnight. What they're saying, whatever they tell you to do..."

"It's terrible here."

"I know, but that's just what it looks like."

"I don't want to do what they're asking me to do."

"It's midnight. Just do it, okay? We'll figure it out later."

"...Okay. Are you all right?"

"I will be. Nadine?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"No, I mean, I'm sorry. I wish I'd been better. I wish I'd been stronger. I wish I could have been what you deserved."

"Honey, you are. Exactly what I deserve, apparently. Certainly you're what I need."

"Just... I tried, okay? Know that I tried."

"Apache, you're scaring me."

"I'm not trying to scare you. I love you."

"I love you too! Wait for me!"

"...It's time. I... I'll try better next time, I promise."

"I love you, Apache Tear."

"Oh, Nadine. I love you too. Don't be afraid."

"You neither."

"I'm not. Don't be sad," Apache Tear said, and then the radio went dead.

Apache looked around herself, and began to put things right.

It was improbable, for example, that Grace's painting, in its shattered glass, would reverse its action, knit itself together, slide up the wall and back into place; a wink, and a twist of the wrist, and it did just that.

It was improbable that Roland should wake from his pain into a darkened room, scented with roses, and smile to himself, and snuggle back down to real sleep. His first in ages.

It was improbable that Laurie and Harry would awake, and stand up gawkily together, their skin healed and soft and smooth again.

It was improbable that Paper Airplane Kid would get up off the floor, and spend his first night in a bed, under sheets as cool as a mother's touch.

It only took a moment, for her wonders to spread throughout the Clinic; it took only a breath to calm the place, nudge everyone toward joy, set things right again. She grinned to herself, and finally looked at the astonished old woman.

"I feel like a spoonful of sugar right now!"

The old woman clapped, and Apache came close to her again.

Nadine stared at the radio, and then the snake. It uncoiled softly across the floor, wrapping around her legs, nipping at her hands where they hung. First her left, then her right.

When she was little, the story went, her mother was left-handed. They'd tied her arm behind her back, so that she'd be like everybody else. And from then on, her mother was right-handed. She thought it was a curiosity, but Nadine found it terrifying.

"...And how did you carry me?" the snake asked.

"Softly," she replied, kindly. It was getting hard to think. "Not too hard, not too soft."

"Exactly. Are you ready?"

"Are you going to bite me?"

"I already did," the snake said guiltily, and Nadine looked down at her hand. It was true. She was bleeding onto the floor. Whiteness at the edge of vision.

"That's okay," she said softly, and the snake nuzzled at her feet.

The children beat against the door, voices rising into screams, shrieks, a choir of suffering. Feeling woozy, she stumbled to the door.

At her passage, the wolf raised its head in worry. He was nearly dead. She patted him softly, and his tail knocked against the floor briefly. She felt terrible; she'd had no idea he was getting so sick.

"We'll be home soon," she said.

She didn't know if he could hear her, above the din. The shadows were piled against the windows, now. A plague. Their voices were deafening. The snake's rattle shook the house. Strange lights caressed the walls, as though a million cars were passing silently outside. Upstairs, the wind howled.

"Not too hard, not too soft," Nadine breathed softly to herself, and opened the door with her arms thrown wide.

CHAPTER FOUR: IT COULD BE YOUR HOUSE

2009-08-02T05:26:05Z

Apache stared.

"Grandmother? You..."

"They can't see me. Things are stopped. So we can talk."

It was true. Even Jeremiah was halted, with one hand in the air.

"What is the White Sisterhood?"

"They are mine."

"Like me?"

Grandmother laughed.

"No. More like Tarquin, there."

"They're not scared of you."

"Not like you are, no."

"Why not?"

"Because they have nothing to be afraid of."

Apache's stomach turned over.

"And I do?"

"Not really."

"What's really going on here? Did I kill that woman? Could she have saved Nadine? Is Jeremiah a good guy, or a bad guy? What are you?"

"What's really going on here is that you're being given a choice."

"Could that woman have saved Nadine?"

The old woman pulled out a cigarette and lit it, nodding.

"Did I kill her, Grandmother?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Not really. Next question."

"Is Jeremiah Tarquin a good guy? Not really. Is he a bad guy? Not at all. And me? I'm nothing special. But that's not really what you're asking."

"It's not?"

"No, you want to know if you are a good guy or a bad guy."

Nadine sat at the fireside, breaking up one of the beautiful wooden chairs and feeding it to the fire. The snake stirred, fixing her with one eye.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"It's gotten dark, Snake. Real dark."

The snake rolled in its basket, luxuriously.

"You're afraid. Why?"

"There's... Things. Mean things, out there."

"Why not invite them in?"

"Because it's bad shit in the forest? And we're in a fairytale? I mean..."

"I think it would be better if you let them in."

"I think that you are not in a position to judge me right now," she said through gritted teeth, raising the fire higher. It was burning her face, but she kept going, even when the tears started. The snake sounded as though she were about to cry.

"...Nobody is, Nadine."

"So what am I? A good witch, or a bad witch? Did I kill that lady?"

"I wish you'd stop worrying about that."

"Um, what?"

"That's a question for another time. Right now you need to make a choice."

"I can't do that if I don't have all the information."

"Ah." Grandmother squatted on the conference room floor, like a vision. Like a hallucination. Her scent filled the room.

"Well, you already have the information. That's the sad part. You already know what you need to know. And we don't have much time here. The moon keeps moving."

"Okay, what's the choice? And will it hurt Nadine, or the staff here?"

"It won't hurt anyone you know."

"That sounds like a terrible idea."

"Oh, it is."

They were beating in the shadows, against the doors and windows and walls. The house shook. A ghostly wind came down the chimney, stifling her flames instantly. All that work, for nothing. The tears came back, in earnest.

"Nadine. Let us in. Please."

"Please go away. This is Grandmother's house. You're not welcome."

"We can come in whenever we want. Just call to us first."

"I'm sorry, but I just can't see how that is a good thing. If you're going to come in anyway..."

"Call to us, in the dark. Come and play. The shadows are cool, and the moon is bright."

"What are you?"

"Nasty thoughts. Scary dreams. Angry fantasies."

"Sounds fun!"

"Everything you ever hated yourself for. Everything you ever wanted and could not take. Every time you felt ugly, or worthless, or betrayed. Every petty slight or harsh comment. Every time you spied on someone with your gift, every time you delighted in someone else's pain, we were there. We were born. We are in your attic, in your basement. Up the stairs, around every corner. We sweat in the dark."

Nadine looked around herself in the dark, head juddering.

"No, you're not."

"You blind yourself to us. We are everywhere. Call to us. Let us in."

"If you are what you say you are, then I'm not about to cavort with you."

"You make us dark. You put us in cupboards and forgotten dusty hallways, and we grow strong. You make us ugly, and we grow. We will eat you."

"No, you won't."

She began to arrange the broken pieces of the chair around herself, in a fairy circle.

"Nadine, this is worthless. Your fear is unfounded. Call us to you. Let us surround you."

"I have spent my life avoiding this crap. I am a good person. I won't have truck with... Spirits, or whatever. You can stay in the dark. You can go to hell for all I care."

"We are there. We shiver, Nadine. We are cold, in the dark. Let us come to you, and hold us tight. Let us breathe again."

"Absolutely not."

"So you're saying I would be, what, like an assassin?"

"Not exactly. You would nudge things. Sometimes to merciful ends, sometimes toward justice. Haven't you ever wanted to punish the villains of this world? All it takes is a wish."

"I've had enough of justice."

"No such thing, Granddaughter."

"Jeremiah said you weren't bad. He said you hold us in the palm of your hand."

"That was kind."

"Is it true?"

The old woman shrugged, with a glittering smile.

"I don't think a good guy would give me these options."

"I'm not a good guy."

"You're a bad guy, then."

"I am mercy, and I am judgment. I am the last trumpet and a baby's first laughter. I am pain and I am ecstasy. Words don't really..."

"I get that. But how can I believe that you're, like, benevolent, when you're..."

"Apache Tear, we are running out of time." She slapped the ground, hard enough to send shocks through the building. A painting -- one of Grace's, Apache thought -- slipped to the floor, glass shattering.

"Is this floor benevolent? Or that desk? The lights above our heads: Good or evil?"

"They're just... Stuff. I don't understand you."

"Get past that. You're not going to. I just need to know if you'll take what I can give you."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"Knowledge. The information. Control."

"Of my thing?"

"Of a lot more than that."

"Could I have Michael?"

"You could have it all."

"What about Roland?"

"Roland is going to be dead in a year. I can't help you with that. He made the choice."

"You are cruel, Grandmother."

"That too, Granddaughter."

The snake raised its head, rattling softly.

"Snake, I swear to God. I can't deal with them and you too."

"I'm not rattling for you. I am rattling for them. They're making me nervous."

"They're making me g.d. nervous, too."

"They're yours, Nadine."

"I don't want them."

"That's why they're like this. Look, you said this was your house."

"I was just being tough."

"It could be. This could be your house. You just have to take ownership of it."

"Fine. I'm sure Grandmother would understand."

"She would delight in it."

"So what do I..."

"Not so fast. If you take ownership of it, you take all of it. Every nook and cranny. If you're going to live here, you're going to be responsible for everything."

"The forest, and the attic and the basement, and the shadows, and the dusty hallways?"

The snake nodded, which pleased Nadine. It looked like that puppet from her mother's childhood TV. She almost smiled.

"I don't know about that."

"Nadine, you have spent your life in the sunshine. You think everything nasty and scary is in the dark. And it is, but only because you put it there. Everything in this house belongs to you now."

She looked around herself, at the old creaky place. It was solid and sturdy. A little bit of work and it would shine. She could be proud of it.

"We can help!" said the voices outside. "Just let us in!"

They sounded like children, now. Terrified and cold, and hungry. What if it was a trick? What if the second she opened the door, they fell upon her in a swarm, sucking at her blood and tearing at her flesh? What if they were all true? What if they were monsters, and not children at all?

"I can't, I'm sorry!"

"We are with you, forever. We make you afraid and we make you weak. You hate us, and it makes us stronger. And more afraid, and more lonely."

"You said that part," she groaned to herself.

"Sorry!" the voices said, and giggled.

Their voices were like silver chimes in the moonlight. They began to tap playfully on the glass, in a made-up rhythm.

"Let! Us! In!"

"So I let you do this to me..."

"I don't do anything. I just kiss you, and you are filled with self-knowledge."

"Why not do that to everybody?"

"I do. You people always forget."

"It's probably easier."

"Most of the time. The stupider it is, the easier. And vice-versa."

"You kiss me, and you leave us alone? And I can do whatever I want."

"Yes."

"Whatever I want, Grandmother?"

"...Yes?"

"Grandmother, do you know why they call this the Halcyon Clinic?"

CHAPTER THREE: WAITING FOR GOSTOCK

2009-08-02T03:30:13Z

"Roland. I need to tell you something."

"Sure," he said affably. There was a bit of soup on his chin. She wanted to wipe it off, so she sat on her hands.

"The day we saw the witch. You called me, you said you were afraid you were dying."

"The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day."

"Right. Well, we've been doing some stuff here at the Clinic, and I think I might owe you an apology."

"I'm sorry?"

"I don't think it was Nadine, um, trying to kill you."

"I don't follow, Apache Tear."

"Well, I think I might... You know how we never talk about my stuff?"

"Your thing. Your gift, like Nadine..."

"Right. You know we were raised together, in that place."

"She never talked about it much either, but I know."

"I ended up there because my parents died."

"I had no idea."

"I... Know that. Not many people do."

"Wait, Apache. Are you saying that you think you're..."

"I'm fairly certain, actually."

"I don't believe it."

"We want to see the best in people, Roland."

"No, I mean, I believe that you have powers or whatever, and I know you're capable of killing me, but I don't... You would know. You have to believe that you'd know."

"I don't. I hope to find out. I'm going to enter treatment when this is over. Assuming Nadine lets me stay, which is a leap. But I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? On the off-chance that you nearly killed me?"

"I'm sorry for letting you think it was Nadine."

"Or it was just a string of bad luck. My own guilt, causing me to..."

"Sure, maybe."

"Well, I don't see the point in worrying about it now."

"I sure do."

"If there's something to your theory, which I can't believe there is, but if there is, then you're in the perfect place. I bet they have all kinds of stuff here, to keep that stuff from happening."

"They do."

"Then stop being afraid of it."

The sun was setting. Nadine shivered a bit, looking out the window. The moon was awfully large, hanging in the purple sky. Grandmother cleared the dishes, and sat down across the table with her hands folded. Her eyes were infinitely sad, but there was steel behind them. Nadine braced herself.

"Nadine, night's coming."

"That doesn't sound good."

"That's when it changes. I've given you everything I can. Remember what you've got."

"Okay?"

"I'm going to leave now."

"You'll be back in the morning?"

"I'll be back when it's... Finished. Do you understand what I'm saying? I am going to leave now."

"Okay."

"I won't be here. With you. You're going to be alone, in this house."

"I've got my trusty wolf, and my friendly Snake."

"My hope is that it will be enough. I'm sorry I can't stay."

"Grandmother, you're scaring me. Why can't you stay?"

"Those are the rules."

"But you said this is your house."

"It is."

"So why can't you stay?"

"This part isn't for me. I'm not here for this part. Ever."

"I think you're being cruel."

"That too, Granddaughter."

"Roland, I don't know if you're being willfully stupid or you just don't have the capacity to understand what I'm..."

"I know exactly what you're saying. And I'm telling you to stop being afraid of it. Who does that help?"

"Look, you're like the first person I ever talked to about it, so if you're just going to..."

"I'm trying to help. If it were Nadine, or even me, you'd say the same thing: Stop hiding from it, start looking at it. Especially if it's as big as you say. Feeling guilty and horrible about shit you couldn't control is all fine and good, but you need to look at controlling it now. Which means facing it."

"I don't know if you've noticed this, but historically I don't have the greatest willpower."

"You're sitting there telling me you think you're some kind of a magical serial killer, and you don't have the 'willpower' to even address it? You're not the woman I thought you were."

"I was never the woman you thought I was, ass."

"Now you're getting mad."

"Fuck yes, I am."

"From here, that just makes me think I'm right. You're afraid."

"You know nothing about me."

"I know more about you than anybody on this planet besides Nadine, and I know when you're being defensive. This is one of those times."

"I'll be back later..." she said, standing up, and he shrugged. She could have punched him in the face. She was about to give up her exit and really go off on him, when Grace appeared at the door, white as a sheet.

"Sylvia Gostock is dead."

The house went dark and dead, in Grandmother's absence. It suddenly became quite clear that the house had an upstairs, and that upstairs had been left to its own devices. There was creaking. Not nightmare movie creaking, not bumps in the night, but just sounds. Like a house settling. Out in the forest, past the yard, there was a sharp sound like laughter, or sticks burning. When the sun set, there was no light at all.

Nadine banked the fire, but its light was cold. The snake seemed to be sleeping; the wolf whined, and pawed at the ground near the snake's basket. She listened to the pop and sizzle of the embers, afraid to stand up and walk past the windows to get more wood. But once the wood burned down, she'd be even more nervous, so she sucked it up and went to the pile in the corner. Grandmother had fed it all to the pot-bellied stove for their dinner. Nadine shivered, and looked out into the yard, where the woodpile was high. All kinds of nasty critters might hide there. The yard, within the fence, was bright with moonlight. Beyond the fence it was just darkness.

"Well, Wolf? Shall we go for a stroll?"

The wolf whined, but rolled onto its back for a quick stretch before leaping up and to her side. She picked up a basket for the wood, and set out into the yard, under the pale moon. She felt like a silly Red Riding Hood, wolf riding shotgun, snake by the fire. Walking away from Grandmother's house, instead of toward it. Scared of nothing. Terrified, of nothing at all.

Over her head was a rustling sound, like bats. Witches' skirts fluttering in the breeze, perhaps. Out in the forest was a low rumble, a sound she couldn't identify. The air was completely still. Every step in the lawn was a crunch. Her heart thudded. The wolf crammed itself so far into her thigh, walking timidly, that she thought she'd fall over just trying to get to the woodpile.

"Wolf, you have got to pull it together. We can't both be acting silly. There's nobody here but us chickens."

She could have sworn somebody just beyond the fence laughed, with a chicken's bgawk buried in it. Her eyes formed tricking shapes in the shadows: monsters and men, children shifting in and out, black on darker black.

The laughter came again as she stepped closer to the edge of the yard. It was wicked. If it was real at all, it was unkind.

Apache clutched at the nearest body, as her skin went cold. It was Roland, whose arm she snatched at; she knew in some corner that she'd drawn blood with her nails. She let him go, too afraid suddenly to spare him a glance.

"Gostock's dead? What about Nadine?"

"Apache, I need you to come with me right now."

"You think I did this?"

"I think you need to come with me right now so we can work this out."

"Gracie, I couldn't. You know me!"

"I know that something bad is going down, and you're at the heart of it right now."

"But I'm not... I mean, I've been..."

"I don't want to put you in jail, Patch. I want to protect you. This storm is centered squarely on you. All three of you."

"Dr. Connelly," Roland blustered, holding his arm where she'd scratched him.

"You're fine, Roland. Just get some rest. Apache?"

She went.

"Hello? Creepy forest person or persons?" Her voice was shaky.

"Present." Its voice was like ice, cracking. It made her shiver. The wolf curled itself around her legs, catching her up, as the thing chuckled in the dark.

"Can I ask what you're doing out there?"

"Waiting for you. Come and play."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen."

"Oh, it will."

"Look, you're scaring me. And my wolf..."

"-- Can't help you now. Come out into the dark."

"Absolutely not. I've got this snake inside, and my house..."

"It's not your house. It was never your house."

"Right now it is. And you're not welcome."

"That's how we get you, Nadine Blumenthal."

"Don't I have to invite you in or something?"

The voice laughed, like a strummed tendon. Wet and horrible.

"Apache," Claire said calmly. "Nobody is accusing you of anything."

"Really?"

"Really. But the situation has changed. Have you noticed anything..."

Jeremiah finally stood up.

"I have a call out, to the White Sisterhood. We didn't want to tell you, but there's been a..."

"-- Tarquin is in some kind of cult. He let this witch spider into Nadine's room, and they told me not to worry about it. Maybe she's the one who..."

"Tarquin, is that true? Did you let a 'witch spider' into Nadine's room?"

When Claire said it, it sounded completely retarded.

"Claire, I'm familiar with this particular being. I've never seen Her like this. I've barely ever seen Her. They don't usually bring in the big guns like this unless it's really important."

"Excuse me, who's 'they'?"

"Them. Him. Or Her. The ones."

"Friends of yours."

"God, no."

"She said you were her priest."

"That's how she would see it. But Claire, I'm serious. Whatever Apache's dealing with, I've never seen it like this. It's the kindest thing imaginable. She holds us in her hand."

"She was the one that sold us the bracelets. Clearly a nice lady."

"Apache, there's not time to talk about it, but when you're working with these... When you're dealing with this stuff, you get what you're working with."

"You're saying she's a bitch because I'm a bitch. She's fucked up and hurting Nadine because I'm..."

"I'm saying I don't think she's fucked up and I don't think she's hurting Nadine. I think you're twisting it."

"Well, isn't that characteristic? As long as I'm killing people I might as well turn God into some kind of..."

The old woman stood suddenly at the door of the conference room. Nobody moved.

"Granddaughter, you worry too much."

"You don't know what we are. That's how you like it."

"I'm warning you..."

It laughed again. It multiplied.

"You? Warn us?"

"I'm a person of not inconsiderable gifts."

"Which you ignore."

"...Wait, what?"

"You could drop us where we stand. And oh, we stand! Nadine, there are armies of us. Waiting for you."

"What, exactly, are you waiting for? What do you need from me?"

"So considerate."

"Look, I'm willing to work this out..."

"Your wolf is cringing. Look what you've made, Nadine. Look at that proud beast, brought low. By your weakness. He could shake mountains."

"My wolf and I are fine, thank you. Tell me what you want."

"Your blood."

"That is really unfriendly of you to say."

"You are a fat cunt."

"Well! This conversation is over."

SINISTER TWO: A WHEEL THAT DOESN'T GO ANYWHERE

2009-08-02T02:17:35Z

"Which one is Palatine?"

Apache sighed ornately.

"Come on. The Clinic is abuzz."

"I don't know if you've met him."

"Is he the skinny one?"

"No, that's Andrew St. John."

"Is he the hippie? I bet it's the hippie. He has that thing."

"What thing? And no, that's Buzz Aldrin."

"That sweaty, car-fixing, man's man, sensitive new age thing."

"In your experience, does that attract me?"

"Ouch," Roland said.

"Well? And anyhow," she grinned, but refused to meet his gaze, "You think he's a real man's man, huh?"

"Oh, because he's with the other one? Is that supposed to shock me?"

She shrugged.

"If you knew they were together, why did you ask?"

"Well, there aren't any others, so I thought maybe it was a grave misunderstanding or..."

"I would have thought your tastes would run more to Tarquin, Roland. You always liked your men suave. Maybe you're leaving him out on purpose."

"You'll have to do better than that. I can admit that he's a very good-looking man, if you're into date-rapists, and come on: I can't see you giving him the time of day. Nadine either."

"Well, you're half-right. Nadine certainly doesn't think much of him. I think he's great, though. One of the kindest men I've ever met, under that shallow exterior..."

"Apache. Which one is Palatine?"

"The one with red hair."

"The... Oh. Oh!"

"God, what now?"

"I just didn't know, that's all. You know, some guys are into that, but I never... I mean, I thought about it, with you and Nadine..."

"I am leaving. And fuck off, you gross little pig."

"Hey! I never asked. That's got to count for something."

"Well, considering you slept with both of us, I don't see how."

"They were saying you were in love. With her."

"Him, first of all..."

"Wait."

"First of all. And second of all, we're not using those words. Right now. So don't. Use those words."

"I really was off-track, wasn't I? Here I thought you were into the real virile type..."

She snorted.

"I mean besides me. And I know what that was about. I could have been anything, it wouldn't have mattered."

"You're correct there."

But he wasn't. It made her sad, in a way, to think there was so little to it. She'd known he cared about her, and it was a rough circumstance to say she'd never been attracted to him. But of course, she wasn't saying that now. And besides, it was only spending all this time with these freaks that it even made sense to worry about his self-esteem now.

"This place is weird."

"I was just thinking that."

"So she's like, pre-op, or..."

"No, it's not like that. He's a guy. I don't know how to explain it. This place is weird covers it."

"You're smiling. I think it's love."

"Well, it's nothing bad. There's nothing behind it, or beside it. There's not an agenda."

"I can tell, when you talk about him."

Finally, she looked him in the eye.

"Roland, why did you cheat on Nadine?"

"I don't want to get closer."

"You'll have to, eventually."

"Can you stop rattling?"

"That would hardly be fair."

"Can you promise me you won't bite me?"

"Right now, yes."

"So I take you back to the farmhouse?"

"You do whatever you want. But if you're asking if that's why you're here, it is."

She began to talk to herself as she edged toward it, not caring if it laughed at her.

"Big snakes, like you, I always thought about those stories, the tall tales about the wild west, and giant bulls and... About the wheel-snakes. Wagon Wheels."

"I know what you're talking about," it said kindly.

"Yeah, you do? They'd bite their tails and roll around the countryside. It always made me nervous."

"Why?"

"Well, physics, for one thing. You don't have feet, so you can't push. You'd just fall over."

"Maybe if they were on a hill, they could do it at the top."

"Maybe."

She tried to picture her snake, tail in its mouth, coming down the mountainside. Nope, still terrifying.

"I could be your chariot. Turning and turning, forever. Ending and beginning, all in one place."

It reminded her of something.

"What's that thing... Apache was into them, she had all those books in the house."

"Ouroboros."

"That's it. What's that?"

"A wheel that doesn't go anywhere. Or a story about God, in a single image, or..."

"...Or about us. People."

"When you jumped off that cliff, what did you think would happen?"

"I thought I would die."

"Did you?"

"I cheated on my wife because I thought I was dying."

"Like you literally..."

"I felt my life closing in. I didn't know it at the time. I thought we were happy. I was happy. But I felt it all the same. I had to do something."

"Bring it all down."

"...Yeah. That's what I think now, anyway."

"No, I think you're right. The problem is that you didn't care who got hurt, Roland."

He looked at her, sharply curious.

"Why did you do it, then?"

She put one hand behind the snake's head. It didn't stir, or rear. If anything, the buzz became more torpid. With her eyes on the tail -- what a long, strong body it had -- she wrapped her hand around its neck. Softly, so as not to hurt or scare it.

"What is your name, Snake?"

She wasn't sure if talking was a good idea, but its alien eyes didn't seem to reckon one way or the other.

"Down here, it's Snake."

"Are you a boy, or a girl?"

"For you, a girl."

"Why?"

"Because that's how it works. You get the Snake you need."

"I don't get it, are you like a... What are you?"

"You're afraid of women."

Nadine laughed, scoffing. "I am not."

"You are. Being judged. Being called mean. Being called ugly. You expect men to be vicious, but women surprise you every time. You can't fight them the way you can men."

"So you're like my fear of women?"

"Everything down here is you, Nadine. I don't represent anything."

"What the heck does that mean? Of course you do. This is like a dream, or..."

"St. John was right. You really do think this is therapy."

"It better be, or I'm effed."

She shouldered the snake, wrapping its bulk across her shoulders like firewood, holding the head in her hand. Still so tenderly, so firmly. She loved its warmth on her skin.

"What are fairytales? A quest story. And you think that's a metaphor for therapy, or growing up, or..."

"Sure. That's like freshman psych."

"Okay, but nobody's going to tell you the truth, because it's too scary."

"And that is?"

"The quest isn't a metaphor for therapy. Therapy is a metaphor for the quest."

"This is the real world? Shouldn't I feel more like Keanu Reeves?"

She could swear the snake laughed: "Do you?"

"Well, that's b.s."

The snake didn't respond, so she started on the road back home. The sun was going down again, and there was a chill in the air.

"The real world is the real world."

"Did it ever occur to you that most of your problems come from thinking there's a difference?"

"This is like talking to Buzz."

"You should see his Snake sometime."

"Yeah, that's what he says."

This time she distinctly felt it laughing.

"Nadine is... You know how she is. But I just saw such fire in her. It was like my whole life was meant to light that fire, and I never could. She just watched me, and enjoyed it. We lived it up. It made me go crazier, I think, than I would have. Just so she could enjoy it. You, too. I knew you both ate that stuff up."

"We did. But we worried, too."

"Nothing new there. But when she married you, I felt like I was losing touch with that fire."

"Like you were losing her?"

"No, like she was killing it."

"Wow, Apache."

"Yeah, it seems silly. I panicked and I guess maybe I just didn't think it through. I just knew I wanted you away from her."

"Is that the whole truth?"

Apache shook her head.

"You know the real truth. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to hurt you. I was jealous, and stupid, and all the things we tell ourselves we'll never be."

"You wanted her perfect life?"

"God, no. No offense. I just didn't want her to have a happy life."

"Because you'd lose her forever."

"No, Roland. This is not going to be about you, no matter how you try to spin it. It's not because you were winning. We are tied together in ways you can't comprehend."

"Great."

"I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, I'm telling you to back up. That's not what it was about. I wanted her to be unhappy."

"That is obvious."

"I wanted her to be unhappy... Outwardly. I knew there was a scared place inside her, a lonely nasty sad place, and I thought it was like a blister. That I would be doing a better job if I pricked it. It wasn't to prove she didn't love you, or... She did, she loved you so much. It was because I knew loving you would heal over the hole."

"She'd be healthy."

"She'd be a liar. She'd be... One of those girls. Who thinks she's happy. Who stops thinking altogether just in case. It's all she ever wanted. I couldn't stand to see that."

"What gives you the right to make those decisions? Whether or not she's being authentic enough, or..."

"Nothing, dude. Absolutely nothing. But you asked."

"Would you have done anything differently?"

She thought about it. There were about fifteen answers. She decided to give him the truest one.

"If I'd known what would happen, I would have stolen you before the wedding. I would have fucked you, and destroyed you, right in front of her."

"Just to keep her from happiness."

"Roland, I don't know if you missed this memo or what, but I'm an asshole."

"I'm aware. But I don't think you're entirely off-base."

"I'm sorry?"

"I know what she's capable of, too. In my own way I think I was... Trying to light that fire, too. Maybe even a reason I cheated. Just something to... I know what you're talking about. The scab."

"You loved the scab. You were the scab."

"No, Patch. I loved exactly what you love about her. I just wanted to get there first."

"I really hate talking to you."

"I really miss talking to you."

"Do you want some food or something?"

"Heck yes."

Grandmother was cooking when Nadine returned with the snake. Her wolf pranced about in the yard, eyeing the snake suspiciously.

"Be good, Wolf. This isn't your dinner."

The snake rattled quietly, sending a tongue out into the twilight, and the wolf sighed.

Inside, Grandmother was singing a song. It sounded old, and she didn't recognize the language.

"I have brought a guest, Grandmother."

She looked up from the old pot-belly stove, reaching down for more kindling, and winked at the snake.

"Good job."

Nadine laid the snake down in the basket by the fireplace.

"Did you bring that golden goblet?" asked Grandmother softly, stirring a stew.

Nadine started, and looked worriedly at the snake. They both laughed.

"Granddaughter, you're doing fine. I apologize."

"What now, then?"

"Now, we eat. I'll bring some green things in from the garden, for your friend. Then she will sleep, and we'll chat by the fire. Nothing too intense."

"I'm given to understand we're on a short timeframe, here..."

"Granddaughter, this is my job. Give me some credit."

"Okay."

"No reason we can't work while we eat. You set the table."

Nadine set to it. The flatware was stolen from a catalog she remembered from last year, when country cottage was briefly the rage, and she'd admired it: the silver handles were all knotted wood. She put napkins in napkin holders, the whole bit. After a while, Grandmother looked over the kettle at her.

"How did you hold her?"

"Sorry?"

"How did you convey your new friend home?"

"Over my back."

"Makes sense. And the head?"

"What do you mean?"

"Weren't you afraid she'd bite you?"

"I held her around the neck."

"Weren't you afraid you'd choke her?"

"It was soft, Grandmother. I held her just softly enough to stay safe."

"What if you got distracted? What if you tripped, and scared her, and she whipped around with that tail? Or heaven forbid, what if you squeezed too hard, and hurt her?"

"I focused, Grandmother. I'm capable of walking and chewing bubblegum. And she is a living thing, I'm not going to start treating her like a purse."

"You never forgot, not for a moment?"

"Of course not. You're getting intense."

"Not too hard, and not too soft."

"Yeah. Like Goldilocks."

"That's what Nadine always used to say about you, too. That you were a good man, but not a harsh one. We called you Goldilocks."

"Very masculine. I like it." He slurped the soup and grinned at her. She didn't like it; he was getting too comfortable.

"But even with the gender stuff, which we haven't even really talked about, I really feel like he's on my level, you know? I've never been with a guy who I felt was capable of understanding me, much less putting in the time to do so. Not if he hoped to keep my interest."

Roland was offended, he couldn't help himself.

"Well, maybe being a woman half the time helps."

"Roland, come on. It's not like we dated. How are we supposed to talk about boys if you keep thinking you're one of them?"

"Talking about boys. Huh. That's what we're doing, all right. You're right."

"You started it."

"You're right, I did. And I'm fascinated, but you don't seem to have a lot of information..."

"Which is fine. That whole... That whole thing is definitely a larger hoagie than I'm going to contemplate eating anytime soon. Right now I'm enjoying the flirtation phase, and it's enough."

"Flirtation phase. You sound like Marion."

"Trust me, it weighs heavy on my mind."

SINISTER, CHAPTER ONE: I EXPECTED A TEEPEE

2009-08-02T01:01:26Z

"Is this how we're going to do it? I kind of expected, like, a teepee and a campfire or something."

"You considered it. Frankly, I like this better."

Nadine looked around herself. It was cozy. Out the window of the cabin, a wide green meadow flowered. There was a breeze, gently moving through the apple tree in the yard, and a white fence. Inside, it was all bent-wood furniture and rough-hewn stone. She'd dreamt of a place like this once, living with Roland.

Growing up, it was all sleek Manhattan apartments, hardwood floors and stucco ceilings, and curtains blowing in the breeze. A closet full of shoes. But she'd learned early that life wasn't for her. By the time she was married, it was more like this: gingham and calico, leather and wood.

The old woman knitted peacefully as Nadine got her bearings. On the floor, near the fireplace, was a large wicker basket piled high with blankets. She looked closer, but the old woman clapped her hands, suddenly. She turned around again, jumping at the sound.

"There's time for that. Let's go for a walk."

When Apache woke again, the old woman was gone. So was Jeremiah. It was only her, and Nadine, who slept like a princess in a fairy tale. She hated being alone with her thoughts -- How could Tarquin be in league with that old bitch? How could she be in league with Tarquin? -- but she knew if she left, then Nadine would be alone with hers. So she waited. She wished she had a hobby.

On the path, through the fence -- gate up to her waist -- they were met by her wolf. She smiled and ruffled the hair between his ears. He grinned up at the old woman, wagging his tail. The old woman led them out, past the roads and into the woods. The sun was high in the sky. It was absurdly bucolic.

"Grandmother, this is like a movie. I feel like a t-shirt the Jewelry Lady would wear. If my wolf starts howling at the moon..."

Grandmother laughed.

"This is from the Sweat. You were raised to give this stuff power."

"It's just hard to take it seriously."

"For now. Besides, you're not in your house anymore."

"It... Burned down."

She felt guilty; fires rose in her cheeks.

"You'll build something better. For now, we're in my house. Think of it that way."

They walked a while.

"Grandmother?"

"Yes."

"How long have you lived here?"

"Long as I've lived."

"How old are you?"

"Old as the moon! But that question is impertinent, young lady."

"Sorry. What are you knitting?"

"A suit of armor," she laughed.

Claire returned, sometime later, with Jeremiah in tow.

"Any progress? Jeremiah said there was no change."

He looked sharply at her, suddenly, like an eagle, and she shivered.

"No. No change."

"But you still want us to wait, before we try again."

"She went in, Claire. I don't think we're supposed to. Not where she's gone."

Jeremiah nodded.

"Maybe Michael could..." Jeremiah took her by the arm.

"Claire. Stop fixing. She's right."

"Well, I don't see why we couldn't just..."

Apache grinned, although she was sad to lose the company. She fixed her eyes on the clock. The old woman had come at dusk. She'd have until midnight before Apache tried again.

"Granddaughter, are you ready?"

Nadine looked over at the question, suddenly afraid.

"Ready for what?"

"For what's next."

"What else have I got to do?"

"Die, for starters. Let's get this story going, what do you say?"

She handed Nadine a strange object, made of aluminum.

She turned it over in her fingers for a moment before recognizing it: an old car's radio antenna. She extended it out, and waved it a few times in the air.

"Alakazam. Alakazooey. Grandmother, this magic wand is broken."

"It's not a magic wand, dear."

"What is it?"

"You'll see."

She stepped sideways, into the trees, and was gone. The wolf, too. Nadine looked up: the sun was still shining, so the forest wasn't scary yet. It was a pretty boring fairytale, if that's what this was. She stayed on the path for a bit, but finally a pile of leaves on the roadside caught her interest: birch leaves, she thought. She tried to remember what she'd learned at the Sweat, as she came closer, but there was something mesmerizing in the way they gleamed in the sun. There was something half-buried in the pile, at the foot of the tree, something that seemed to shine with its own light. She came close, shoes rustling in the brush as she got closer.

That was when the rattling started.

"Things seem to have calmed down. It was an exciting few minutes, though."

Marion plopped down beside her in the chair, as though she'd been tending to the patients herself.

"How are you, Marion?"

"Oh, I'm fine, dear. How is the patient?"

Nadine waved toward her, unable to say anything truly encouraging.

"Her color's perked up nicely. Whatever you did must have worked."

"Here's hoping."

"Apache, I... Well, I'm not being much use here. And this place..."

"It takes its toll," Apache nodded. Was Marion really asking her permission to leave?

"Marion, I'm sure you've had a long day. Traveling is exhausting, and meeting all these people..."

Marion nodded, frowning in a way that would have seemed cartoonish in another circumstance.

"Let one of the drivers take you home. I'll call you if -- when -- things change. Is that all right?"

"She needs me..."

"She needs rest. So do you. Please, do yourself the favor."

"Well, if you say so. The other doctors have so many kind things to say about you, Apache. It was impressive."

"They're a rum bunch," Apache said weakly.

"I've always known you could do anything you put your mind to," Marion lied, squinting as she forced the words out.

"I know, Marion. I'll call you."

Marion heaved herself to her feet with a knowing smile. She turned at the door.

"Oh, I forgot myself entirely! He's asking for you."

Apache shook her head, confused. Michael? Jeremiah?

"Roland. Roland's asking for you."

Nadine stepped back, out of the leaves, but she couldn't figure out where the buzzing, scary sound was coming from. Every nerve screamed, telling her to run, but she knew Grandmother and the wolf wouldn't be too impressed if she did that. She held the antenna out before herself, just like a wand or a sword, and pushed back. The fear around the clearing was so thick it was like walking through a hot summer downpour; it was exhausting, like walking on loose sand.

As she regained her ground, closer even than before, she leaned closer to the object, whatever it was, trying to figure out its outline in the shadows and its blanket of leaves. The rattle got louder, and the leaves began to move. Coiled around the object -- a golden cup -- was a snake, the twin of Apache's bracelet, but thick as the wrist it once had coiled around.

Nadine stood very still and considered her options. She coughed, hoping it would scare the snake, or calm it down, but it did nothing but weave its head angrily at her, rattling louder. She'd never been afraid of snakes, but she knew to respect them.

This one, the teeth alone could give you nightmares. She'd never liked snake mouths, their fangs. Too messy, too biological. It opened wide, as if to say hello.

"Roland."

"No nasty little names?"

"Nadine might not last the night. What do you want?"

"I thought I should ask you how she is," he said awkwardly. His wrists were still bleeding.

"She's fine, Roland. Thank you for asking." Apache turned to go.

"Apache, come on."

"There is no 'come on.' We haven't suffered enough. Now that it's sent Nadine around the bend, we're even guiltier than we were before."

"You are."

"Fuck off."

"I mean, you feel guilty because of what we did. But this isn't about that. Not anymore. We're responsible for Nadine..."

"I."

"You're responsible for Nadine because you love her, not because you hate yourself. We should have come here when it happened."

"Well, now I know that for sure."

"Did you ever talk to her? The old woman?"

Apache grinned.

"Yes, Roland. We are in league. In fact, she's in this clinic right now."

"I'm sure."

"It's true. I woke up and she was standing over Nadine's bed, like the wicked fairy. Maybe she'll visit you next. I certainly won't."

"Nadine, I spoke to Marion for a long time."

"I hope it was awful for you."

"No, it was... It was nice. She was kind. It's like she's so worried, or curious, that she doesn't have time to be mean."

"She just doesn't know what to do when she's not the one in control."

"Look who's talking."

"Nice seeing you, Roland."

"Apache, seriously. I need..."

"No."

"Apache, this place is freaking me out. These are your people, not mine. I almost died. I appreciate that you've been through something, and Nadine is going through something. But I also have been through something. And you have each other, and these people, and I have nothing."

"By choice."

"Apache, I realize I'm selfish. I have no right to ask for anything, from anybody, for the rest of my life. You think I don't agree with you, that I've used up all my chances, but I do. I know that."

"Like you're this monster."

"Worse than you know."

She didn't care to ask.

"Apache, please just sit here. You don't have to talk to me, or even look at anybody. But this room feels about a foot square, and I can't breathe. The only time I felt like I wasn't going to rip open was when Marion was here, scaring me. Please just sit. I know you'll know if you need to go somewhere."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because you're just as lonely as I am. And you miss her, and you're scared, and none of them can help you with that. Because I am out of chances."

"No. Too bad."

"Apache, if I were some random guy who did what I did, you'd do it. You would be completely kind to a stranger. Even a rapist or a murderer. I've seen it in you. You are a compassionate person. I've always thought that was why you were so angry."

"I'm angry?"

He grinned.

"Yeah. You are. Because you get frustrated by people not living up to your expectations. Or living down to your pessimism, I should say. You know people could be better, and it kills you inside that they're not."

"Or I'm just a bitch."

"Well?"

"Just don't talk to me. Okay?"

"Deal."

"Hello, Snake. You are beautiful."

There was no answer, and it occurred to her to feel stupid for expecting one.

"So, my particular vision quest at this juncture has grown depressingly standard. I'm supposed to distract you, or fight you, or brave you, in order to get the cup, and then probably bring it to the king or something, and..."

"You know better," the snake hissed.

"I do?"

"You don't care for gold or jewels. That's not what this story is about, not for you." It laughed nastily, hissing to itself. "Maybe if it were a pint of Ben & Jerry's, but not that thing. Think harder."

"So it's about you?"

"Closer."

"Okay, Blue, you're on the right track..."

"No, idiot. Come closer."

"But you'll bite me."

"I'm telling you I won't."

Nadine began to laugh. Of course she was.

It wasn't a country cabin: it was a farmhouse.

HELIX, CHAPTER TWELVE: ONE OF MINE

2009-08-01T22:33:35Z

Halcyon went, to coin a phrase, apeshit. The machines were screeching so loud that the staff couldn't hear themselves think, as they all came to with a shared gasp, looking at each in horror. The joyful look on her face, under that steel sun, as she dropped backwards, out of sight, arms thrown wide...

"She's arresting. We need a medical team in here," Claire said, reaching for her phone.

"Already on their way from Green," Andrew said, shaking. Buzz went to his side.

"Apache, did she say anything? What is she... What's the...?" Jeremiah was shaken as well, holding onto the side of the bed for support.

"Somebody go get her mom," Buzz choked, but Apache held out her hand.

"Wait. Just wait, please. Turn off those machines. They're too loud, and everybody's thinking too loud, and I just need you to..."

They buzzed around her bed like bees, like a swarm of snakes. She pushed her way through them, shutting down the machines herself. When it was done, they were quiet: just the sound of Nadine's labored breathing.

"Nobody's telling Marion. Not yet. Give her a second."

"Apache, I hardly think..."

Michael stepped forward, careful not to touch her.

"Apache's been running point on this since the beginning. If she says wait, we wait."

Claire shook her head, suddenly angry, but didn't move.

"Go deal with your patients, Redbud."

"Claire," she snapped, without thinking, and then blushed.

"I felt that. When it happened, I felt it. Roland and Marion probably felt it. You're going to have a riot on your hands. Let me deal with this. Jeremiah, you can stay."

He nodded gratefully, and shrugged at the others.

"Lady says stay, I stay. But she's right -- this place feels like a faultline."

Jeremiah and Apache sat at the bedside, and he reached for her hand. They settled in to wait. Michael threw them both an angry look, but didn't argue. And one by one, they stumbled away.

It was a deep ravine she dropped through, but not so deep that her fear ever stopped. She was pointed down, legs above her head, her beautiful swan dive becoming a fetal forward roll as she braced for the impact. The river at the bottom of the gorge had been dry for a long time, leaving jagged rocks in its wake. Sharp granite shards, and smoother pebbles, but no water at all.

When she hit, it felt as though the rocks went all the way through her body: into her organs, ripping at her skin, the sudden heavy crunching sound as she broke upon the floor. She stared up, at the walls of rock above her. Red, earthy stone, with green shoots here and there.

Almost the color of Michael Palatine's hair, Nadine thought. Auburn like that, when the sun shines on her. She noticed her thoughts getting abstract and prepared to lose consciousness, grateful for the rest. But no rest came.

The grey sun passed over her in the dishwater sky, as she tried to think, but all her thoughts were broken as the rocks. Oh shit was a popular one. This hurts worse than dreams, was another. As the sky darkened, she heard a light foot, padding over the stones, and a snuffling like a dog. When it went away again the air was much cooler, and the pain had faded. But she still couldn't move.

"Hello? Am I supposed to be learning something?"

Speaking didn't hurt anymore, the way breathing had when she'd first fallen. She couldn't lift her arms or head, but she took comfort in the sound. She'd never felt so dreadfully alone, without even planes flying over to remind her what life was like without the wilderness. She wondered what terrible creatures she'd conjured up in here, over time.

The steel sun set, replaced by a sickly green moon, and it grew cold. She lifted one arm, and then the other, and there was no pain at all. Just a heaviness, pressing down on her skin from everywhere. Just like in the chair, up at the top of the gorge.

And what if she did pull through, or figure this one out? How would she get back? Would she have a body to get back to? She had the sudden thought that it was all a dream -- Halcyon, the job, everything -- and the thought that they'd never existed brought tears to her eyes.

The snuffling sound returned, with a heavier, bipedal footfall and a sly laugh. A person, then. Like the vision quests at the Sweat. She'd never liked them, because they always seemed to tell you obvious things. The animals or whatever would appear, and tell you to be kinder to your neighbors, and everybody would sit around and talk about how meaningful it was. If it hadn't been Apache's job, she would have laughed about it. Instead she had to pretend she thought it was amazing, just to give Apache something to make fun of. And to impress Jane Crow, who almost always seemed to have more vivid trances than anybody else.

"Hello?" she called again, and was answered by a comforting whuff.

"You can stand up, you know," said an old woman's voice. "You're just being lazy."

"Ma'am, I have made the conscious decision to rest for a little while, having just survived a fall from approximately... One trillion feet."

"Imaginary feet."

"I've been here so long I don't know the difference anymore."

"Me too," said the old woman, and crouched down, staring into her face. Her eyes were old, and wild. Mercy, and a sadness, but an anger, too. Not cruelty, but something harsh and infinite. She smelled like sage, and liniment.

Apache stretched in the darkness, taking her hand softly out of Jeremiah's, and blinked. How had she fallen asleep? How on earth could she have slept on the job? She checked Nadine, whose breathing was still regular, chest rising and falling slowly. She seemed calmer, now. Or was that what giving up looked like?

As her eyes adjusted, she suddenly jumped: the shadows weren't shadows. They were a shape, crouched over the bed like a great spider. She smelled the old woman, and her eyes flashed with rage.

"Get the fuck away from her, old woman."

"Granddaughter," the woman said, without looking up. Her smile was written in her quiet, loving voice. "I have a message."

"I have a message for you too, old woman."

"Your bonds are released. You are no longer responsible for this one."

A deep pit opened in Apache's chest.

"Winter Horse."

The old woman nodded.

"She didn't suffer. It was a good death."

"If you did something..."

The old woman laughed.

"She was elderly, silly girl. It was her time. I didn't do anything but hold her hand. Stop thinking I'm the sort to do things. I just watch. I help."

Apache shoved Jeremiah, and he woke with a start.

"Tarquin, do something."

He stared at the old woman for a moment, and turned on the bedside lamp, but didn't otherwise move. In the changed light, she looked very different. Before, she'd seemed like an old woman at a farmer's market, the kind you'd see with turquoise jewelry spread out on a cloth. Now she looked like Marion, in a nice suit, and makeup creasing her kind face.

"He won't," the old woman laughed. "He's one of mine. My priest, you could say."

Jeremiah nodded, his hand out toward Apache, desperately trying to comfort her.

"This is some kind of Rosemary's Baby thing. You fuckers are a crazy sex cult after all..."

He rolled his eyes, and the old woman laughed.

"You see what you want, girl. I see everything. And I am telling you, I can take it from here."

"I will kill you first. Get away from her."

"You promised me a favor."

"Not this, Grandmother. She's too good for you. Too clean. Please, whatever you want from her, let me do it. Don't bargain with her."

"She's already mine, child. And nobody is clean."

"What are you going to do?"

"Save her."

"I can do that."

The old woman nodded, and for a moment her eyes were filled with tears.

"You'd both keep saying that until you were dead. That's the curse that was put on you."

"You're the witch. Winter Horse was nothing like..."

"I wasn't talking about Winter Horse. You did this to yourselves."

"Grandmother, please."

"Don't beg, child. This is happening. This has happened. For once, please just trust me."

"But you're going to hurt her!"

"Yes."

"So I have to fuck you up!"

"No. You have to sit there, and you have to help me bring her back. And if you cause me trouble, Jeremiah will restrain you."

She turned on him, her hands like claws, and he threw his hands up, afraid.

"Apache, she's not what you think."

The old woman loved that.

"I think you're a bitch, that's what I think. A meddlesome old woman."

The old woman bowed her head, in a mockery of respect. As though Apache had flattered her.

"That too, Granddaughter."

END BOOK THREE: HELIX

HELIX, CHAPTER ELEVEN: HALCYON DAYS

2009-08-01T21:40:31Z

Marion Blumenthal had removed her shoes.

The three women were sitting in the living room, sharing a cocktail and conversation, taking the edge off their tension with some laughter and shared history, holding a glimpse of peace in their hands before it was time to return to the Clinic, and Marion Blumenthal removed her shoes, kicking them softly onto the floor beneath Grace's chair. She wasn't even tipsy, her cheeks weren't rosy, but she seemed more at ease than she'd ever been. Her feet looked precisely like Nadine's.

Apache wondered darkly if there weren't something else happening, some use of Grace's gift, but decided that was an unkind thought. After all, the last times she'd really interacted with Marion she'd been practically a child, knock-kneed with terror of doing the wrong thing, saying the wrong thing. Maybe this was just Marion in the company of grownups.

"Halcyon. It's a funny name," Marion mused. "Like a prescription drug."

Grace nodded. "There's a story..."

Marion leaned forward, interested. Apache was intrigued as well.

"Well. Two stories, really. There was a giant, in Greece, with seven daughters. He was rebellious, and led a war against the Gods. Hercules killed him. And his daughters were so upset that they threw themselves into the sea."

"Nice," Apache said. Marion nodded, uncomfortable.

"In the other story, the daughter of the Wind married the son of the Morning Star. They angered the Gods..."

"How?"

"The usual, hubris. Calling each other 'Zeus' and 'Hera,' that kind of thing. Too proud."

Marion nodded, blinking, like she was trying to remember something. She'd done languages in college, Apache recalled. Once she'd known a lot about mythology. How funny.

"The king went to consult an oracle, and died on the sea. His ghost appeared to his wife, and she threw herself into the sea."

"Lot of that going around."

"Well, in both cases, the giant and the king, the people left behind were bereft. They'd lost something. And so the Gods, knowing they didn't really deserve those fates, transformed them into birds. Kingfishers. The king's wife was named Alcyone. The giant's name was Alkyoneus, so his daughters were called the Alkyonides."

"So there's two completely different myths about these birds, where they come from? The old guys just couldn't put it together?"

"Andrew says when that happens, it's usually because there's an older story they both came from. You can see the most important parts because of what they share."

"Grief," said Marion. Apache stared.

"Grief, yeah. And the cliffside, and the transformation."

"Those are the important parts," Apache murmured quietly.

"Well, that's certainly an impressive story," said Marion, somehow more alive, or more present, or more excited, than Apache had ever seen her.

She wondered if Marion ever missed school. She wondered what school would have been like, if things were different and she and Nadine had grown up together in college, instead. She never thought she'd care for it: she did well in classes at the Sweat, but only because they didn't ask you for facts. Just thoughts. If you could tell the teachers everything somebody said, or what it meant, they didn't care if you knew the person's date of birth, or death, or what city they grew up in. Facts were for Nadine. She would have been great, Apache thought, watching Marion's wheels turning.

"But what's the point? Why the name?"

Marion's curiosity was changing her speech, making her excited and blunt. She seemed so young. Apache remembered her sewing room, back when they were girls: books stacked on every surface, even though they never caught her reading.

"Well, the story goes that the kingfisher was always precious after that, to the Gods. To the Wind. So for one week out of every year -- for the three days before and the three days after the shortest day of the year, to be precise -- there are no storms where the kingfishers lays her nest. She's allowed to raise her eggs in peace, as a gift for what the Gods took."

"A week without danger," Marion said sadly, her eyes suddenly far away. Her daughter's prone form, so small and sickly, seemed to hang before her eyes for a moment. Apache could feel her love and fear across the space between them, thick as smoke, and nearly reached out.

"Halcyon days. And that's what we do: give you a week without danger, so you can deal with your grief and become whatever you're going to be next. We clear a little workspace."

"That's a beautiful story," Marion said, and Apache snorted. She stared over at her, as if she'd forgotten Apache was there. Apache squirmed.

"Um, I mean. Suicide, people dying. Husbands dying. Fathers dying."

Grace nodded, and looked to Marion, who seemed to see Apache in a new light.

"Arianna, things happen. It's terrible, what can happen. But there's nobody whose life doesn't have a bunch of... We can't live in the world until we understand that bad things will happen. It's a beautiful story because that's not the end of the story."

Grace reached out, like a bird, and took Marion's hand.

"What, it's the beginning of the story? That is a bummer. And no, that's not true. Grief is real, it's a fact, but it's not like that goes away. Pain doesn't just go away. Fear doesn't just evaporate, or turn into a bird. It's real. That's not beautiful."

Marion nodded.

"You're right about that too. But once it's happened, you have two choices."

Apache, against Grace's sudden look, opened her mouth to complain, but just then Andrew's voice echoed in both their heads, loud as loud, summoning them back to the Clinic. The girls looked at each other, briefly, and then at Marion.

"I know that look. Let me get some better shoes, and I'll go with you."

She patted Grace's arm as she went past, without looking at her, and in the silence Apache gave her the big thumbs up. Grace giggled, and then her look hardened into worry as she wondered what they'd be heading into.

Jeremiah stood over Nadine's bed, staring down, and jerked visibly when he saw Marion, shrugging pointedly at Grace as they rushed in. Claire cleared her throat, but there was nothing Grace could do, so she smiled and joined them at the door, blocking their view of Nadine.

"Mrs. Blumenthal, I'm so pleased to meet you. I am Dr. Claire Redbud, and this is Dr. Jeremiah Tarquin."

He nodded to Marion, distracted -- but not so much so that it didn't have its usual effect -- and his eyes returned to Nadine's peaceful face.

"We'll be joined soon by Dr. Palatine, whom you've met, and... Buzz..." Claire's voice trailed off, nervously, wondering how Buzz's presence would impact Marion's reaction to the Clinic. Apache realized suddenly that Claire was very nervous, on Nadine's behalf. It was sweet.

They stood around for awhile, waiting for Michael and Buzz, and wondering what they'd do with Mrs. Blumenthal when they arrived. She'd made leaps since that first incident, but they all felt a little bit nervous, knowing as they did what a wedge Nadine's gift had been in their relationship. Finally Mrs. Blumenthal spoke, startling them all.

"I know what you do here. I'm not completely blind. I know you're not really doctors. You're just good at things, like Nadine. Correct?"

They nodded guiltily.

"Well, I don't know who you think you're dealing with, but I'm well aware of my daughter's gifts. Whether or not they make me deeply uncomfortable -- which they do -- is not, at this precise moment, the issue. You've been very polite, and made me feel very welcome. Grace has been more than kind, and Apache has been putting up with me for years."

"And vice versa," Apache said, desperate to give Marion some kind of support. She nearly smiled back at her.

"And vice versa. So I want you all to listen to me, very closely. Dr. Tarquin, are you listening to me?"

He nodded, sullenly, and broke off staring at Nadine to give her a brilliant smile.

"You are quite a picture," she breathed, and then got ahold of herself. "All of you. You've got your act down pat, and I appreciate you putting on this show for me. I really do. But I need you to stop it, and I need you to stop it now. This isn't about making me feel comfortable, or selling me your lifestyles. This is about my daughter. My daughter. Who is, once again, in over her head because of these 'gifts' of yours. So I want you to stop worrying about me, and fix her. Immediately."

Everybody stared. Claire laughed, in the silence: a birdlike chirp, that seemed to echo through their bones.

"You heard her, people. Apache, get over here. Andrew, you're up first. Jeremy, go find Michael and Buzz for me."

Claire held up a finger toward the rapidly retreating Marion.

"Mrs. Blumenthal, you're welcome to stay or leave, but I do want you here for the update."

"Well," Andrew coughed, "Without Apache here we can't be sure. But a few hours ago we started seeing some major spikes. It seems like parts of her brain are finally waking up. Now, this could be because she's responding to treatment, or it could mean something else entirely -- it could be medical, she's put herself through hell -- but the point is, whatever happens is happening. It happens today. This case is closed today. And that means we need everybody onboard, and working overtime to turn this around. Time is up. We're not waiting for Gostock. There aren't any miracles left but the ones Nadine performs."

"And me?" asked Marion, clearly against her will.

"You can do what you like. I don't think she'd thank us for bringing you in..."

Marion shuddered, obviously aware of the implication.

"...But she needs family nearby. She needs love."

Marion rolled her eyes, and started into a protest, but he stopped her.

"That's not a doctor lie. I'm not saying that to make you feel better. I mean it. This isn't like the shows on TV. Don't make assumptions about our work here."

Marion closed her mouth like a mousetrap, and stared at him for awhile. Apache was impressed, as he stood his ground. Finally Marion nodded.

"I don't suppose anyone's been in to visit that Roland. He never did have many friends."

And with that, she was gone. They began to gather.

Nadine stood at the edge of the Dig, staring across it to the fields on the other side. If anything, the world was more colorless than ever, but it was heartening to see her this close to the edge. Apache shrugged at Andrew's questioning look, and joined her.

"I see you haven't redecorated."

"One of the ghosts... That's my mother, yeah? She's at the Clinic?"

"Yeah. She's being kind of awesome."

"You never saw that side of her. Well, but I'm sure I'll hear all about it later. 'I realize you're comatose and crapping yourself in a hospital bed, but you couldn't put on a little lipstick?'"

Apache laughed, but new better than to touch Nadine. She still had that ragged, slightly feral look about her. Apache knew she wasn't really welcome.

"So, you stood up."

"I did."

"And you're at the edge of the Dig."

"I am."

"Looked in yet?"

Nadine held back a sob, embarrassed and so angry with herself.

"I didn't want to do it without you," she spit. "Isn't that stupid? I'm just as weak as you think. I'm telling you to get out of my life, but then I can't even do this without you... Holding my hand."

"I'm here."

"I know. I hate it. I hate you."

"I'm here."

"Thanks for not bringing my mom."

"Oh God, she wasn't feeling that. She's with Roland, actually."

Nadine started to laugh.

"What? Seriously? Did she bring him a cookie bouquet?"

"I don't think it's like that. Nadine, do you think your mom could actually kill a person?"

"No. He'll just wish he was dead."

Apache turned to look at the rest of them: Grace and Andrew and Claire. In the room, she felt Michael's hand on her, and smiled. Michael and Buzz appeared with the others, awkwardly waving hello. Nadine waved back, rolling her arms and moaning embarrassedly to herself.

"This is like one of those dreams where you're giving a talk in school and realize you're just wearing your panties."

"You could imagine them naked, that's what you're supposed to do."

"Not in here. They really would be, and it would just be weird."

Feeling strange, keeping one eye on Nadine as she did so, Apache stepped closer to the edge.

"Wanna look?"

"Would that be weird?"

"Not really. Well, maybe." Nadine thought for a second. "Yeah. That would be weird."

"So, Nadine..."

"Yeah, Patch." Her voice sounded ghostly, tired.

"You're probably going to, um. Today's the day. Today is when you have to do this. We're out of time."

"I didn't even get sessions with the others! Michael came in and yelled at me, I was supposed to meet with Andrew today, it was going to be..."

"Is that really the problem? You didn't get enough attention from the staff before you died?"

"No," Nadine said glumly, kicking at the ground.

"Nadine, I learned something earlier that made me think of you. I was talking to Michael about some things, and he was saying some, like, very nice things. And it was really pissing me off, because I thought, how on earth can he really know that? Like, how stupid is he to think I'm actually worth..."

"Loving?"

"Ugh, no. I mean yes. I mean... The point is that all those people you're so embarrassed about, standing over there? They've been dying right along with you."

"So I should do this for them."

Nadine sounded strong for the first time in weeks. Apache almost slapped her.

"No, you silly bitch. You should do it for you. I'm just saying..."

She began to cry.

"Maybe if you think you're not strong enough to do this, or you think whatever is down there is so bad you'd rather die, maybe you can just pretend that they're right. Just long enough to get you through this part. Maybe if you just imagined that they didn't think you were being silly. Maybe if you just took them at their word, for just a second, and trusted them."

"My problem isn't believing that they're nice. I know they're nice. They're too nice. It makes me want to throw up. They're so kind and helpful and... I would think you, of all people, would understand."

"Because I want to fucking punch people when they're like this? Um, I feel you. But I also know that you don't have any options here, and that was the best I could do."

Nadine tapped her lips, thinking hard. She looked just like her mother.

"Did Gracie ever tell you how the Clinic got its name?"

Apache nodded. "Your mom, too."

"Did she like the story? Did she understand the story?"

"Yeah. A lot. She said it was beautiful."

"She would," Nadine said. And jumped.

HELIX, CHAPTER TEN: MORE THAN FINE

2009-08-01T20:02:24Z

Apache waved off the driver when they arrived, taking pride in her strength as she hefted Marion's bags onto her back, fishing out the keys with a spare hand and sailing past her, to the door. She could tell Marion was impressed, with the house, and said a silent prayer of thanks. Nadine would be moved beyond the telling if she could see this sudden, proud surprise in her mother's eyes.

Once inside, she put the bags on the bed and nodded to Marion, heading to the kitchen to wait for Grace. To hide, more precisely, but ostensibly to give Marion time to settle her things. She started the tea kettle boiling, for the first time in her life, hoping she'd done it right but more than anything unable to think of anything else to do.

There were some magazines on the dining room table, and she spent long minutes looking at them: to clean up the clutter, or to leave them lying around? Would Marion be impressed with the grown-up titles -- decorating magazines, gourmet journals -- or just see a mess? She stood in the doorway, fairly hopping with anxiety, until she heard the car in the drive and went rocketing out to greet Grace. She nearly wept.

"I always say it's nearly five somewhere, so why quibble?"

Grace set down a tray, martini glasses and tiny snacks, and handed them both napkins.

"What we have here. Well, it's light, nothing to make us dozy. Champagne, with organic fruit juice. After all, it's an open house."

Marion stared at her disbelievingly. Yes, Apache thought, we have friends. Then, more kindly, she remembered that she still spent most of her time with Grace staring at her. She sat back on the divan to watch Grace work her hurly-burly.

"I cannot tell you, Mrs. Blumenthal, how excited we all have been to meet you." Grace sat, ankles crossed, in one of the stark Mission chairs Apache had chosen for the living room. "In fact, we were a bit jealous of Michael. But now everyone's jealous of me!"

Marion faked a laugh.

"Which is just the way I like it."

Marion's laugh was a bit more authentically appreciative, this time. Grace clasped her hands in her lap, looking as small as a doll, and blinked affectionately at Marion.

"Of course, we don't know how long you'll be here, but you must make sure to let Apache Tear know your every desire. She's a wonderful hostess."

Grace reached out, not for the first time since her arrival, and touched Apache gently. At first, it had weirded Apache out, but she'd begun to notice how it calmed Mrs. Blumenthal down just a bit more every time. Like a nervous dog, watching its master demonstrate affection for a visitor: See, everything's fine. Everything is going to be fine.

"Now, let's talk about you. How was the trip?"

Marion sighed, and Grace nodded sympathetically, catching her eye.

"You know. Cramped, rushed, impolite. I'm afraid I'm not one for traveling."

She said it as though it were a personal failing.

"I always get a sinus infection from planes, I hate them! I tried those herbal treatments, but they did no good at all. I think it's a racket."

Marion nodded, rolling her eyes. "I've got some in my purse."

They laughed together. Apache heard her own voice as a forced, panicked scream, but the women didn't react.

"What do you do at the Clinic, Dr. Connelly?"

Apache tensed up again.

"Oh, I take care of our more serious patients."

Marion nodded, understanding immediately.

"I think nine-tenths of what we do is just making sure that nobody feels alone. Terrible feeling, especially when you've got so much on your plate. Getting better. I think of myself as a friend, I would say. There's nothing quite so rewarding as giving comfort to those in need, is there?"

Marion nodded, as though she knew what Grace meant. Maybe she did.

Apache felt like drowsing, as Marion and Grace talked about Nadine's life here, at the Clinic, some patients, Nadine's gifts with treatment, Grace's own well-edited history. She could see Marion falling in love with Grace, like everybody did, and there was a part of her that didn't like it. She wished, as she often did, that she could change herself, her life, just long enough to get through moments like this. Imagine being Grace at a job interview, or at lunch with the ladies. Imagine how easy life could be, if you knew what being a woman was supposed to be like.

Of course, that was why she'd called Grace in the first place -- to charm Marion, to take the burden off -- but it was still disappointing. She'd always felt secondary to Nadine, in her ability to negotiate her mother and women like her, but compared to Grace they were both just children, dirty knees and bad matters.

Sure now that they were content to let her wander, that Marion wouldn't think she was being insolent by staying quiet, she sat back with her drink. Marion's perfume reminded her, strongly, of being back there: the first time she'd met her, when they were both sixteen and Nadine had taken her home for the holidays, instead of leaving her at the Sweat with the rest of the orphans.

The night before, Winter Horse had taken her aside. It was going to be a serious talk, Apache could tell by the firm set of her mouth. Maybe something really bad, given the tenderness with which she rubbed Apache's back at dinner and asked her to come for a walk. It was the same feeling she'd had, the same sad smile Winter Horse and Bethany had, when they'd come to tell her that her father had died.

"So I'm told you'll be leaving us for the holiday," Winter Horse said, offering her warm cider.

"Nadine says there's plenty of room, and she's homesick. She says she wants a friend with her."

That was before Nadine stopped going home altogether, back when she and her mother still tried to spend the proper amount of time together. Whatever that was, before Nadine had finally just let those trips back weaken and lapse into Christmas cards and birthday calls. Nadine and her mother had been the better for it, no matter how strange it seemed to everybody else.

"She does. Apache Tear, I want you to be sure that you're ready."

"For what?"

"We are a family here. We have fun, we learn, we help each other grow."

"We fight, we get grounded, we play mean tricks on each other..."

"No family is perfect. Which is my point. How much do you know, about the time before Nadine joined us at the Lodge?"

"Cheerleader, popular girl. She was in the hospital."

"She was in the hospital for years, Apache. She nearly didn't come back."

Apache shivered. She knew it was bad, she knew the facts, but if Winter Horse was that upset by it, it must have really been bad.

"Nadine carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, Apache. It's part of her spirit."

Apache rolled her eyes; she was aware.

"Part of our work here -- yours included -- is to help her bear that burden. Help her remember where she stops, and other people start."

"She always wants to do whatever anybody else wants to do. If you like a song or a book, it starts being her favorite thing. It can be annoying."

"I know."

Apache was surprised. That was almost a burn.

"Sometimes it can be difficult accepting others as they are. We want to judge them by our own standards -- even those we often fail. Maybe especially the ones we fail."

"She's so weak, sometimes."

"That's how it looks to you. I respect that. What I'm asking you to do is imagine that life is very different in her shoes. Maybe that's what is natural to her. Maybe what looks weak to you makes more sense to her. Being a good friend is respecting that. We don't always need to change people."

"So what does that have to do with me?"

"You are a survivor, Apache. You have the strongest heart I've ever seen. You could take down an army, if you wanted to. If they threatened your friend, or your family here. You are fiercely loyal."

Apache didn't like that. It made her sound mean. It made her feel trapped.

"Apache, keep your eyes open on this trip. I think it will really help you understand her better. And the more we understand someone, the easier it is to respect them."

"I do respect her, Winter Horse. Everybody thinks she's God."

"Well, nothing is as simple as it seems. She tries very, very hard. And she will need your help."

"That's why I'm going."

"I mean, as long as you are here. Perhaps in the greater world, outside the Lodge, if you choose to leave. You have to teach her that strong heart..."

"-- I know."

"No, you don't. You think that means changing her. You think that means taking out the parts you don't understand, or seem weak. The best way for you to help is to see and understand those parts that seem the strangest, or the softest. You have to help her protect them."

"How can I do that, without teaching her to fight?"

"By being an example. Be strong with others, and kinder to yourself. Like you said, she picks up on those things. A little bit of that warrior spirit would help her with the burdens she carries. You know how powerful she is, and how much it presses in on her. I've seen you worrying over her, when you think nobody's looking. You take care of each other."

Apache scowled. Nadine was fine. She certainly wasn't any worse off than Apache. Winter Horse was being patronizing as usual.

"I'm not falling for it. I'm not going to be her babysitter. She's mine, if anything..."

"-- You'll understand later. It's not about control, or power. She can't become so hard that she loses her ability to do what she does best. The world is harsh. I'm just telling you to be gentle with her, and help her fight the inclination to become harsh in response."

Well, that made more sense. Apache would do anything for Nadine, after all. If that meant being a bitch so Nadine didn't have to, that was fine.

More than fine. It was excellent.

HELIX, CHAPTER NINE: QUALITY CONTROL

2009-08-01T18:17:55Z

"It's that stuff, isn't it? The Lodge."

Apache tried desperately to wrangle herself out of Nadine's mother's arms, but she had become an octopus, sniffling and unkempt, pulling desperately at Apache's arms and clothes. Apache had never heard her mention the Lodge aloud, much less refer to its influence in her daughter's life; Nadine had always said her mother would have preferred a convent, or a sanitarium.

"Not exactly, Mrs. Blumenthal. But it's that kind of thing, yes. I'm sorry."

Marion stopped struggling in her arms, and simply rested her head on Apache's shoulder, weeping now steadily. It was like a river, pouring past: strong and unceasing, without trembling or anything -- you could see the fear running down her, like an O'Keefe abstract painting -- which was somehow more terrifying. With the fingers of one hand, she signaled Michael, and he suddenly shook his head as if awakening from a deep trance.

"Mrs. Blumenthal? I'm Michael Palatine."

"Are you a doctor?"

"You could say that..."

Marion's body went stiff in Apache's arms, and she backed a step away, hands flying to her hat, her collar, her tiny gold crucifix, in a rote ritual that Apache'd seen Nadine mimic. When mother or daughter passed a mirror, the ritual was redoubled: every strand of hair, every inch of makeup, all checked in a zig-zagging, split-second glance. Nadine called it "Quality Control." Marion held out her hand, and shook Michael's firmly.

"Please, tell me what's happening with my daughter."

Michael's eyes darted to Apache's, who once again shook her head a bit. He nodded.

"Your daughter's been through a serious trauma. We're working on bringing her out of catatonia now, but I can't say it hasn't been rough on her. On all of us."

"Roland showed up," Apache said, and Marion's jaw dropped.

"Here?"

"He's in pretty bad shape too."

"Is he... Was he like you two?"

Apache shook her head. "That's part of it, but no."

"I didn't think so. He was always so... Ordinary."

The way she said the word, you'd think it wasn't her God. Marion cocked her head at Apache's tiny grin.

"Don't presume to know everything about me, Arianna. I was never the dragon you two thought I was. Scotty got all the credit for being so tolerant and accepting, but only because one of us had to cheer her on. It was the same with piano lessons, sports... There would be Scotty, cheering at every game and telling her how marvelous she was. And then me, the ugly old witch who actually made her sit down and practice."

Apache wasn't convinced entirely, but she could see Marion's point. Nadine's dad had been the biggest cheerleader of all time, sometimes to a fault. Even when Nadine knew she hadn't succeeded to her own specifications, he'd cheer just as loudly. She said it made her feel like the Special Olympics, once, when she was drunk: "Everybody gets a medal, every time."

But whether Marion Blumenthal was rewriting history for herself or not, it was more important that she was here.

"Can I see her?"

Apache jumped and waved her hands in front of Marion's face, explaining loudly -- too loudly, she could feel herself screaming -- that it wouldn't be possible, Nadine couldn't have any visitors... And then rolled her eyes at herself as Michael stepped forward.

"We'll take you to her room, of course. Right away."

Right. She'd been in the Clinic for so long she'd forgotten how real people did it. All Marion wanted to do was look at her daughter's sick body, lying in a bed. There wasn't any need at all, to protect her from the Dig; no reason to introduce Marion to the angry, powerful thing her daughter was becoming in there.

She felt awkward, bringing up the rear, but when Marion reached behind her -- without even a glance, while asking Michael questions about medical care he couldn't possibly answer -- and clutched her hand, it was dry and firm. Not panicked, not needy, not anything beyond the careless reaching out for family.

Given the heated atmosphere one expected when you went into 36-D, the spiritual warfare that waged every time, it was comforting to just stand there, holding Marion's hand as they looked down at poor Nadine. The sobs were tissue-dabbling sniffles, now, nothing like Marion's tectonic upheaval on arrival, as she patting her daughter's hand awkwardly, mutely, and tried to get answers without actually asking anything of merit.

Normally, this characteristic move of Marion's -- "tell me everything, except for the upsetting parts" -- would have pissed Apache off, but she realized a greater pity and sympathy for Marion had somehow taken root in the last few years. God knew she still spent a good deal of caloric energy on ignoring her own gifts, or the strange role she'd taken in this latest thing.

Michael did a great job explaining the situation, in language just vague and medical-sounding that it gave Marion great comfort, while saying nothing at all. His discussion of her therapeutic course of treatment was masterfully content-free, particularly. He ran through each of the staffers' particular areas of interest, making them all sound like psychiatrists, or marriage counselors, until she was satisfied.

"Well," Marion said, once again drawing herself up to a towering height, "I've seen her. She looks terrible, but I guess that can't be helped. You've given me great hope, Dr. Palatine, which is more than I had when I arrived. I tell you, it was difficult on the way down; the woman next to me on the airplane just wanted to talk about her daughter's new baby the whole time. It took all I had not to break down, or pull off the woman's wig. But I am here now, and I have seen her. And now, Arianna, I think it's time you took me home."

Apache looked at Michael, panicking. The image of spending the afternoon and evening with Marion, sipping Chardonnay and being slowly ground down beneath a sensible heel -- "Isn't this cozy! Why, you'd barely need a man at all, you girls have everything set up so nicely!" -- made her want to die.

"Mrs. Blumenthal, I'm afraid we can't spare Apache."

"I wasn't aware you'd received medical training, Arianna. I suppose congratulations are in order?"

"It's not like that, Mrs. Blumenthal. I just..."

"Ah." She nodded, turning off her brain. Michael shuddered. "I see. Well, drive me home at least, and let me set myself up. I assume there's not a proper guest room, but Nadine's room should suffice, yes?"

From her face you'd think their home doubled as a roadside attraction, a house of wax or reptile house.

"It's perfect. I actually think you'll love the house, Mrs. Blumenthal."

"Nadine has always made me very proud," she said, in a brittle and exhausted tone.

There she was: the Marion Blumenthal Apache best recognized. She nearly fainted with relief -- and when they made for the front lobby, she noticed, Marion's hand was not forthcoming.

"So I see you've landed a doctor," Marion said, sitting across the long expanse of leather in the towncar's back seat. It was going to be the longest car ride on record.

"Pardon?" Apache never knew where to look, when she was alone with Marion. Not that it had happened more than a few times, in the last twenty years. They tended to stick out.

"That Dr. Palatine. He seems lovely. Soft. Somebody you could settle down with, maybe."

Her tone suggested otherwise -- suggested, in fact, that Apache would eventually leave his body in a roadside ditch, roaring off with a bottle of liquor raised to the sky -- but that wasn't entirely out of the question, and Apache had to at least acknowledge her insight. She laughed, in what she hoped was a genteel fashion.

"I thought we were being so careful," Apache smiled, and left it at that.

"And Nadine? Were there any men, before Roland... Reappeared?"

"She's never had any problems in that department. She's always had her suitors."

"I suppose that's true," Marion said, wrinkling her nose.

"You trained her well."

Apache winced the second the words left her mouth.

"Arianna, you've done wonderful things for my daughter. You've been a good friend, often. But I do wish you'd keep that judgmental tone out of your voice. You don't know all that much about our family. Not really."

"I know enough," Apache said, getting irritated despite herself. Where was Marion, exactly, in the years between the Sweat and Halcyon? Making polite conversation and pointed barbs, and staying the hell out of her daughter's strange life. It hardly seemed worth making the point that Apache wasn't part of the family. She knew that.

"You girls have always behaved as if I'm hopelessly antiquated, I'm accustomed to that. You think you invented feminism. And I know you've always laughed behind my back about that. As though having a family were something to be pitied."

"Oh, Marion. Nothing like that. Please don’t..."

"Well, how did it work out for you? For Nadine? How did your bourgeois attempts at revolution work out? She never fully committed to her marriage. How could she, with you..."

Marion stopped short, knowing somehow she'd said too much. She breathed, and settled into her seat. Her disappointment was implicit in the lines of her hands, her paper skin. She seemed suddenly very old indeed.

"Arianna, I..."

"Apache. Fuckin'... I didn't even know your daughter when my name was Arianna. You don't know about my family either, Marion. Just because you control everybody else doesn't mean I'm going to give you the same... Just please, call me by my name."

Marion stared at her, the twitch in her left eye not quite visible, but terrifying nonetheless. She stared, silently, for a long time, as if processing a large thought. As though a war were going on inside. Apache stared back, eyes hollow, hands shaking, and wondered briefly what would happen. Nobody had ever, as far as Apache knew, said the F word in front of Marion. Perhaps she'd permanently broken the woman. Maybe she'd reach out that hand, Cartier bangle twinkling on the wrist, and slap the shit out of her. That would be something.

The war settled, Marion breathed, and finally looked away, at the landscape rushing past.

"We all come from somewhere, Apache."

As subtly as she could, Apache eased her phone from her pocket and wrote a brief text message, knowing Mrs. Blumenthal had no patience for technology. She'd hum quietly to herself, and look away, as though you were masturbating at the dinner table. She pressed send just as Marion looked back at her, tired and unwilling to argue further: omfg 911!

The phone rang less than a minute later: Grace Connelly, laughing hysterically.

"Girl, I know. I'll meet you at the house."

You could hear it in her tone: the perfect bow in the hair, spotless pumps. She'd probably show up with a plate of cookies and the makings of sugary afternoon cocktails. Apache sighed with relief, too stressed out to reply aloud. Whatever Grace did, it would be the perfect thing.

"Oh, and Michael said to tell her it was a pleasure to finally meet her."

Apache hung up and smiled apologetically at Marion, slipping the phone back into her pocket.

HELIX, CHAPTER EIGHT: I NEED TO BE STANDING

2009-08-01T18:17:10Z

After Michael left, Apache said they had a little time to kill before Andrew showed up, and asked if she needed anything. Nadine pretended not to hear her, so Apache shrugged and broke the link. When she came to, Michael was sitting with her, still holding her hand, tight in its bandage.

"Thanks, um. Thanks for coming in. It was the right time."

"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen! Her face like that."

Apache nodded, still shaken. She looked up into his eyes and slowly pulled her hand out of his grasp. They'd never been alone before. Not before the snakes, or after. Not like this.

"Do you think it's true, what she said?"

Michael looked down at Nadine, her grey and slack face, and smoothed her hair carefully before speaking.

"In there. It's true in there. Maybe not when it was happening, maybe not for you. But in there?"

Apache looked down at her friend's face, her weak shrinking body, and began to weep.

"Apache, it's okay. We're going to fix this. That was a good session. I don't feel like I got a lot done, but she engaged. She's thinking. She knows what she needs to do."

"Michael. I'm not crying because I'm worried about her. Look at her. She's so weak, she's lost so much weight. She looks like a... Like a victim. Like an anorexic. It's shameful. I'm embarrassed for her. She's so pretty..."

Apache ran her hand down Nadine's cheek.

"She would hate this."

"She does hate this," he said gently.

"Thanks for not bringing up God in there," Apache said suddenly, like she'd just remembered to be polite.

"What?"

"I know what you think, about all this. Like Grace thinks it's all about everybody pulling together and Claire thinks it's all about medicine 2.0 and whatever. You think you're a priest."

"I don't feel comfortable talking about that with patients."

"I'm not a patient. I'm your colleague, right?"

"Sure, but..."

"So thanks, for not bringing your shit into it."

"Apache, I'm not some kind of..."

"She wouldn't appreciate it."

"Look, let's leave her out of it for a second. This is about you. What's the problem?"

"I don't think your religion has a place in this... Any of it, really. This place, this case."

"You have the wrong idea. It's not my religion that you're talking about."

"What do you even mean? Of course it is."

"Apache, don't tell me what I believe."

"Don't treat me like an idiot, then."

"I would never do that. But you obviously think some things that aren't true, and I'm the expert. As far as I'm concerned. So... The way that I work looks religious. I get that. I get a lot of resistance to that, actually. But I wish that you, especially you, would try a little harder to understand."

"Why?"

"Because I want you to know me."

"So you're saying that this stuff brings us closer to... What? God? Therapy is religion?"

"More like a fairytale."

"Religion's a fairytale? I couldn't agree more."

"Well, not like you mean. I think the stories that we tell are really just ways of getting to something we can't talk about. I think of it as God. But I mean, Claire thinks of auras as animals and sex as colors, you know? And nobody gives her hell about it."

"Nobody in their right mind would give Claire hell about anything."

"Probably true. The point is that from the outside it doesn't really matter what I believe, any more than whether Buzz's aliens are real or Jeremiah talks to earthquakes. We're all doing the same thing, in different ways."

"Which is what?"

"Seeing where we're broken. Finding the pieces. Sticking them back together."

"And that's God?"

"That's a story about God."

"So where's God?"

"That is also a story about God."

"So have you given any thought to staying on, once we solve this one?"

"I almost did, but then Nadine told me I couldn't. She says if she lives, I have to leave."

"Huh. That sounds fishy."

"Well, she said it right. This is her life, I'm just along for the ride. This is her thing."

"Strictly speaking, you came here before she did. You're the reason we found her."

"I don't remember anybody begging me to stay on, when I left."

"It was a matter of debate."

"Let me guess. You and Andrew didn't want me around."

"That's a harsh way of saying it, Apache."

"But I'm right, yeah?"

"Jeremiah was afraid he'd get into trouble if you stuck around. Claire was the swing vote."

"Isn't it your job to be, like, comforting?"

"Apache, we loved you. You remember that now. But it was a very weird time. Almondine was leaving, and Claire was freaking out, and Buzz was all..."

"And crazy old Apache Tear couldn't be trusted. So what changed? How come I'm good enough to join the staff now?"

"Apache, in the last year you've changed more and faster than anybody I've ever seen. You're so much more grounded than you were when you came the first time. You're stronger than you were when you left."

"It's been a shitty year, that's for sure."

"Not the point. Don't you understand how much... So much of this stuff is just cleaning up an old mess. You're ashamed about all of it..."

"-- As I should be..."

"-- Sure. As you should be. But the woman you are today is not the same woman who did this. You're cleaning up her mess. When I look at you, do you know what I see?"

"The hottest ride in town."

"Apache, come on."

"So that's it? Clean bill of health? Because you said so, I'm okay."

"Ever think maybe this need of yours to have clear-cut, easy answers is what got you here in the first place?"

"So I'm fucked up, but just enough that I'm worth it?"

"Apache, everybody is fucked up the exact right amount. And tomorrow it changes."

"So fine. When you look at me, Michael. What do you see?"

Apache looked away from his face; the intensity behind those bright eyes was almost painful, like looking into the sun. She laughed nervously, as the silence stretched out. He didn't blink.

"Michael, come on."

When he spoke, it was with something in his throat.

"Apache Tear, you are... All you can see is the ways you've gotten broken, and you think it's just fake, glued together, like a broken vase. That you're essentially, or I guess permanently or... That it's something ugly. That we're all just being nice. That Nadine loves you because she feels sorry for you, or just so she can feel superior. That you need to be kept, and that's why you always run free. You think of yourself as this wild thing, as this disappointment. As a girl. As a fucked up girl."

"And you're going to tell me that's not..."

"-- I'm saying you get a lot out of that. Looking at yourself that way, like you deserve what happened to you, or the things that happen to all of us, that's a great way to avoid taking responsibility. You think being some kind of a victim makes you special, and you refuse to see yourself any other way."

"You're a flatterer. These panties are coming off, mister."

"Apache, I... You're not any of those things. That's not what I see. You think you're heading toward something, like you're going to grow up one day, become this butterfly and you'll finally be happy, or perfect, or whole. And that's not... That's not ever going to happen."

"You are the worst fucking doctor in the entire..."

"I'm not saying it right. You're right about that. I'm sorry. I keep getting sidetracked because I want you to understand this, and I know you're not going to, and it's going to make me feel like a failure. Just like in there, with Nadine. And I'm going to keep repeating myself until you're old or dead and I'll feel like I never once said it right."

"Said what?"

"You're not broken. You're not becoming anything other than what you are. When I look at you, I see something whole. Something, a woman, who has arrived at who she is. Who doesn't need to wait around for the... Story to start. To be perfect. When I look at you, you're already there. The story's already started, and you don't even know it, and it's so beautiful.... You're so beautiful, Apache, and it hurts. I don't know how to make you see it."

Apache stood up, abruptly; her chair squeaked across the floor.

"Oh, is this the part where you make an excuse and run away?"

She blushed and kicked his leg, not hard.

"No. I just need to be standing up right now."

"I'm not making you angry? Or bashful, or...?"

"Nobody can make you feel things, Michael."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. And what... I like it." She looked him straight in the eyes. "I like it. I like that girl that you're talking about. I wish I was like that. And I feel like I can be."

"You already are..."

"-- Now who's looking for fake easy answers? I'm still fucked up. Just because you... Just because you see these things doesn't mean they're true yet. More than I can admit, you're probably right about that. But I am six feet deep in a shitstorm of my own creation, and I have a lot to make up for. So maybe for the first time I actually am too busy to..."

"So you'll stay on?"

"Can't. If I lie to her, we can't get in there. But I'll work on getting her to forgive me."

"I think that's a good idea."

"In the meantime, you've got to give a girl a break. You're coming on like gangbusters, here."

"I'm just trying to..."

"Trust me. I like that too. But it's like you said: I'm an all or nothing lady. And right now, I'm dealing with Nadine. I can't do that, and deal with you too."

"You can't just cut it off like..."

"You know that I can."

"I know you don't have to."

"Michael, I'm only going to say this once and I'm not going to look at you when I say it, okay?"

"...Okay."

"I don't know you. Not yet, not really. I hope to, and at that time we can start using words to describe things. But right now, I don't know you. And you don't know me. So stop pretending that you do."

"I'm not pretending..."

"Think about Laurie and Harry, those two kids from the chemical pits. We were convinced they were in love, but it was a one-way trip, and she knew he wouldn't stick with it. She wasn't even that impressed."

"Are you... That's really insulting."

"I am not comparing you to him. Or me, to her. I'm just saying that love is very thrilling, very exciting. When I saw you..."

"I know," he breathed.

"But that's not the real shit. That's just the first blush, it's not the long story. And I want the long story, I think."

"So let's get going."

"But you always want the long story, that's how it works. That's the first blush, it's part of the first blush. Jeremiah falls in love twenty times a day. And he would say, the story is long as it needs to be."

"I am not Jeremiah."

"Neither am I, Michael. Not anymore. But you can't diagnose me, not about this. I'm not running away, I'm not being Sad Broken Girl. I'm not trying to make you chase me. I'm trying to be honest with you. Maybe for the first time. I am saying, this is not the right time. And you have to take me at my word. You have to trust me. You can't tell me I'm healthy and beautiful and all these things, and then second-guess me when I tell you to back off."

"That is... Exactly what I'm doing. Jesus."

"So back your shit down and trust me. There's a time coming for us, and I am looking forward to it. But you can't be a distraction in the meantime. If I live through this, if Nadine lives through this, and if I can get her to let me stay, we'll have our story. Okay?"

"Let you stay? Apache, what did you agree to?"

Apache shook her head in a frenzy, trying to end the conversation before she had to discuss the promises she'd made, there at the edge of the Dig. Michael couldn't know he was part of a bargain, or a bet, or he'd think she wasn't interested. And somehow, she still wanted him to be interested, no matter how weird it got. But that conversation led to ugly places, that he didn't really need to know about. So she put her hand upon his arm, and just before she changed the subject, his smile dropped. Those wet, delighted eyes grew wide, and he wordlessly pointed behind her. Standing in the door, with two suitcases and a Sunday hat on her head, was Mrs. Blumenthal herself. She nodded crisply, almost like Claire Redbud, and looked around herself with disdain.

Apache dropped Michael's hand, shaking her head at him imperceptibly as she stood and presented herself, standing at attention, ready for the onslaught. Apache had noticed more than once that Marion was taller than she appeared. It was like she could somehow transform herself into a taller, more frightening creature, on demand. She was still icily beautiful, ever after all the years, and Apache almost shrank away before she even spoke.

"Arianna," Marion said haughtily, drawing herself up to her true height. But before she could summon the courage to remind Marion to call her Apache -- "Arianna is my slave name!" she used to yell, when she was younger -- the older woman dropped her suitcases to the floor, and threw herself into Apache's arms.

HELIX, CHAPTER SEVEN: REASONS TO BE SAD

2009-08-01T18:16:33Z

"That's enough of that, Nadine."

The ghosts dissipated, into a rising mist. Michael Palatine stood, suddenly, between her and Apache's lawn chair. Apache was bent double in the chair, shaking silently with strong sobs.

"Couldn't cut it, huh? Called in the girlfriend. Figures she'd find a new one."

Michael looked the way she always looked, on the inside: not exactly male, not exactly female. More beautiful, perhaps, than in the real world, but still with that strength, almost harsh. She looked like an angel, standing at the gates. Nadine tried to imagine her as a man.

"You slept with Buzz."

The way she said it, almost disgusted but more fascinated, made Michael laugh.

"It was an odd time. For everybody."

"Creepy sex cult."

"No, nothing of the sort."

"Well, you've sure lowered your standards."

Michael pointed at Apache, still in agony on the deck chair.

"She was bleeding. Out there, what you did... She was bleeding. Her hands. Her nails were..."

"And you just had to swoop in, huh? Like a white knight?"

"I was the only one there. Trust me, I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because you're dying, and you know it. And that kills me, it just really rankles my hide. I expect a lot more from you."

"Everybody does."

"Nadine Blumenthal, you have a real gift for feeling sorry for yourself."

"I think I have a right. Don't you?"

"Everybody does. You keep going. You stay on. You let people help you."

"I left home when I was in high school. I've made a good life for myself. Things were going pretty well, until lately. I'd say I'm exactly what you expect me to be."

"Nadine, we handed you this job. You were the right woman for it. You still are. But please don't think that earns you the right to do this. You're hurting a lot of people here. Starting with yourself."

"I'm sorry, but it's hard for me to really believe that you're here trying to make me feel guilty, when for the first time in my life, I don't. How is that helping?"

"If you didn't have anything to be afraid of, we'd be able to wrap this up inside ten minutes. You have all the training. Claire says Gostock is first-rate."

"Then why is this happening? Tell me that. If I'm so gifted and strong, how did this happen? You know what used to be here?"

"A little house."

"And now it's the apocalypse. We're on the beach."

"Not because of anything you did, Nadine..."

"No. Because of something you did. Because you creeps knew what she did, and sent her back to me. Broken."

"You aren't going to... Listen, I'm not going to apologize for another patient's course of treatment."

"You aren't apologizing for anything."

"That is not why I'm here. This isn't about your hurt feelings, Nadine. This is about a problem that needs to be fixed. And you're the only one who can fix it. I'm sorry, but it's harsh and it's brutal. That's life. You need to come back."

"You keep repeating that. Broken record."

"It's the only thing worth saying. You must come back. You have to come home. You have patients, we have a business to run."

"So what are you here to do?"

"I want to help you get started. Gostock's still not here, so you're going to have to do the heavy lifting."

"Gostock. I never spoke to her, after I left the hospital."

"I've not met her, but she seems pretty amazing. She's getting up there."

"She was so young, when I met her."

"Jeremiah and I believe that she couldn't help you anyway. She's already taught you everything you need to know. You're going to have to do it yourself, in the end."

"And the first thing I do is walk over to that hole, and look inside. And if I do that, I'll die."

"You're already dying. How could it be worse?"

"I'm not afraid of dying."

"But you're afraid of the hole, the... Dig. Why?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

"I liked you a lot more on the outside, Nadine."

"So did I."

Nadine looked over at Apache. She'd sat up in the deck chair, which had somehow become wooden, whitewashed planks, an Adirondack like the chairs by the lake, at the Sweat. It dwarfed her. She had her knees pulled up to her chest. Nadine felt a tiny stab of something like hunger, and wished she had more tea.

"Nadine, I want you to think about something."

"Ah. A session with Dr. Michael Palatine. Nadine, our identity is forged in our accomplishments. Most of those accomplishments derive from obstacles we've overcome. Most obstacles present as psychic or emotional pain. Therefore, our identity is forged in pain. It is a necessary evil. When we ask why God allows adversity and pain, there's not an answer. This is because we're asking the wrong question."

Michael laughed, deeply.

"Well, you've cut out a good hour of our conversation. So what does that make you think? You, Nadine, what do you think of that? As a fellow doctor you couldn't be expected to pass judgment on my methodology, but here?"

"Here, I think it's a load. There, too. Your identity is what you are, it's the sum total of things. There's no finding it or defining it or creating it: it's just there, implicit in the things that brought you to this point."

"What point is that?"

"Michael, I don't have any traumas. That's my trauma. At least she gets to say she is messed up because of stuff that happened to her. She has the easy story. I..."

Apache's head jerked toward her, eyes wide.

"-- Fucking excuse me?"

"You have a good reason to be crazy, you have a good reason for letting people hurt you. Reasons to be sad. I just did it on my own, because I wanted everybody to be happy. You're strong. I'm weak. You're lucky because you get to blame something."

Apache stood up, fists clenching, and Michael put his hand against her chest.

"She's diverting. Don't fall for it."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not in the room, you g.d. pretentious twit. I am the room."

"Then stop acting like a child and take advantage of that, Nadine. Take possession of that. You're in charge here."

"I know that. I know that."

"Then act like it."

The sky beat down on them, suddenly bright. The sun was like a porthole to a darker grey. She could feel it crushing her. The cold came in waves.

"Why we are friends, Nadine?"

"Were. Why were we friends."

"Okay."

"I don't know. What do you mean? It's been a hundred years, that's why. Because I didn't know how to make friends with other people, besides you. Because you trained me to take care of you, like a sheepdog."

"There were lots of people at the Sweat that liked you, wanted to be your friend."

"Please. I was just the weird, intense girl with a clipboard trying to be the assistant manager to Winter Horse."

"And why would anybody love you for that."

"I cringe when I think about those days, Apache."

"Nadine, you were the only one, the only person on the entire Sweat, who knew what the fuck was going on. Even Winter Horse, even Bethany, never gave us much comfort. They went by the tides, and the moon. And you've got a whole city's worth of little girls terrified, confused... You and your clipboard were the only thing that made sense."

"I'm sure Winter Horse loved that."

"I'm sure she found it as annoying as we all did. But she loved you. We all did. You were kind, and tender, and you had better control of your abilities than any of us. You were like this tiny mom that just swept onto the ranch and took care of everything."

"I bet you loved that."

"God damn it, Nadine. I didn't want to use you, I wanted to be you."

"You wanted to be Jane Crow. You still do."

"Yeah. So? I watched your every move, trying to act more like you. And failing. Abysmally. All the time. And you would just look at me with that disappointed look in your eyes..."

"That's ridiculous. Like you cared what I thought. You never paid me any more attention than the other girls. You were just this..."

"Nadine, you wrote thank you notes. To other girls, when they gave you stuff, or did things for you. I couldn't even understand that, but I knew I wanted it. To do things the right way. The way the other girls looked up to you, the way Winter Horse looked at you..."

"You hated me even then."

"...Yeah."

"Now it makes sense. Dr. Palatine, there's your secret trauma: Apache's always been jealous of me."

"That was never a secret, Nadine!"

"Apache, calm down. This is interesting. Go on, Nadine."

"Well, it's a load of horsepuckey. I wanted to be just like Apache, we all did. Apache and Jane Crow. It was oppressive. And now I'm supposed to take the blame because fifteen years later, you just had to sleep with my husband? And lie about it? Crawl into my house?"

Michael laid a hand on Apache, to comfort her.

"Nadine, what made you want to be like Jane Crow?"

"Everything was so easy for her. She was beautiful, and cool, and nothing ever threw her. I felt like every second was some other attack, or a pitfall, or another opportunity to embarrass myself."

"Sounds like you were a teenager."

"Oh yeah, Michael? And what were you?"

There was thunder, deep in the distance. Michael smiled.

"I was invisible."

"Then you know how I felt."

"At the Sweat? Or before?"

"God, before. Before the Sweat I was wonderful. I was a cheerleader, I was popular..."

"Then what?"

"Then I went crazy."

"Then what?"

"Then I went to the Sweat."

"So it's not really the Sweat that's the problem."

"...No. Look, this would be easier if she weren't here."

"This wouldn't be happening if she weren't here," Michael pointed out, and Apache nodded.

"Nadine, we used to share everything."

"Apparently we still do."

"So the question remains: why were you friends with Apache?"

"Because she was... Because she didn't give a darn. About what anybody thought. Jane was cool, but Apache was... hot, just alive and excited about every silly thing. And she made everybody else excited too."

"Including you."

"Especially me."

"Is that still true?"

"I guess so, for now. But what's the point of..."

"Look, I don't have a goal here. We want you to rebuild this place so you can get out of there. Everything you need's down there in that hole. So right now, we're talking ourselves into a way to get you up out of that chair and across the road."

"And talking about the Sweat's going to..."

"I'm not asking you about the Sweat. I'm asking you about the accomplishments."

"That forged my identity. Well, I convinced my parents to send me to the Sweat. That was the hardest and the proudest thing I ever did."

"And then?"

"And then. By the time I was set to leave, it felt like home. I never thought I would be comfortable there, with all those broken people. All that dirt and animals and weird girl stuff."

"Weird stuff like what?"

"Just, you know, about boys and the way we looked and trying to be on top and make everybody like you."

"Those weren't a concern at your first school, back home?"

"That's the point: they were the concern. The Sweat made everything different."

"But you would have been going through those things anyway. What changed?"

"Winter Horse said... She said it didn't matter, what we looked like. That there were a million tricks to make it better, but you were still building on the same clay. She said the clay was the point."

"Do you still believe that?"

"You're sitting in it, so I guess so."

"More accomplishments?"

"School. College, I mean. And then guys, and then Roland."

"Quite an accomplishment," Apache laughed, and Nadine picked up a rock to throw at her.

"It was. I got married, Apache. You weren't raised in... You didn't grow up how I did. I don't know if it was stupid or what -- and I guess it turned out to be -- but it was a milestone for me. I loved being married."

"You sure did."

"Is that why you took it from me?"

HELIX 5-6

2009-04-09T04:04:43Z

CHAPTER FIVE: SURVIVOR TYPE

Jeremiah Tarquin took off his sunglasses and handed Apache a drink from the bar. She didn't ask what it was, and he didn't offer the information. She downed it in two.

"So how bad was it?"

"About as expected. She's so pissed, Jeremiah. But not even like we can just have a fight and get over it. You know how she is. It's like this deep river."

"Did you get anywhere? Therapeutically?"

"I don't know. She already knows, what she needs to do. Basically she told me I was a jerk for telling her stuff she already knows. She used language I've never heard from her."

"Everything she could throw at you that had nothing to do with it?"

"Yeah. She's usually such a straight shooter."

"We see it a lot with addicts. They already know what they have to do, so having you tell them means they start saying the meanest things."

"Addict is a strong word."

"Oh no, I just mean… When the solution is just one thing, no room for argument or negotiation, they have to jump out of that conversation and into another one. Which is usually about what an asshole you are."

"Arguing with gravity, Andrew calls it."

"He would. He's a lot like Nadine: they're really smart and they think that'll get them out of anything. But no matter how good at debating you are, you can't argue with gravity."

"Andrew's a master debater."

"Not compared to Buzz. More like an apprentice."

They drank quietly for a while. Jeremiah Tarquin seemed on edge. His smoky eyes kept catching on things across the room, as though he wasn't sure where to look; his strong hands drummed on the table. She finally looked him in the eye.

"What's going on with you? We haven't talked in a while."

"Well, we've been talking all the time, but not…"

"Not exactly. I hope you didn't think I was a complete…"

"It was weird. I won't lie. I kept wanting to make jokes, or…"

"It's okay."

"And I guess now it doesn't matter."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Michael's been talking about you pretty much non-stop…"

"Oh, God. What?"

He laughed.

"That's the answer I was looking for. So it's love."

"Right now is not a good time to talk about it. Nadine, and Roland, and he's a chick half the time, and… You are not the person to talk to."

"I don't have a jealous bone in my body, Apache. It's why we get along. And besides, he's twice as nervous as you could ever be. I don't want to get into that at all, it's going to be a mess."

"It might be nothing. Won't know for awhile anyhow."

"I think it's great. She's a great gal."

"Stop it. I'm still pissed nobody told me about him."

"About the curious case of Dr. Michael Palatine? Trust me, it's not the most interesting thing about her."

"Anyway. I heard you might be in the next session?"

"I'm wondering if it's a good idea. Lots of times, my particular gift can help ground people when they've been hit by a bomb like this, but… Given our history, and the whole circumstances surrounding the thing…"

"You think bringing my ex-sex partner into a scenario about my sex life might be a bad idea?"

"We still don't know exactly what's going on. It could be some kind of weird sex thing between the two of you that's got her all…"

"I assure you that it is not. And trust me, if Nadine were capable of being shocked by my sex life, we'd have stopped being friends a long time ago. She'll just laugh when she finds out about you and me."

"And Claire will probably fire me for boning a client…"

"It wasn't like that. As you well know. And it wasn't exactly a bad thing, for me."

"Me neither, Apache."

"You're kind of a romantic, you know that?"

"Best kind of ladies' man. The only kind, I think."

"You love to be in love, is that it? Heard it."

"I think there's something wonderful about finding one special someone and sharing something amazing with them. So it stands to reason that finding numerous special someones increases the amazement of that. From there it's easy to get to the idea that eventually you could do that with everybody, if you worked at it. Every single woman in the world."

"So really, being a total man-whore is, what, a spiritual mission? You are a piece of work, Jeremiah Tarquin."

"Right back at you, Apache Tear."

"The important thing is that we not make her feel left out. She's embarrassed about going from doctor to patient already... Most of us know that in her childhood, she spent some very unpleasant time on hospital lockdown."

"And we haven't broached the subject of Apache yet. That's going to take some delicacy."

"I'm not really worried about that part, Claire. She's going to have to be in the sessions to get anybody else in anyway, so it's already going to be weird."

"Authority-wise."

"Authority-wise. I mean, think about it. Nadine's spent her entire life taking care of Apache..."

"-- Ahem. Thinking she was taking care of me. Me, Apache Tear, right here in the room with you Apache. Whose friend got off for a long time on thinking she was some kind of degenerate delinquent charity case."

"Think with the patient. Write the story she sees."

"So you're saying for all intents and purposes, I actually am a degenerate delinquent charity case."

"No. I'm saying that in there, none of us are real anyway."

"So what do I have to do?"

Jeremiah looked at Claire, whose face composed itself quickly into that calm mask that preceded only the worst sorts of news.

"Apache. We've never really gotten into what it is that you... Your 'thing,' as Nadine calls it."

"And we won't. I am a high-grade telepath and I'm willing to do what I can to help, and that's satisfactory."

"I'm afraid it's not. Jeremy and I have been talking, and we think we have a new angle. You're central to solving this case."

"Not this case. My friend. And I knew you were going to say that."

"We need to talk about your gift. How it works."

Apache stood quickly, knocking her chair against the table. One of the forgotten coffees spilled a bit, over the brim.

"Trust me. That's a whole other case and it's not something we're going to be taking care of today. Or maybe ever. There's just not time."

"We think you have a probability-distortion skill in your makeup, Patch. That could be essential," Jeremiah said, worrying at his shirtsleeve.

"I don't do that. I will not do that."

"Please, just sit down and we can talk this out. Maybe it's a blind alley, but we think it could be the quickest way to a solution. Please. Jeremy and I are your friends. We can have Grace come up if you'd prefer..."

"Look. I know what you're talking about. Winter Horse called it 'Survivor Type.' Called me a Survivor Type."

"That's part of it, yes. We think there's more to it."

Apache sat down and self-consciously arranged her arms on the table in front of her, moving the coffees and creamer as far away from her as possible, taking up as much room as she could.

"There was a fire. My father died. And I knew what was happening, and I let it happen. That's a Survivor Type. And I'm not sorry. But I'm not really sure how that could help. This is straight-up psychic shit. That, I can do."

"First of all, Buzz has about a thousand ideas about how it can work. You could be amazing. And separately..."

"You've been discussing me? Weren't we just talking about..."

"-- No, sorry. Buzz has been looking for someone with your skill for a long time. We didn't bring it up when you moved here because you're so... nuts about it. But a lot of his theoretical work is based in your area. He scores pretty high on it too. Calls it luck."

"Lucky fuckin' me."

"Well, you were right when you said we're not going to crack this nut today. But I want you to think about this. We don't have to get into your stuff, Apache. We don't have to talk about your history, or your childhood. You barely gave us anything to work with the first time around."

"But at least you fixed me up, right, Doc? No side effects or killing my best friend, no sir."

"Jeremy, I told you she wasn't going to..."

"Look, just tell me what you're talking about."

"We only know what we're taught, and what we can figure out on our own. In Nadine's case, as in most of ours, she was raised almost entirely in isolation from other people with our special gifts. The only people she ever got any training from were Sylvia Gostock and Winter Horse..."

"Ah. Not Survivor Types."

"Exactly. Self-discipline, she has in spades. She brings it all onto herself, and that's the problem now. She's like a magnet picking up everything and calling it her own. It's how she learned to control her drowning, but she's still drowning anyway. That was Dr. Gostock. And Winter Horse..."

"Wasn't exactly Lao Tzu."

Jeremiah grinned. "Sun Tzu, you mean."

"Fuck Tzu. And yeah. So you're saying she had a good training, but it ended up putting her in a corner now?"

"Buzz says everything eventually becomes its opposite."

"Buzz would know. So what does this have to do with me?"

"Well, you've agreed to act as a conduit for the sessions, moving forward. We'd also like to invite you to act in a therapeutic capacity in your own right..."

"-- Eff. You. No, I will not and I cannot and you will not be making me. That's my friend in there. Of all the people I'm not interesting in pretending to doctor, she's the number one. Followed by everybody else."

"You love her, yes? You want to take care of her?"

"Claire, come on. That's not the same."

"You might have the thing. The thing that makes her better. Something you've been doing your whole life and never even knew it, just like her. She's been using her empathic abilities to care for you all this time, as much as you would let her. Now's your chance to do the same. But you have to get over this roadblock."

"This roadblock of being a murderer?"

"This roadblock of thinking that the amount of power you're sitting on is something to be ashamed of."

"What matters is what you do with it. And what I did..."

"You don't even know if you did. But I'll tell you this. There's a very simple reason I do my work through animal totems."

"You're sexuality and reproduction."

"Yeah, those are animal things."

"And so why?"

"When I was three years old, my grandfather brought home a litter of Australian Shepherd puppies. They left me alone with them, hoping I would develop a feeling for animals, like he had. He was a vet. This was my mother's side of the family."

"Right. Your dad's family was hunters and gaming dudes."

"Yes."

"Gross, Claire."

"That's a conversation for another time. But the point is, I'm all alone, three or four years old, with a basket of puppies. Cutest, softest, weakest, most vulnerable things in the world."

"Claire, don't tell me this..."

"-- You know what happened. You did the same thing, or something like it, some time."

"I get your point. It's fine, let it go."

Jeremiah cleared his throat. "Claire, come on."

"No. I'm serious, Jeremy. I have a point. Apache, what did I do?"

"You choked a puppy, or threw it in water to see if it could swim, or..."

"I threw that thing against the wall. Another one of them had bit me on the hand, and I was so angry and hurt that I grabbed one and threw it against the wall of the garage. Right next to the deep freeze, where they locked the ice cream. It was small, and it was defenseless, but my hand hurt."

"But that's not why you did it."

"No. I did it because it was smaller than me. And there were very few things in the world that were smaller than me. Weaker than me. I wanted to know what that felt like."

"And how did it feel?"

"Like throwing up. I still feel it."

"What did the puppy think?"

"The puppy was smaller and stupider than I was. It didn't remember a thing. It became my first friend."

"Yeah."

"So?"

"...Fine."

CHAPTER SIX: LOOK AT WHAT YOU MADE

"Still haven't moved, I see."

"The ghosts are getting stronger. Maybe I won't need you at all, after awhile."

"Those little flicker things?"

"Yeah, they're people. Other people in the hospital, you guys, maybe dead people. I should ask Grace. Or maybe they're aliens and Buzz can talk to them for me."

Nadine rocked in her chair on the grey paving, sipping steaming tea.

"Can you even taste that stuff?"

"Yeah. It takes some concentration, but it's the only thing that takes the edge off."

"Off you starving, you mean."

Nadine just kept rocking, staring at the Dig. She gestured toward Apache, without looking at her. There was a lawn chair standing on the tarmac, where nothing had been before. Apache pointed overhead, at the steely sun.

"Can you get sunburn from that?"

Nadine sighed as Apache sat, but didn't reply. She also didn't, Apache noticed, offer her any tea.

"Do you remember when we'd lay out, back at the Sweat?"

"It used to piss Winter Horse off so much, I remember that. 'Vanity is to be expected, in girls your age...'"

"'...But this is suicide.' She hated it more than anything. She'd pull out that SPF five thousand and make us put it on each other."

"And Jane Crow would always wait until she was gone, and then jump in the lake to wash it all off."

"How did we fill those hours? I can't imagine sitting in one place like that, with our eyes closed. Was it like meditation?"

"I know. When I think about doing that now, all I can think about is the dishes in the kitchen, or the fact that I should be working out, or making calls or answering emails."

"But that's what you're doing now. Staring."

"No, Apache. I am not staring. I am working on something."

"What?"

"I feel like at some point I'm going to stand up out of this chair and walk over to the Dig, and I don't know what happens after that. So I am trying to think about all the possible things that could happen after that, so I'll know. And it takes a lot of work and concentration. But I have learned in my lifetime that sometimes you just have to sit with a thing long enough, and then taking care of it stops seeming scary or hard, and you just do it. Like firewalking."

Apache nodded; the rocking chair creaked beside her. It felt like hours.

"So do you have a timeframe for the..."

"Apache, it takes concentration. But no, that's the point. The discipline is in continuing to sit. Something will occur."

"You're waiting for... Blue, you're all alone in here. It's not like in real life. Nothing's going to happen across your path. You can't be waiting on something to bubble up from your unconscious, because that's where you're sitting. And you have a limited amount of time."

Nadine nodded.

"I know. But this is it. I mean, this is what I'm working with right now."

"All you have to do is stand up..."

"All I have to do is stand up, and walk over there. And I know that, Apache. I realize that. What I can't figure out is how."

"My mom used to do this. She'd be on the couch and she'd want something, to have fun or get some food or go to the store, and I'd ask her why she wasn't doing those things, and she'd just look at me. Like she'd lost the instruction booklet."

"That's how I feel."

"You know what they call that in real life?"

"Yeah. Depression. Thanks for the diagnosis."

"Sure, but I mean, it requires outside help. This isn't something you can do on your own."

"Well. Thank God you're here, then."

"Right. So the small talk, I'm done with. Blue, you know how I can get in here and everybody else is a ghost?"

"Yeah. It's really annoying. I'd like to see Andrew right now."

"Well, he's got consults for at least a couple of hours. Reading MRIs over the phone or something for a doctor in Boston."

"I don't really care what everybody's doing, Apache. I just think it would be nice."

"Well, because he wants to see you, too. And there's a thing I wanted to talk to you about..."

"God damn it, Apache Tear. I am not interested in going anywhere right now. And Andrew, while a lovely young man with no doubt wonderful depression stories of his own to share, is not the biggest temptation."

"What is?"

"If I knew I would tell you. I swear I would."

"Okay, because there's an idea we had, and I'm kind of nervous about bringing it up with you."

"You and the doctors? Are you employed by the Halcyon Clinic? That's a freaking joke."

"Don't be silly."

In fact, she was an employee, as of this morning with Jeremiah, but that was a very small fact to omit. Was it a lie?

Nadine looked her in the eyes, stung. So: yes.

"Alrighty, Doc. I'm in your hands."

"That's exactly why I didn't know how to talk to you about this. I knew you'd overreact..."

"Overreact? To what, exactly? I finally find something I'm good at, and thanks to you I'm not able to do it? And then, guess what, you're the one that gets the thing. You get to play doctor, and I get to starve and shit myself."

"I've never taken a damn thing from you, Nadine."

"You've never said no to anything, either."

"True enough. Don't kill the messenger. They want to use me, our link or whatever, the loophole, to bring staffers in. Michael now, Andrew later."

"Why not bring the whole group in? If you're going to be watching my therapy sessions, why not share them with everybody else?"

"Because it's meant to be private."

"It's pornographic. How the heck am I supposed to work through this stuff when you're standing right there?"

"Nadine, come on. This isn't about me. This isn't about what happened, this is about repairing psychic damage. You still think of this as psychoanalysis, but it's not. You're rebuilding the architecture of your... Mind. Your soul."

"And exactly how am I not supposed to feel violated, to have you be a part of that?"

"If I wasn't already, I wouldn't be here. I just want to help."

Nadine creaked and sipped, sipped and creaked. The steam was warm on her face, but her stomach was a shriveled peanut inside her, getting hard and turning slowly over and over.

The sky got darker. A chill rushed along the ice-white grass, ruffling Apache's shirt and sending her flesh crawling. A shadow crept across Nadine's face; for a moment she looked terribly old. A few translucent birds shrieked and took flight, on the other side of the Dig; they were the first things she'd seen moving, beyond the ghosts. Things were not as quiet here as they seemed; for a moment she smelled sage, and liniment, like an old witch in a carpeted closet. There was the sound of something skittering in the pit, like metal or chitinous legs far below.

Apache could feel herself fading away from the world, adrenaline punching through her resolve, fight or flight response. She reached out to Nadine's wrist, encircling it with her hand; she jerked back to herself and looked at Apache, confused for a moment. She shook it off, and nodded. The darkness briefly flittered again, across her brow, before she spoke.

"Fine. But once this is over, you're gone."

"Okay."

"I mean it. We're not friends. You have perverted our bond. First with Roland, then with the snakes. It's over. Do you understand what I mean? You don't have a home with me."

At least it was something.

"Okay. If you move forward with this, I promise I'll leave you alone."

"No Halcyon Clinic. No apartment. No Grace, no Claire, no Buzz. No Michael Palatine. After this, you are all alone."

"Jesus, Nadine."

"No. This is my life. Here, at the clinic. It's what I'm coming back to; without it, there's no reason to come back at all. This is my life, and you are a guest in it. Those privileges end. Are we clear?"

"Nadine, I'll..."

"What? Wither? Die? Go on a bender? Get drunk and fuck a roomful of guys? Let them tie you down? Ask them to choke..."

"Nadine. Please."

"Or I could just do it the way you would. Bring Michael in here, I dare you. I'll scare the crap out of her. I know it all, now. All the things I pretended I didn't notice, all the excuses I made for you, all the times I picked you up out of your own filth. She will never love you. You won't just move from me to her, like you want to. You won't just leave me behind this time. I'll choose. I'll look her right in the eye. I can just pretend I'm making conversation. That's what you would do, right?"

"Nadine, you're not going to push me out like this. You're just trying to scare me. I'm going to bring Michael in here, like you said. I'm going to go get him and we're going to figure this out. You're just arguing with gravity, like Jeremiah said. You're just getting scared..."

"You could be standing there, watching, and I'd draw little pictures in the sand for them. For them all. All the things you've done."

She pointed at the grass, the line of white along the grey: a ghostly Apache, on her knees before one faceless man, with another kneeling behind her.

Apache turned her face to the sky, with tears running down her face, arms stretched out. She stared into the steely, blind sun, willing Nadine to stop. Begging through her sobs as the ghostly men groaned and grunted.

"Nadine..."

"Look, Apache. Look at what you made, Apache Tear."

The ghosts locked eyes over the woman's body, grinning like wolves, thrusting like pistons; they slapped a high five over her body as their gyrations continued. Their teeth were impossibly long, and their faces were clear now: men like dogs, drooling as they came.

Nadine Blumenthal laughed. It sounded like the wind, passing over a frozen field.

HELIX 3-4

2008-08-13T06:23:23Z

CHAPTER THREE: Bugging Out

Apache leaned way over the bed, and grinned down hatefully.

"Hello, Turd-Blossom."

She'd always called him that quietly, to herself, but it felt good to say it aloud. Roland actually smiled up at her, grateful for a familiar face.

"Apache. Is Nadine any better? They told me…"

"What the hell were you doing, barging in here? She's got a whole new life…"

"I didn't know what to do. I knew she was working here, and I thought they'd help me. That thing the witch gave us, it was…"

"I know, kid. We should not have made deals with her. I know that now."

"So is Nadine…"

"Not your problem. The doctors said you don't have to stay and help. So if you're feeling better, I can help you pack. Here, let me get you out of bed…"

"Apache, I'm dehydrated and too weak to stand. Please don't get physical with me, I can't do it. You'll kill me."

"And the problem would be?"

"Look, Apache. What we did…"

"What we did is not the issue now. Nadine is the issue now."

His face got a little harder as he began to fight his way awake.

"Look. I get the best friend act. You've got a lot to prove to her. I don't, we're done. I left her, remember? I'm not trying to make anything up to her. But she's not here right now. So you can stop being a bitch, because nobody's here to clap for you. There's just me, and I'm sorry, but I don't need the refresher course on how much you care about her. I was there. She always loved you more than me anyway, so I'm not sure what your point is, but you can drop that shit right now."

Huh.

"I still hate you."

"I'm aware of that, Apache. And I'm sorry about it, because I've always considered you one of my closest friends. I feel ashamed and embarrassed about what happened, but I'm not sorry I left her. I am sorry that I lost my two best friends in the process."

"Two best… Dude, don't repaint the pictures to suit your new carpets. You always resented the hell out of me."

"Not untrue. You were territorial and you made it difficult to be friends. You put undue stress on my marriage because you were jealous of it. But don't you think it's silly to only remember the bad parts? We're all living separate lives now. Or we will be, when I get out of your hair. It doesn't hurt anybody to remember both."

"That's such a Nadine line."

"She knows what she's talking about. She usually does. I'm quite content to remember the good times and the bad times the three of us shared. That's what memories are. That's what families are."

Apache decided that she was not a fan of the kinder, gentler Roland.

On the upside, any physical attraction she'd ever had to him, between the hospital gown and this new attitude, was a distant memory.

Claire was sitting at Nadine's bedside when she finally got it together enough to visit. The always immaculate Dr. Redbud twisted away from the door as she entered, dabbing at her eyes.

"Dr. Redbud, I'm sorry, I'll come back…"

"Nonsense. Have a seat. I was just … This is very frustrating."

"I know. I had no idea she'd ingratiated herself so much with you guys."

"The case itself is frustrating. Nadine is … You're her best friend, how can you think we wouldn't like her?"

"I don't know, she's just… Nadine. She's amazing but you can't really explain it."

"With the gift, things are different. When we look at Nadine, we see… All the things she can't show yet. I was going to give her a makeover. Take off the glasses and slap on some lipstick, like some kind of fucking teen high school movie or something. Like that would change the way she feels about… Oh, I'm sorry. Apache, I always forget that you're…"

"No problem. I have a vested interest in making people think I'm headblind."

"It's a shame to put our lanterns under a bushel."

"Yeah, but it's my bushel."

"I'm afraid I'm not up to a session right now, but if you're ready to go in and talk to her, I can call somebody. Michael, or Grace if you'd prefer…"

"Can we just… Sit and talk? I don't know if I'm ready to do that yet. But if you're busy, or I can just…"

"No, I'd like that. Let's chat. I … When I'm not working, I don't really know what to do."

"Hard work saving the world."

"'Saving is what misers do.' A wise man said that once."

"Who?"

"…I'm not entirely sure. Buzz quotes it all the time."

Claire put her feet up under herself in the chair, awkwardly, and looked at Apache expectantly.

"So, let's chat. I'm glad you're back. I'm sure Nadine tells you all about the patients and goings-on here at the clinic, which is basically my life. So now you know what I'm up to, and I don't guess you have any stories you'd like to share about your time away from us…"

"Tell me what it was like."

"What it was like. Well, I was on Red when the alarm went up."

"Real alarm, or like an Andrew thing?"

"Mental, always. Our patients are disturbed enough without bells going off. I don't think the girl at reception even knew what was going on until it was over."

"She asked me how to spell the word 'anatomy' once."

"That sounds about right. I'll tell you this, though: we went to her ballroom dancing competitions last year, and the girl is poetry in motion."

"Good. People should have a thing."

"What's your thing, Apache?"

"I've been silkscreening. Before that I was a competitive ballroom alcoholic. I'm still perfecting my skills on that one, though."

"I had so much eggnog last Christmas that I did a little bit of a dance for everybody."

Apache tried to imagine it, but couldn't.

"Anyway. So the alarm went up, and I closed down my session -- it was with one of the fertility couples, so they didn't really get what was going on -- and went down to the lobby. He was on the floor, like this…"

Claire drew her hands up to her chin, like a palsy victim, and stuck her tongue out.

"-- And Nadine here was just smiling at everybody."

"That's Nadine. She'd smile at the end of the world."

"That's what she was doing. So Michael got her out of the way and we went to work on him, but there wasn't a whole lot to do. It really affected Andrew; he kept saying how there was just nothing, nothing. Roland was transmitting total white noise."

"Sounds about right."

"I don't know what was going on with Nadine. Michael said it took a few minutes to get her through intake, and then to get her up to the room. She kept asking what time it was. We think she was undergoing severe dilation, somehow. She'd say it had been hours when it was just seconds, and then three hours later she'd notice she was in some other room… We couldn't keep her in a bed, she'd wander to the window and ask these questions."

"Questions?"

"If she had to go on rounds, whether or not they'd gotten fresh creamer for the coffee, that kind of thing. She asked about you every other word. I think she was scared you'd gotten hurt in all the commotion."

"And I was just completely gone."

"Well. She was, too. She was just on autopilot. I don't think anybody's really talked to her since the moment that man walked in the door. She won't remember it, anyway. I think she was just saying the things she'd been thinking at the time."

"Grace said… Grace said she knew. What happened, I mean."

"Yes. That's a good thing."

"I guess so."

"Apache, it was coming out either way. You've always known that. It was the last thing you said to me, before they took your memories away. 'I'll see you again eventually, Doc.' You knew she'd find out."

"I'm trying to think… Did I do anything, or say anything, when we first got here together? I don't think I was particularly offensive, but it's so strange… I look at you, and I see two Claires: one, my doctor that I know pretty well, and then the other girl I've only known for a few weeks."

"Apache, to be honest, we've enjoyed it. Getting to know you without all that mess. It's rare to meet somebody like you. Even rarer to meet you twice."

She imagined them, the last few weeks, behind closed doors, laughing. She knew Claire didn't mean it that way, but it still bothered her.

"Well, don't look at me that way. When I say we enjoyed it, it wasn't particularly funny or fun for us, either. There were a lot of near misses. I think you just assumed it was precog stuff and didn't worry about it, but there were definitely a few things we -- I, personally -- shouldn't have said."

"Did you know? Before we came?"

"You have a pretty distinctive name. We were all wondering what you'd be like when you arrived, with your clean slate, best friend in tow."

"And what was I like?"

"Apache, I like you better this way. When we first met, you were in a very dark, very hard place. The worst in your life, which is saying a lot. And when we met the second time, you were a lot happier. Still sharp and quick to change, still difficult at times, but you were … You had a certain lackadaisical air that made you dangerous. Having you back, it's like welcoming an old friend."

"What about Nadine? You knew all her secrets, from me. You knew things even Nadine didn't know. About her life, and me, and fuckin' Roland…"

"Apache, why do you think we invited Nadine here? She'd been flying under the radar for so long it was second nature. Based on your level of ability, and your stories about Nadine during treatment, she was at the top of the list. You both were. Frankly, I was relieved, in certain ways, when Benjamin Almondine left, because I knew we'd get you two to come. The staff missed you, Apache. I missed you."

Sounded fishy, but Apache didn't want to interrupt their little chat. Anything to keep from having to deal with the responsibility of visiting wherever Nadine was now.

"What's the story on Almondine? Everybody acts like he's some kind of…"

Claire sighed, with a new rosiness in her cheeks.

"Dr. Almondine is a gifted psychic. I'm sure his … skills … are serving him well in his new position."

"Doc. Claire. Come on."

She smiled; her eyes were far away.

"Have you ever been in love, Apache?"

She thought about it for a while, and shook her head.

"Not like you mean."

"Me neither. Not until Ben. He was… Very sure of himself. Very kind, at bedside. The patients loved him more than anything, more than Jeremy. He was a very professional man."

"Sounds perfect. For you, I mean."

She laughed. It was a lovely sound, like a bell.

"That's what I thought too. We used to talk about it, how perfect our life was going to be. We were smart, and brilliant, and the world was ours. We knew each other before, did you know that? In my previous life as a …"

"-- Real doctor?"

Claire cleared her throat.

"Right. Yes. We were real doctors together, and then we started the clinic -- not the Halcyon Corporation, but this branch -- and trained in Switzerland together. Two years we put in. And we'd come home at night after a hard day's work and talk about how we were finally doing it, making a difference. And then he discovered that the difference he really needed to make was in the ass end of the Balkans, for some reason. And it died. And you know, we didn't even fight about it or anything."

"No? You just let him go?"

"Which begs the question: was it love? Or was it just the perfect idea?"

There was a knock at the door. Apache turned to see a man standing, framed in the light.

He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Dark red hair, curly; broad shoulders, a quick smile. It was like he knew her, like they were recognizing each other from another life or something. She felt she knew him, intimately; it felt like him knowing her back. Was this love, like Claire was talking about? She'd never felt this way in her life. Nadine, Roland, the snakes, all of it, Grandmother, it all slid away. The quality of light changed and it was like time was standing still. He stood there, this stranger in the doorway, and smiled at her. She didn't want anything, suddenly. She didn't want to command him, or watch him crawl for her, or cry: just wanted him, wanted to tell him her dreams. Was this what Nadine had been chasing, all this time? It was like a drug. No wonder she seemed so pathetic. No wonder Andrew looked at Buzz that way, as though he were the answer to a question Andrew forgot to ask. This was love.

"Hi," she said. She almost felt shy.

"Hi there," he said, and smiled. They grinned together, as though they were sharing a secret. As though here, in this hospital room, with the most powerful comatose psychic on the West Coast and the founder of Halcyon West weren't in the room; as though they'd never existed. Claire cleared her throat.

"Yes?"

"Staff meeting? You said to come get you… How's she doing?"

"Nadine? Stiff as a board, light as a feather. I'm sure now that Apache's here we'll get some work done, though."

Apache stared at him, amazed; he was only half-listening to Claire speak. He finally looked at Claire, sitting behind her, and shook his head a little bit.

"Sorry. What's the news on Gostock?"

"She'll be here in the morning. Hopefully between Apache here, and Sylvia -- and Roland, if we find a use for him -- we'll have this licked by the end of the week."

The man nodded and smiled.

"Good. Nadine's been wearing me out."

"Excuse me," Apache said through her grin, which suddenly felt permanent. "Have we… Met somewhere before, or…?"

Ugh, it sounded like a line. It sounded like the worst piece of… Why were they laughing? Were they laughing at her?

Claire touched her arm.

"Oh, Apache, I'm sorry. It's just … I forgot he was a man last time you were here."

Apache shook her head and looked back at the man. The sparkle in his eyes wasn't remotely humorous. She knew he felt it, too.

"Apache Rose Peacock Tear, may I introduce Dr. Michael Palatine?"

Apache looked from Claire's indulgently smiling face to the strange man's lovely pale countenance. He shrugged, with his face: yee. His eyes pulled her in.

"I'm sorry, what?"

But it was dawning on her.

"What? Who? I'm not trying to be dense, but… Fuckin' what?"

Michael Palatine smiled at her, and took a few steps into the room. He held out one perfectly smooth, lovely hand, and shook it warmly.

"Nice to meet you."

"But you were…"

"We don't know what triggers it," Claire stammered, finally worried about her reaction. "I forgot he was a girl last time you were here…"

"But like, fuckin' what?"

He stepped closer, enveloping her hands in his, and looked at her simply, without a smile.

"Darling. Your eyes are so lovely. It's a shame when they bug out like that."

"Well? That fucking complicates things."

It wasn't until Claire and Michael both burst into laughter that she realized she'd spoken aloud.

CHAPTER FOUR: On The Pavement

"So Michael Palatine's a dude."

"I thought we decided that was crappy to say."

"No, I mean. Literally a dude. A hot dude. Apparently nobody thought that was interesting enough to tell us."

"Huh?"

"Sometimes he's a guy, sometimes she's a girl. They said they don't know what does it."

"That's confusing."

"Um, you're telling me."

"So what's his, like, what does she…"

"They made fun of me when I asked at the staff meeting. Apparently he's into girls."

"Either way?"

"Well, they're not actually connected. Think about it. Claire said that lots of transsexuals end up gay. Makes sense if you think about it."

"So she's a lesbian?"

"No, he's into women. Sometimes that's gay, I guess. They all seemed to think that none of this was very out of the ordinary."

"But does he… I mean, I hate to be indelicate…"

"It works. Sometimes it works this way, sometimes the other way."

"You asked her?"

"No, I asked generally. Made kind of a dick of myself, frankly. But Claire told me later that all the equipment works."

"And she knows this because…"

"Not her. Buzz."

"Buzz? Slept with Dr. Palatine?"

"Apparently. He's the only one with a psychological profile that can handle it, Claire said."

"He did it with…"

"No, just when Michael was a guy. He told Claire there are no problems in that department. She didn't pry."

"What about Andrew?"

"This was before."

"So I guess Buzz is gay after all."

"I don't know. They don't act like it. They act like it's not that simple, or… Like it's simpler than we think. I don't know. This stuff doesn't seem to bother them."

"I think you were right all along. They are a creepy sex cult."

"I don't know that any of this necessarily means they're creepy. I can definitely see being attracted to Michael, and in any case he seems to have narrowed the field to women at this point. It's not like they're all bisexual."

"No, but Andrew and Michael -- somehow -- are gay, and Buzz is quote-unquote 'bi,' and they've all slept with each other, and meanwhile you're standing here telling me you're becoming a lesbian…"

"Whoa, whoa. What?"

"I can see it in your eyes. You're totally in love with Michael Palatine suddenly."

"…This is not the point. The point is that I'm here and we need to fix you before you starve, or dehydrate, or whatever. Hi, by the way."

"You kind of buried the lead."

"I could have opened with the big news."

"You slept with my husband? Which makes you, by the way, a cunt. And then he left me, and the two of you cooked up some kind of scheme to keep it from me, doing God knows what…"

"-- God didn't have a lot to do with it. Goddess, maybe…"

"After all those years bitching about the Sweat you're willing to believe in the Goddess?"

"Tell you later. Point being, yes, and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, because I did it for stupid reasons and I've spent the last six months crawling through broken glass you wouldn't believe trying to fix it, not that anything could fix it, and none of this matters anyway because I fully expect you to break my jaw…"

"Which I might."

"…Because if you don't snap out of this shit and get back to the real world, you won't be available to kill me, or whip me with the lash of a thousand stings, or call me a cunt every morning for the rest of your life, or whatever you decide the punishment is, because you'll be dead."

"It's quiet here."

"It's quiet when you're dead. I need you."

"You didn't seem to think so when you fucked my husband."

Apache flinched, there on the tarmac.

"That's the word, isn't it? You're always trying to get me to say the word, there's the word: you and my husband, fucking. In my head. No wonder I'm crazy."

"That's not why you're here. Come on, you're stronger than that."

"Oh yeah, smart stuff? Why am I here, then? My two closest people in the entire universe fucking around behind my back, laughing at how stupid I am, fooling me? Sounds like a good reason to go into a coma to me."

"No, it was the rest of it. You and me, living together, being all psychic and shit. The snakes. Roland was convinced you were subconsciously cursing him..."

"Don't I wish."

"Nadine, here I can't lie. Look at me. I only hate you a certain percentage, which you can see and have always seen. I love you more."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"Point being, I can't lie to you here, and I can't hurt you here. Even if I wanted to, which I don't. I couldn't get in if I did."

"So what were you thinking?"

"That's for my therapy. Right now your life is in danger."

"So what do you want from me?"

"I want you to look at something. I didn't do this. I couldn't do this. This is a job hazard. Don't get distracted from the real problem by hating me. We can deal with that later."

"We will do nothing later."

"Fine, just get out of this now."

"What are you even talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. I want you to look at it. Down to the bottom."

"You're just being a bitch."

"No, I'm not."

"You always do this. 'Look at the awful thing and agree with me that life is just like this.' You're always trying to drag me down to your level."

"Wow, not pulling any punches today, are we?"

"You wanna say that one more time?"

"Retracted. You're right, I don't have the right. But what you just said? I don't know if it's true. One day I'll be perfect and kind and fixed and I can tell you for sure. But right now, it's not the point. I need you to look."

"I don't care what you need."

"Okay, then. You need to look. You already know, Nadine. You're being a baby."

"Big baby Nadine, that's me. Isn't it? Did you talk about what a fool I am? Did you get all foreplayed up thinking about it, talking about it? Or did you wait until after, and bask in the afterglow, and talk about what an asshole I am?"

"Whatever, Nadine."

"Oh, what. You're going to run away, like always?"

"No. I'm going to stand here, quietly, not telling you how I told you so like a billion times, because I don't kick a lady when she's down, and I am going to wait until you're done throwing a fit."

"I'm sorry. You told me so?"

"You were a fucking doormat, Nadine."

"So you just had to come along and screw my husband? Show me the error of my ways? That line didn't work on me when we were thirteen and it's not working now."

"No. I'm saying I looked you in the eye and told you he was about to cheat on you. I looked you in the eye and told you he was cheating on you. And when he left, I looked you in the eye and told you to drop it. I told you so. He's not worthy of you."

"And you are."

"Um, no. I am not. And you can tell me to get lost…"

"Get LOST!"

"-- After we get you through this part."

"No, fuck you. Get lost now. I'll deal with this."

"I'm the only one you'll let in. Trust that, if you don't trust anything else."

"That is a goshdarned loophole. I can't help it if my heart hasn't quite caught up to your bullshit. I'm trying here."

"It's not a loophole, it's the truth. Look at me. Here, you can see me the way I really am. I'm very messed up, I admit it. I hurt you and I knew I was hurting you. I admit that too. But right now, I don't care about any of that. I care about the fact that you're dying, and I'm the last person you want to see, but I'm the only person that apparently can help you."

"That is one crappy loophole."

"What's it going to take, Nadine?"

"I want you to shut up. Just shut your mouth. Your … psychic ghost-mouth."

"I promise I will. Just look down."

It was a long, long way. But there was light at the bottom.

HELIX 1-2

2008-08-13T05:54:34Z

CHAPTER ONE: On The Bend

Grace finally found Apache Tear in some scary hangout near the old trailer park. There weren't any needles sticking out of her, and she seemed to have her wits about her, but it was still an ugly scene. She was drunk as hell, and had some kid's passed-out head in her lap. She was watching some other guy play the mandolin and there was incense burning in the corner. Somebody had walked away from a quesadilla on the stove and it was sending up black acrid smoke like a message from someplace filthy.

For Grace Connelly, it was a vision of hell on Earth.

"Apache Tear, get up off that couch at once. This place has fleas."

"Hey, Gracie. We need to have a chat."

"We do, but we won't be doing it here."

"Cram it, Gracie. I remembered everything."

"I know, that's why we…"

"You said I wouldn't remember. You lied."

"You can lecture me about that later. Right now we need to get back to the clinic. I've got two psychos in Intensive Care and I need you to come with me. Buzz is in the car."

"What's that got to do with me? I'm not a doctor."

"It's Roland and Nadine, Apache. They're dying."

"Trust me, it won't help if I'm there."

"With respect, you don't know what you're talking about. Come on, Buzz is in the car."

"Mm, nice bribe. Sexy old Buzz. But I'm fine here."

"Apache, I'm only going to ask one more time."

"Good."

Apache leaned back, stroking the guy's hair, and took another drink. She could barely focus.

"Apache Tear, your friend needs you. I'm not leaving until you come with me. I am starting to get angry, here."

"It's good to express your anger, Doctor Connelly. You told me that once."

"I'm about to express some anger on your face. Get up."

"She's better off without me, Doc. Nothing but trouble."

"I see. Well, believing that probably helps you avoid responsibility for your actions. However, it's not going to stop me from beating your ass."

Apache began to laugh, leaning her head back against the couch.

"Doc, not with both hands behind my back could you take me down."

"Care to rumble?"

Apache shoved the kid off her lap and grinned, standing.

"Dr. Connelly, you surprise me. Way I see it, I owe you a beating anyway."

"Apache, I'm sorry. I'm sorry it didn't take, and I'm sorry you had to remember all that stuff. But since you did… We were friends once, weren't we? You remember that?"

"Yeah. I did a lot of crying up in that clinic. Not what I went in for, but of course you never let that stop you, do you?"

"You were better. You and I, we worked together."

"Yeah, and then you took it all away."

"It's what you wanted, Apache. Now come on."

Apache raised a fist and stepped toward her, smiling icily. Grace stepped easily to the side, kicking Apache's knee out from under her and bending an arm behind her back viciously. She tangled the other in Apache's hair, and took a cleansing breath.

"Apache?"

"…Yeah?"

"I would love to discuss your ongoing treatment with you at a later time. I really do feel proud of the work we were able to do, before you left the clinic. But here's the thing: we're not going to discuss it here. This place is a filth-pit, and these people are disgusting. I know you know that, but I'm also not entirely sure you understand just how unsuitable this environment is for living beings. I'm pretty sure I have detected a small amount of feces in the corner, near the bong. My hope is that it's of animal origin, but in any case I hardly feel it's appropriate for the interior of someone's home. Now, I'm going to take you out to the car, and we're going to drive back to Halcyon. You can sit in the front with Buzz and drink some coffee, maybe sleep some of this off, or you can sit in the back, handcuffed. Either way, we're going back, and we're going to help Nadine, and you're going to pull it together. This instant. Okay?"

"…Okay."

"Great. Now, do you have any belongings I should bring with us?"

"Not really. Could you let go of my head?"

"Not yet. Are we agreed?"

"Yes, okay. We're agreed. I'm going to drive with you to the clinic and we're going to have ourselves a good cry. I'll hold the spirit drum or whatever, and you can do a little raindance, and we'll all learn a little something about ourselves. Deal."

"I'm going to let go now, Apache. Please don't do anything silly."

She let go of Apache Tear, who smiled guiltily and shrugged. She ran a hand through her hair.

"So Apache. Do you need to say goodbye to anybody? Thank your hosts, perhaps?"

Apache giggled and shook her head ruefully.

"Great! Let's go. There's this wonderful place about an hour up the road that has the most delicious ice cream sundaes. I've been craving one all day."

Grace's sundae had little pink sprinkles on it, of course. Buzz had chosen this week for his yearly monochromatic food limitation, so he was eating vanilla ice cream with marshmallow and chocolate sauce. Apache was none too interested in the reasoning behind that, and she knew if she asked he'd have some kind of ridiculous explanation for it. Normally that would be adorable, but she was starting to feel the edge of several days' partying too many. She pushed the eight different toppings around on top of her ice cream and yearned for a soda as big as the world.

"Basically, those little bracelets you two cooked up would have only worked if you'd been out of her immediate proximity. Moving in with you was short-circuiting her, but it didn't really hit until that Roland arrived."

Apache couldn't imagine what it must have been like for him. They said he hadn't taken it off a single time all those months; his wrist was bloody, underneath it. She'd been taking it off every weekend, on her bender jaunts -- once, she'd come back almost to the trailer park before remembering she'd left it in some guy's house; it took two hours to backtrack and find his address -- and still found it wearing. And that was with full shielding and all the training the Sweat could offer. Poor Roland, she let herself think. For a moment.

"So what's she doing now?"

"Starving, basically. And not sleeping, so she's going a little nuts there. She just keeps saying the same stuff, over and over. Michael says it's supremely eerie, but she's the only one Nadine will talk to. Such as it is."

"Stuff? Like what?"

"Mostly worrying about you."

Ouch. Apache bit savagely into a spoonful of ice cream.

"She's retreated into some kind of primal state, no control, she's broadcasting louder than I've ever heard. And nobody can get in because her defenses are too high. We had to move some patients out of the White Wing altogether because she was blasting them so loud. Paper Plane Kid said he felt like Noriega."

"And I can help how?"

"Michael's theory -- and Claire and Andrew agree -- is that you're the only person she'll let in. We have no idea what it looks like in there. We've basically just been trying to feed her and keep her from hurting herself until we could find something. Sylvia Gostock is stuck in Brazil or something, but she's on her way."

"Hurting herself?"

"Not like that. I mean, like falling over. She's in really bad shape, Apache."

"And Roland?"

"Basic catatonia. He's better off the closer he is to her."

"Really? He thought she was trying to kill him…"

"I don't know what kind of weird feedback loop the three of you managed to set up, but it's messing with him for sure. Where did you get those stupid bracelets?"

"A bruja on the East Side." Apache shivered. "I don't want to talk about that."

"Whoever she was, she knew her stuff. Those things would have kept you out of trouble for years, if you and Nadine weren't two of the strongest psychics on the West Coast. Which she probably knew. I mean, you would have died ten or fifteen years early, and Roland probably will, but hey -- at least you wouldn't have to own up to what you did."

"That's basically what she said."

"Anyway. The mission is, we get you in there, you walk her out. Then hopefully she can help Roland."

"Help Roland?"

"That's what we do, Apache."

"I still don't understand why it did this to her."

"Well, we're still not totally sure, but we think it has something to do with the secret itself. You and Roland were both wearing the bracelets, so all that energy was rebounding back on her. Did you notice any weird mood swings, or …"

Just the hula dancing, but she didn't want to talk about that.

"Yeah."

"We think maybe it was just some kind of … cognitive super-dissonance. She knew enough, even headblind, to know that her senses weren't matching up with reality, and she was used to being able to sense a certain amount of things about you and Roland that were being blocked off… When he walked in, she dropped her shields immediately. It was bizarre. She just went into this bizarre fugue, stood there staring at him and smiling at everybody."

"So it wasn't the secret?"

"Apache, that was the first thing but it wasn't the biggest thing."

"So… She knows."

"Yeah. Sucks to be you, I guess."

"I'm worried about her."

"You're a good friend, aren't you."

"Grace, not now."

"You're right, I'm sorry. But it's been so difficult, watching her go through this. She can't even bathe herself. And it took days to find you…"

"I felt it, that morning. I thought the bracelet was going to catch fire, and I got really woozy. Like, drunk. And then I just…"

"Went on a bender. I can't imagine what that must have been like for you."

"It was like oceans. Of fire. I looked in the mirror and saw her face, and weird flashes of Roland on the floor at the clinic, I couldn't sleep."

"If you'd been at the clinic, you'd be as bad as they are right now. I'm glad you're okay."

"Grace?"

"Yeah."

"I don't really want to deal with this."

"I know."

"But on the other hand, I remember you now."

"I'm glad. It's been hard."

"We were friends, weren't we?"

"We still are, Apache. Let's just get through this."

Buzz's phone rang. He answered it and grinned wearily.

"You doing that Bluetooth shit? …Yeah. Yeah, okay. Okay, we'll be there soon."

He hung up.

"It's Andrew. Roland's awake."

Apache rolled her eyes. They gathered their things and made their way back to the car.

"'Bluetooth shit'?"

"Andrew thinks he's cool because he figured out a way to call my phone."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Without using his."

Grace put on her sunglasses.

"Buzz, sometimes Andrew scares me."

"You're telling me," Buzz laughed. "He told me he was setting my TiVo to record Law & Order while we were on the phone."

CHAPTER TWO: The Dig

This is the first thing Nadine remembered. When it was all over, years later, when Grace finally named her baby Virginia, when they'd pulled Future Buzz back across the line, and Michael was married to the King of the City Beneath, and Claire and Jeremiah Tarquin finally told their secret, this was still the first thing she remembered. She'd spend years and effort trying to reach further back, she'd go through hypnotism and past-life regression, trying to catch pieces of what it was like, but this was as far back as she could ever seem to go:

She was standing on a tarmac, below a steel-grey sky. There was the hum and thrill of machinery in the distance, but she could see nothing. It was like music. The grass along the edge of the paving was white, like snow; it danced in the breeze. The sun was like a silver platter, hung in the sky against the iron. She was wearing white, and facing a lot full of gravel. She came closer, and there it was: the Big Dig. A great hole in the world, that went all the way down into darkness. Here on the pavement she was safe; there, across a line of ice-white grass, was death.

It had once been a little house.

Nadine conjured up a rocking chair to sit in. Mother always said, when you can't figure out what to do, just have a seat in a rocking chair and think about something else.

When they came, they were like ghosts. They'd flicker across her field of vision, their worried faces peering at her, and vanish again. After awhile, their messages started coming through on little slips of paper, but she didn't know how to answer them. Her body was miles away, galaxies, and she didn't know how to speak words they'd understand anyway. Mostly, she looked at the Dig and waited for something to occur to her.

She thought about Apache, and Roland. Roland, Apache. Sometimes together. It didn't seem to hurt, because nothing hurt. Everything was grey.

She wasn't surprised, she couldn't be surprised. It seemed to have ruined them both. How could she have lived with Apache all those months and not known? And what must it have been like, for Apache, hiding that from her? She'd always been able to see what was going on with Apache, even if it was just a blurry hint. But this, nothing. She hadn't seen this coming at all.

Which was, of course, a lie. Looking back, she'd ignored so much. Even when she was still married, she'd known something was up. Just a little tension at strange times, odd little moments when Apache and Roland seemed to be closer, or further apart, than they seemed normally to be. She'd always thought that Apache resented Roland; Apache had always given that impression anyway. And every time they'd loaned her money, or let her crash on their couch, he'd seemed just as irritated.

So what was it? What did Apache have that Nadine didn't? It wasn't just that she was overtly sexual -- Nadine and Roland had always done fine in that department, and anyway, Nadine thought most of that was really empty bravado anyway, on Apache's part. It must be something more personal. Was it the way she didn't really care about anything? Her sense of humor? What made her so desirable?

There was no way to tell how much time was passing. She didn't need to sleep or eat, here, although she felt a distant pain from time to time that told her she needed to eat, somewhere back wherever her body was. She assumed they'd either fix her, or she would die; either way, it would end. In the meantime, why not rock in her chair and think about it, or just let her mind drift across the endless fields of grass? Anything would be better than looking at the hole, the memory of her little house.

Or was it not about Apache at all? Was it something in Roland, some snaky part she never noticed, that made him want to hurt her? Was it possible that he'd done that? What could she have done to hurt him so much that he'd strike out like that? She'd had friends, girlfriends, whose husbands and boyfriends cheated. It always seemed to Nadine that it was more about dissatisfaction, with themselves and their own lives. She'd understood that, because of Apache: the way you sometimes felt so trapped, or so unhappy, that you'd just tear everything down. Not all at once, like Apache usually did, but little by little. Waiting to get caught.

Had Roland just been waiting, all that time, for her to catch him? Was that it? Had she somehow failed? Should she have been more suspicious, more nosy? Was that what he wanted? Maybe he wanted a big show, so she could prove how much she loved him.

She imagined it: walking in on them, the fit she'd throw, the dishes she'd break in her rage, driving a car through the front room and into the kitchen, pipes bursting, wires hanging down from the ceiling… Seemed out of character. Surely Roland would have known that. He can't have been waiting for some kind of show, could he? Because she knew exactly what she'd do: stare for a second, heart breaking, and then turn and walk out of the room, and then pretend nothing had happened. It wasn't pretty, but there it was.

So if he wasn't doing it for Apache, and he wasn't doing it for her, it must be about him. What could have been so bad, what was so disappointing about their life together, that he'd try to ruin it like that? How could that be better? It didn't seem too pragmatic.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? Too pragmatic was what she was. How could she possibly compete with Apache?

It's what she thought he loved best about her. He'd get excited, about something silly, and go on at length about it, getting more and more exercised, explaining mad theories to her and laughing at his own exuberance, and she'd sit there smiling at him, listening to every word, taking it in. That's what men liked.

Of course Apache wouldn't sit still for that kind of talk, if the situation were different. She'd lectured Nadine plenty of times on what you do with a cheating man, and it wasn't ever giving him what he wanted.

"Women are wonderful, beautiful creatures. Nadine, all the ills of this world go back to the fact that men love us so much they don't know what to do with themselves. Do you know what that means? We can do whatever we want."

Which didn't seem right either, but in this case it didn't seem to be doing much good wondering what Roland had been thinking. He never seemed to be thinking much. At least, if you asked him what he was thinking about he never had a good answer. If you weren't much interested, of course, he wouldn't shut up, but if you caught him in a quiet moment he wouldn't divulge for anything. She wondered what she could have done.

But it was over, wasn't it? Didn't really matter what made it happen, what pushed him over the edge. She planned on slapping the crap out of Apache the next time she saw her, but she'd seen too many women go overboard with that too. Taking the easy way out and thinking that just because men wouldn't talk about their feelings meant they didn't have them, and thinking that just because men didn't think about important things meant they could do whatever they wanted, like little kids. As though men weren't capable of making informed decisions about their own behavior, so obviously you had to blame the other woman.

That didn't seem right either. It seemed to Nadine that if women were less afraid of men, and stopped letting them get away with b.s. just because they were men, there would be a lot less evil in the world. Or maybe that was just part of being powerless too, back when women were powerless -- maybe they felt better about things if they could just roll their eyes and tell themselves they were letting the men get away with it, because they knew better.

Nadine wasn't interested in doing either. But if she couldn't blame Apache, and she couldn't blow off Roland, then she wasn't sure how to feel about it. She knew it was her fault in some way, but she couldn't figure out how. If she'd asked him why he wasn't happy, he might have told her. And then she would have died. If she had called Roland out on his reticence and his meanness, and tried to get him to open up, he would have left her… But he did that anyway.

She was a hostage! She had been so tied up and afraid that he'd leave her that she'd ignored everything that wasn't perfect. And that had made him leave, somehow. So all she'd really done was embarrass herself by not standing up for herself. But she'd been doing that her whole life, with Apache when they were kids, and with her mom before then. And the most screwed up thing was that nobody ever asked her to: nobody made her act like a hostage, nobody acted like a terrorist and told her to stay quiet, don't talk, don't move or I'll leave. So where did it come from?

Mom. She was mad about that for hours, or days, or years under a steel sun. What the heck had her mom been up to, all those years? Why hadn't she told Nadine anything that mattered? All her mother ever taught her was to give her husband whatever he wanted, or else he would take it, or leave. And her dad was a really nice guy! He wouldn't have done either. But her mother had been so paralyzed and perfect she never even noticed. And of all the things she could have taught her daughter, the things Nadine was only figuring out now, she decided to pass on that charming little trait.

Nadine had never thought about it before, but it suddenly seemed so clear: how terrified her mother must be, all the time. And her mother before her, passing on that fear, telling her to just put up with it. "This too shall pass," and "Boys will be boys," and pretending that you were in control of everything even when you really weren't in control of anything. So then, she'd give her grandma an earful too.

And her grandma's grandma, and the legendarily scary woman that was her mother, and that woman's mother and grandmother. And her best friend's mother, standing by like the accomplice to a murder, not saying a word.

You could go on like that forever, all the way back to Eve, looking God in the eye and shrugging like Apache, saying, "Oh, men don't know any better."

But how does that help? She wondered. We're all here now, broken and battered and teaching our daughters to be afraid. You can't be angry at an entire gender, much less both of them, or you're nothing. The only option is not to be mad at anybody.

And he's still gone.

Which had stopped hurting pretty soon, she realized looking back, bracelet or no bracelet. She'd missed being a wife and having somebody to focus all her thoughts and feelings and love on, somebody to come home to. That had lasted. But that feeling of betrayal, when he'd left, that broken-hearted aching sadness, that hadn't lasted too long. Maybe that was the problem, or a sign of the problem, in itself. Maybe if she'd really loved him, it would still be killing her. Maybe he was right to leave.

Or maybe, her internal Apache-brain said, it doesn’t matter why he left. He's gone. He's him, and you're you. What changes in the future if you never find out?

Well, if I knew why he left I could change and the next one wouldn't leave.

What you're saying is, if you were just better, somebody would love you.

Yes.

But you should be better anyway, because you're awesome and you deserve to be better all the time.

Yes.

And somebody worth loving wouldn't leave you anyway.

…Yes.

So what you're saying, really, is fuck him, and you're going to concentrate on being better all the time.

Well, not in those words…

So what do you do now? What's the first step?

Nadine already knew. She rolled her eyes, and sighed, and leaned back in her rocking chair, and took a long hard look at the Dig.

SERPENTINE 11-12

2008-08-12T23:12:55Z

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Oublie

They finally got the bracelet off Roland -- Andrew had to kneel on his chest for them to get it free -- and once it was gone, he'd calmed down a little bit. Nadine stared down at him, his face twisted in agony, and idly thought to herself that it had been many, many months since she'd seen that face. His face now was like his face in bed, when it was finally ending and she could get some rest: completely gone, lost in sensation. She wondered what it would be like to sleep with him now, after everything. She wondered if he'd be impressed with her new job. He'd never seemed too interested in her gifts before, but she knew he liked money. There was money at this job, and new clothes, and a gorgeous new house. She wanted to invite him over, and see how well she and Apache were doing. How happy she was without him. She wanted to show him that Apache had won, and their friendship had stayed strong, no matter what he did. She wondered where the thought came from, and then wondered what she was doing, standing there watching her ex-husband possibly dying in front of her. What kind of a person would…

"Nadine, get out of my way please. This man needs medical attention before we can even…"

She stumbled as Buzz pushed past her, smiling at him. Of course she'd get out of his way. Let the professionals do what they did. She could help, though, couldn't she? What good was a gift if you couldn't use it to help people. Even people you hated. But did she hate him? She didn't love him, not in the way you love people you love, not like you love your husband or your best friend, but she didn't bear him ill will. She could remember plenty of good times, with him. More good times than bad, really. But more times still she could remember just a strange nothingness, neither good nor bad, where they lived in the blank spaces around each other. But wasn't that marriage? Mining memories out of the dead space between lives? Trying to dig in closer and closer, like marmots in a den, trying to reach through to them, through their skin, trying to become so close that it didn't matter if they were gifted or head-blind, moving into them like an ocean of love and thoughts and memories and everything, like Tetris blocks, fitting perfectly together until all your sides touched their sides, like Buzz's aura, like an impossibly complex structure in an infinite number of dimensions, touching touching touching…

"Nadine!"

Claire slapped her, across the face. She was still standing in the middle of the ruckus, holding her replacement clothes. What was a little coffee stain in an emergency? She dropped them on the floor, since she didn't need them, and stood near the pile, looking down at Roland. His hands were like claws and there were tears streaming from his eyes. She looked back up and smiled: Claire seemed so concerned, so loving. She didn't know Claire cared so much about her. Sometimes people have to hurt you so that you know how much they love you. Her mother was that way, sometimes, forcing her way into Nadine's life at inopportune times. Apache was always doing things that hurt her feelings, but it only proved that they were comfortable with each other. Like sisters, like siblings. It wasn't really painful if they didn't mean it, was it? Like that slap, Claire was confused about her and thought she was out of it. But Nadine wasn't out of it, she was entirely into it. She knew exactly what she was doing and where she was.

"Nadine! Fuckin' … Michael, get her out of here. I can't deal with two at once."

Michael took her hands calmly and smiled at her, worried. They stood there for what seemed like an eternity, looking at each other. Nadine had never really noticed how lovely Dr. Palatine was. She felt guilty for laughing, when Apache had called her a tranny. Her face was severe, sure, but have you ever looked, I mean really looked, at a supermodel? They're beautiful because they're special; because nobody else looks like them. They're like rare gems, and that's why they deserve our money. That was what Michael Palatine looked like, too, if you just took the time to notice. The lines across her forehead and the firm set of her mouth: she was a strong woman, a staunch woman. You could base your whole philosophy on Michael's face: to be strong, and giving at once. To be both loving and stern. She was probably the finest doctor in the clinic, really. Nadine started to get excited about going on rounds with Michael, which she rarely got to do, because the identity cases were usually such strong transmitters and she herself was still working on broadcasting…

"Nadine. I need you to put one foot in front of the other. We're checking you in. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"I'm a patient. I just need to be patient."

"That's right. Do you trust me?"

"Ixnay, Oublie." Nadine began to laugh.

"Nadine, I need your consent."

"I don't really think I can use my hands right now. They're indisposed."

They were in reception, now. Nadine slowly maneuvered her head toward Roland, to see how he was doing. The floor was empty and everyone was gone from the lobby. Where had they gone?

"What time is it, Michael? Where's Roland?"

"They put him in restraints an hour ago, he's in Intensive."

"Where am I going?"

"You're going to White Hall. We need to get you away from him, and away from the site of the incident. So I need you to walk. Can you do that for me?"

"I'm afraid I can't sign anything. I just need to be patient. I give verbal consent."

"That's good, Nadine. Thank you."

"Michael. You're a good friend."

"What I am, is a scared lady. You are freaking me the hell out, Blumenthal."

"Bracelet."

"Yeah, that was…"

"No, I'm being patient. I need a bracelet that says 'Blumenthal,' so they'll know I'm not a doctor."

"We put one on you an hour ago, in reception."

They were sitting on a bed, in White Wing. Michael was close to tears.

"I'm not a doctor."

"Nadine, you're in trouble. We're going to help you, and then everything will be okay."

"I don't like hospitals. I like being a doctor because then it's just work."

"I know what you mean."

"I'm trying to be patient."

"Me too, kid."

"Where is Grace?"

"She came to visit you an hour ago."

"She wasn't sad."

"If you say so."

"Where's Apache."

"Nowhere near this room, I'll tell you that. She's not going to be visiting for awhile."

"Because she slept with Roland."

"Yeah. When did you pick that up?"

"He was on the floor. He looked like he was coming. You took off the snake."

"It was killing him. We tried to get you away, before we took it off, but…"

"I was being patient."

"That's one word for it."

"Apache needs to take hers off too, now. There's no need for it now."

"Trust me, that's the first thing I will tell her, when we can locate her. Lots of other things too, but that's the first thing."

"I still love her, Michael. You can't be mean to her. It hurts."

"…I know. Could you try getting some sleep? It's been forty-eight hours."

"It's … Thursday morning?"

"Yeah. We've been sitting with you in shifts but for some reason you'll only talk to me."

"I like you. I'm patient."

"So you've said."

"If it's Thursday I've got rounds."

"Not this week, Nadine. This week you are taking it easy."

"What time is it, Michael? Where's Roland?"

"Intensive, for the last week. Some kind of reverb effect from being around too many sensitives, and the bracelet… He's headblind, we don't actually know much about treating them yet."

"Where am I going?"

"Nowhere. You're on White Hall until we can get the big guns here."

"I'm afraid I can't sign anything. I just need to be patient. I give verbal consent."

"Thanks, Nadine."

"Michael. You're a good friend."

"Nadine, I happen to think you're pretty wonderful too. We're going to figure this out. Just don't be scared. They said you had another screaming fit last night."

"I'm not a doctor anymore. I liked being a doctor."

"Everything is going to be okay, Nadine. This is just like… This is like when Andrew got stuck in the Book Of Dimma."

"I don't like hospitals. I like being a doctor because then it's just work."

"Don't be embarrassed. I know about your childhood and all that. This isn't your fault. This is a bump in the road. You didn't do this, honey."

"Where is Grace."

"She's worried sick, she's trying to find help for you."

"Where's Apache. She slept with Roland."

"We're having trouble locating her."

"I am patient. You can't be mean to her."

"So you've said."

"Have you ever looked, I mean really looked, at a supermodel? They're beautiful because they're special; because nobody else looks like them. They're like rare gems, and that's why they deserve our money."

"Please don't start telling me how pretty I am again. It makes me want to punch you."

"Just be patient. Blumenthal."

"We're going to fix you, Nadine. You need to sleep. Just please, sleep."

"If it's Thursday I've got rounds."

"It's not Thursday anymore, Nadine. Just find a way to rest, please."

"I'm not a doctor."

"None of us are. It's okay."

"What if I don't come back."

CHAPTER TWELVE: To The Casbah

The bracelet wasn't helping. Well, it was helping in that Nadine had stopped getting spooky, and Apache could tell that she wasn't leaking any memories, but it wasn't helping her feel any better.

She sat in the backyard, waiting for Nadine to come home, waited until the sun went down, tossing a tennis ball against the side of the trailer. She wondered how long it would take for somebody to come around the corner, or shout from a window, and tell her to stop. But the sound was just so satisfying, the thunk and then the sound of it coming back to her.

The bracelet was like that, in practice: like a thousand, a million tennis balls, hitting the wall and coming back to her. Every thought, every memory of him, his smell and his smile and the sickening feeling of Roland's skin under hers, came bouncing back. With nowhere else to go. It was all she thought about, circled around by the snake like this. Her dreams were hot, sticky romps in a devil's playground, his face shifting and changing as she looked down at it. She started going out more often than she ever had before, just to dilute the memories of him.

She wondered, idly, if it were worse for him. He had to be experiencing the same thing, the constant shameful onslaught of sex and self-hatred. It was sweaty and red. He didn't even have Winter Horse's training to deal with it. Knowing Roland, he was probably finding a way to enjoy it. She couldn't manage even that. She pushed them further and further, daring them to do stuff she'd never even thought about doing before. She scared some of them, she knew. She liked the feeling.

Toss and return, toss and return. She'd been drinking straight from a tequila bottle the whole afternoon, having decided that she'd rather die than go on like this. It was like the Night of the Serpent, but all the time. And with all that stress and anxiety gone, Nadine was blooming. She was joining all kinds of clubs, rediscovering herself as a divorcee she called it with a twinkle in her eye. It was as though she'd forgotten all the tears of the last several months. And normally, you'd be happy for your friend if she found this new kind of excitement about life, Apache thought. Except she knew what lay on the other side of it.

So why not just take that snake bracelet and run? Why not head for the hills, say goodbye, and disappear? It would be the kindest thing. Nadine deserved better. Way better, Apache knew, because the reason she wasn't leaving was because she was weak. She kept finding new ways to be a bad friend, and this was by far the worst. Because apache knew she'd die, if she didn't have Nadine. All that time before they'd found each other again, that hadn't really been living. She couldn't go back to it. She'd wither. Or she'd get drunk and sad enough to do herself in, or find some guy willing to take things all the way. She knew it, and it scared her, so she kept going on with Nadine, sharing dinner and quiet times in front of the TV, or out on the patio, laughing as though nothing were wrong. Because she was weak and afraid.

When Nadine finally came home, she was carrying a bottle of red wine and wearing her nicest outfit, grinning from ear to ear.

"Get dressed, Patch. We're having classy dinner."

"How come?"

"Because we are celebrating. Momma's got a date."

"What? Then you shouldn't be drinking…"

Red wine always went to Nadine's head. Usually about ten minutes after she woke up the next morning.

"Relax, take it easy, Frankie says. Date's not until this weekend, and I want to celebrate, so put on your dancing shoes. I ordered in. Italian from your favorite place and mine. We are going to drink this bottle of wine and talk about dating. I need some tips."

"Are you nervous?"

"Girl, I'm itchin' to get down. Time to take the training wheels off."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves…"

"I'm not in high school, Apache. I'm not in love. But I do think dating is a good idea."

"What's the guy like? What's his name?"

"We don't care, we're the Bad Girls of Bartleby Creek Trailer Home & Parking Lot."

"By gosh."

"By gosh! Now get your hottest dress on! We're dining al fresco."

"Do I need to give you the talk?"

"Apache McGillicuddy Princess Grace Cleopatra Tear, Esquire, I don't need a talk. It's not like I've only slept with one man in my life. There were others before Roland, and besides, it's just a date."

"Make him work for it."

"This is what I'm saying."

Three hours later, Nadine was trying to teach Apache how to hula dance, based on some cable access channel show she'd seen in the fourth grade.

"I said hela, that's a lele."

"Either way I'm not going anywhere. Can't we just do that huli thing?"

"Like, over and over until we barf? You're not going anywhere that way either."

"But it's sexier."

It was true: Apache looked exceedingly sexy doing the huli.

"You gotta teach me how to move like that, Patch. I'll take my new beau dancing and blow his mind."

Apache giggled, her hands over her head. Her bracelet shone in the streetlamps.

"Just let go, Blue. Everybody's body wants to be hot."

Nadine stood up, a bit wobbly on her pins, and tried to let go. She swayed her hips and giggled, giving Apache a look that was equal parts sexy and ridiculous.

"Come with me to the casbah, little lady. We will feast on figs and pigs and … macadamia nuts, or…"

Apache laughed and jumped so that they were standing together, facing the house.

"Pretend the dreamcatcher in the window is your fella. What's his name?"

"Gary Wright."

"You mean… Mister Right?"

Nadine snorted.

"Mister Right Now."

An old joke, but still impressive.

"Nadine!"

"What? Little momma, I am out and about! Swing those hips!"

They focused on the task and did the huli until they felt sick. Around and around and around, hips circling. They collapsed together, laughing uproariously.

"I'm glad you're getting out there, Nadine."

"Well, you can't mope forever. After what he did to me… Well, I suppose it could have gone worse. I can barely remember it, any more."

"Good. Leave it behind."

"I wonder, though. What he's eating, or whatever. I bet he's reverted to total bachelordom."

Apache had a long-standing agreement with herself that you don't speak ill of the ex, so she kept quiet. Nadine sipped her tea quietly. It was a soft night, the air was just warm enough that you felt the breeze.

"I really do want to learn to dance, though. I feel strongly that my body requires me to learn to be sexy."

She half-stood, fell back into her chair, and then stood up again with purpose.

"Look at the dreamcatcher, you said. Okay, Mr. Dreamcatcher. Bring me a dream."

She stared it down with the gaze of a predator and began to move with purpose. Apache laughed, applauding her, and began to sing a little song to help her out. Nadine really felt like she was getting it, after awhile: she could feel all the tension running out of her back and shoulders, and she felt like her body was one continuous line, moving and swaying.

"By George, I think she's got it!" shouted Apache, and Nadine put her arms over her head. She felt like a queen. He would be sitting down, at their table, and she'd jump up -- so spontaneous! So sexy and fresh! And she'd back up a few steps, and put her arms up in the air, and do her huli, and he'd look at her like something entirely new, something he'd never seen before. She would be beautiful. And he'd stand up, as though he didn't even intend it, and before you knew it they'd be dancing together. It would be so perfect, so normal, and he wouldn't even know how hard she'd fought to get there.

Apache had gone quiet, looking out over the small stand of trees behind their trailer. Suddenly, the streetlight just overhead lit up like lightning, reflecting Nadine's image back at her.

She was old, and hippy; she was dumpy and awkward. The arms over her head jiggled with fat; her dress pulled in the wrong places and hung limp in others. Her shoes were cheap, scraping through on one heel, where she'd repaired them the week before. Her jewelry was tawdry and fake-looking, in the sharp orange light. Looking down at herself, her skin was jaundiced and wrinkly, like an old woman's skin. Too many cigarettes. She wore her beers like a belt and her depression binges like saddlebags.

What was she thinking, with all this romance? Mr. Wright was just like the rest of them, too far out of her league to even take her seriously. She should just find another fat, undereducated drunk -- here in the trailer park, maybe -- and settle. She'd never get a real man, or a real lover, not like the kind they tell you about in fairy tales. Those men were for other women. She needed to get real and stop letting Apache help her build these castles in the sky. She was foolish and old and drunk, and nobody was going to save her.

"Nadine," Apache's voice creaked. "Nadine, stop."

It must be bad, if she was transmitting loud enough that Apache heard. She could hear her friend weeping at the picnic table. Tears were streaming down her face, but she kept dancing.

The next day, Apache took the Greyhound south. There was a little clinic she'd heard about, where people with the gift could get help. A skinny little bitch with brown hair and a cocktail dress from an Audrey Hepburn movie met her at the door.

"I'm Grace Connelly. You called yesterday? Apache Tear, right?"

"Yeah. I need to forget some stuff."

"We'll see what we can do to help," Grace said, and took her arm. She resisted.

"Thing is, I don't want to remember this. Here. I live with a psychic, and she'll …"

"We'll talk about it," said the young lady, and guided her sweetly through the sliding doors, and into the Halcyon Clinic.

END BOOK TWO: SERPENTINE

SERPENTINE 9-10

2008-08-12T23:11:58Z

CHAPTER NINE: Three Weeks' Time

Nadine came back from her rotation with Buzz exhausted, only to find they'd worked through the evening. It was eight o'clock when she returned to their scary little room, and found Apache fairly abuzz with excitement. Apparently things had gone well with Grace at lunch, but Apache wasn't forthcoming with details, and frankly Nadine was too tired to push and pry the necessary amount to find out. Only three cases and she'd put in more than twelve hours! She fell asleep without eating, and woke up ravenous and ready to work.

Dr. Redbud had given her two weeks to settle in. The second day of her rotation, Apache chose their apartment and made arrangements to move them in; within three days she had everything set up. She talked Andrew into clearing Nadine's callsheet for the afternoon, and she and Buzz surprised Nadine with an abduction.

The house was perfect: cozy and homey, with round arches and soft acoustics, just like Nadine always wanted. The floors were all big Mexican tile, and all along the back walls, opening onto the garden, were glass doors, and a semi-enclosed porch where Apache had set up a secondary living room, just for Girl's Night. It was designed almost as a duplex, with the kitchen and living areas in the middle, and then wings for the two girls off to either side, wrapping around the small grassy backyard.

Apache had supervised the transfer of all their possessions from the trailer park -- against Nadine's protests, who thought using a moving man was a sign of weakness and a waste of money -- and had unpacked Nadine's things, leaving the smaller boxes and personal items in her bedroom. Beyond that, she hadn't really decorated much, and the common areas seemed half-done, but Apache's side of the house bore the mark of careful and enthusiastic redecorating. Her bedroom was painted blood-red, with sheer white curtains and a huge black carpet under the bed. It was very dramatic, and very Apache.

Not that Nadine had much time to enjoy their lush new surroundings, although it was lovely to have a place to come home to, and a wonderful place to enjoy her morning coffee.

After two weeks of settling, Nadine began to get anxious about stepping up her responsibilities, but Apache's boundless exuberance and joy went a long way toward soothing her worry. Nadine was impressed by the way Apache had so quickly dug into creating their new home, and so quickly! She wondered what would happen if Apache put that genius to work in the real world; if it would be useful to suggest that Apache take up decorating as a vocation, but decided Apache would get bored soon enough. Although whether that would result in her bugging out more often or actually applying herself to creating a life remained to be seen.

But Nadine kept these thoughts to herself, because things between the two of them couldn't have been better. Realizing how little time they'd have to spend together, between Nadine's work commitments and ongoing exhaustion, they both seemed privately to have decided to make the most of their time together. Lots of hot chocolate and movies when they could sneak them in, excursions to nearby restaurants, and -- on the rare occasion that Nadine cleared her boards sometime before midnight -- movies and shopping. It was ideal, and what made that special was that they both knew it.

And slowly, Nadine's secret guilt for dragging her friend south to Halcyon began to recede, and they bent themselves to the task of adjustment. Nadine still got that funny feeling when she passed certain rooms on the halls, but figured that was just part of the job. If she'd been a pattern-noticing kind of person, unusually so anyway, she'd have noticed those areas were the same on every floor: clustered around 36-D. She didn't even think to ask about it.

Nadine was sitting in the lobby on Tuesday of the third week, waiting on an incoming consult for Buzz. It was a slow day; she was looking forward to checking the patient in and then going back home to help Apache with her new project: silkscreening her bedroom curtains. It was to be a minimal design, just those white sheers with the occasional stamp mark of Apache's signature design, the ouroboros. A snake curled around and biting its own tail, Apache had found it in one of Nadine's occult books years ago and fell in love with the image. She'd found the perfect shade of blue for the paint, and had been drawing and re-drawing the image since they'd moved in.

Nadine was wondering whether Apache would feel trampled if she suggested doing all the curtains in the house the same way, in different patterns and colors, when Buzz arrived -- late, as usual -- with a huge grin on his face and a bran muffin in his hands. Bran muffins were the white elephant of the breakfast cart, and the staff were always awarding each other with them, knowing only Grace and Claire ever actually ate them. "Could you pass me that chart? I'll give you a bran muffin," they'd say.

Nadine smiled and moved over on the couch for him, asking what the muffin was for. "For lasting three weeks, I hereby commend you and offer this bran muffin in tribute." She thanked him sweetly and placed it on the side table, then took their coffees from his hands so that he could sit.

"I didn't think I'd make it," she said, but they both smiled. She'd been in love with the place from the first day. And Sunday had marked the release of the little girl, Ruby, who saw ghosts. The smile on her face as she wrapped Nadine in a warm hug was the last sign she needed. She was home. Her first case, cleared.

"How are things at home?"

Buzz was always apologetic about not coming over more often, but from what Nadine could tell, his social life was fairly complicated. She'd dropped by once with a basket of muffins and Andrew had sleepily opened the door in his pajamas, so flustered at seeing her she'd privately promised never to drop by again without calling first, even though Buzz lived next door. She wondered what Andrew was so weird about; Buzz was openly affectionate with him -- well, with everybody -- in front of the crew, although not showy. And frankly, you'd have to do a lot worse than just be gay in order to offend Jeremiah Tarquin, whom she assumed was at the root of Andrew's insecurities. With boys, gay or straight, it was always other boys.

"Awesome. You have to come by, Apache's turning it into a den of fun."

"Which I'm sure suits you just fine."

"Last week she had the Twister mat out when I got home. I didn't ask."

Buzz grinned, filthy thoughts broadcasting loud and clear.

"Barf, Aldrin." Change the subject. "How's your research going?"

Buzz had spent the last several days in a fever working on a personal project. She didn't really understand the specifics, but it had something to do with this program SETI had set up for decoding space transmissions. Computer users could install software on their computers that linked them to the central server, and utilize their extra processing power to contribute to the effort, in effect creating a supercomputer in pieces all over the world. A computer that only existed in theory, made up of shards and fragments of other people's computers. Probably the most Buzz-like of any concept ever, and he had been in love with it forever.

But of late Buzz had decided he wanted to do the same thing with the gifted, set up some kind of social networking system that could run in the background of normal activity, inside their minds, to search for and decode random mental impressions from space. "Psychosocial subroutines," he called them. He said it was the perfect pilot program for teaching people about the possibilities and potentials of the human mind. Nadine had listened to him blathering about it for hours one night before she was able to visualize it: take her little inner house, add a computer and modem, and leave the thing running all the time.

"The real goal is networking the gifted themselves. We're so spread out, it can feel very alone except in special circumstances like ours, here at Halcyon. But we're not headblind -- we don't have to be in proximity to be in contact. Imagine having friends -- just as real as the two of us sitting here together -- on the other side of the globe. That's the real goal."

"What does Andrew think about all this?"

"He loves the practical applications, you know he's obsessed with finding ways of using that 90% of the human mind that don't have anything to do. The rest of it, he thinks is a little…"

"-- Creepy?" Nadine privately agreed. Even if you imagined it as a little emailing computer in your head, there were still issues of security. She had what she considered a healthy fear of computer viruses. Why would you want one in your head?

Buzz laughed. "I know, I know. But everything looks scary until you understand it. It's not that different from what Andrew does, knowing our schedules, or from what we all do every day. We've all got subroutines running, all the time, and we don't even know it. Guilt, fear, shame, hope, old patterns from childhood. Imagine if you could see those for what they are, and edit them, or even admit to them. It's a whole new way of looking at life, Nadine. The potential is scary, but in a good way."

"And then it's just a quick hop to linking them up," Nadine said. Still scary, but it did make sense.

"That's why I want to start it with a known model, that's not so weird. It's not really networking if you're just processing random data. The connections would come later, after people see there's nothing to be afraid of."

"Honestly, Buzz…"

"I'm not pushing, I'm just excited about the idea. Excited enough that I don't even really care if it happens. I just think… The gifted are already different. We already do things other people can't do, and we see things differently. Why not take that as far as we can?"

"I would love to stay normal." Potential or not, people seemed to have arrived at some pretty good ways of existing, over the last several thousand years.

"…Why?"

She was just trying to come up with an answer when the screaming started.

Nadine had her back to the doors, so she didn't see them slide open, or the man that walked through them: just Buzz's face as his eyes went wide. But the screaming seemed familiar: a man's voice, higher than was possible, arching up against the sky like crashing cars. The taste of the voice was familiar, it was somebody she knew; the sound was like nothing she'd ever heard before. The sound was something she'd been hearing for months.

Buzz's arms flailed out, spattering her coffee against her linen shirt. Maybe there was something to his subroutines, after all. Time seemed to have slowed down in the echo of the scream, so that even as she turned to look, and Buzz was jumping over the back of the couch toward the man, and she was dropping her own coffee onto her skirt in her hurry to look, somewhere in the back of her mind was the irritation of knowing she'd never get the coffee out of white linen. She'd lost some weight working such long hours -- would the replacement outfit in her locker still be wearable? The wrap shirt was adjustable, but the khakis would be way too loose by now, and she didn't have a belt.

Her blood went cold: teal wrap shirt, khakis, black coffee. The first thing Buzz ever said to her. "He's going to hit you hard when he walks in, because you'll still be freaking out about something I can't see yet. You won't have your defenses up. We'll be good friends by then, so you'll feel safe. That's how he gets you."

She knew who it was before she'd even locked on him: the bright sunshine around him in the morning light made him dark as a shadow, but she'd know that gait anywhere. As he stumbled out into the lobby, nose bleeding, and fell, skidding on his chin, at Buzz's feet, the last thing he said aloud was her name. That Bastard.

The other docs came running -- they must have hit the bricks the second the screaming started.

"How's he transmitting?"

"What's he doing? Get him up. Get a crash cart in here."

Claire muscled Nadine to her feet, replacement outfit in hand, and clapped her on the shoulder: "Ready?"

Nadine shook her head, still muzzy from the shock. Everybody was gathered around Roland where he lay on the floor, curled around his fists like a baby in the womb, screaming even louder in the silence. At the reception desk, the girl was going mildly about her business, watching the chaos with a bemused grin. Couldn't she hear it?

"What's that fucking thing on his wrist," Michael spat, and Andrew grabbed one hand, slowly extending it from Roland's abdomen. The Bastard hissed like he was burning.

Grace choked.

"Get that thing off him, Andrew."

It almost seemed alive; sparks made the coils seem to twist and turn around Roland's wrist. The skin underneath the ring was blistered and white. Roland began to howl aloud.

The blue serpent, throwing sparks.

CHAPTER TEN: Grandmother

"Why the hell are you calling me?"

Apache had taken her cell phone out onto the driveway as subtly as she could, hoping to answer it before he hung up. She knew she wasn't strong enough to call him back if he did.

"I've been having these terrible dreams, Patch..."

"Don't you call me that. What was your dream? Was a horrible creature from the past calling from under a rock somewhere? I think I've had that dream…"

"Apache, listen…"

"No, you listen. I don't care about your dreams, I don't care about your feelings. You're making a new life for yourself and I think that's great. Not because I care one way or the other about you, but because your new life, by definition, leaves both of us out of it."

"Apache, I'm not calling because of… Just listen, I'm begging you…"

"Roland, you know what? I'm going to tell you something very important, and I want you to listen up. You mean: nothing. You were just another farmer."

"Farmer? What…"

"Talking. I understand that in your life, you seem to be very important. That's natural. But you're not. Not really. Not from here. You go make your new life and make new mistakes and fix them, and grow and learn and change, and you be proud of yourself. But you're not in this movie. You mean nothing, and you never did. I am so fucking sick of you guys thinking you're going to get something out of us. Women. You look at me and you think I'm special and free and you think that by fucking me you're going to become those things. You won't. You were useful. I screwed up, and I hate myself for what I did. But not because of you."

"Goddamnit, Apache. This isn't about us. This isn't about you. It's not always about you."

"Well, I'm not so sure you're right about that. But tell me, before I hang up: what is it about? If it's not about you and me, which doesn't exist, and it's not about me, which it better not be, what on earth do we have to talk about?"

Even as she said it, she knew.

Roland had spent so long ignoring his wife's abilities, her strange behavior, the way she knew things before they happened, that it was hard to admit what a fool he'd been about it. But on the same day he woke up at three a.m. after suffering nineteen nested nightmares in a row, his car died dramatically on the highway, nearly killing him, and then an electrical pole had fallen directly in his path, shooting sparks everywhere, as he made his way up the sidewalk to their house. And he realized that, try though she might, Nadine had been unsuccessful in hiding her true nature from him. And now, out of rage or regret, she was trying to kill him.

After a week of near-misses and scrapes, and a broken leg, he'd finally made an appointment to see a bruja on the East Side, who was said to have a fair amount of the gift herself. Apache, in another context, would have enjoyed every single detail, both of his near-deaths and of his ridiculous attempts to find somebody to explain these things to him. Apparently he'd seen nothing obnoxious about asking the yard guys if they knew any witches or magicians -- as though they were from darkest South America, and not Fresno -- and had ended up needing to find a new landscaping company, and a powerful witch, on the same day.

Finally, he'd blundered into a weird little store with spices and herbal packets and strange candles in the windows. "Giant toad sculptures, Apache, as big as your head," he said. And the man there, after questioning him for awhile behind a secretive grin, decided he was serious, and gave him an address. Roland skipped over describing the experience of visiting the witch; Apache was almost disappointed. He was a pretty funny storyteller, even when he didn't know he was being funny. The important thing, he said, was that Nadine had indeed cursed him, but didn't know she was doing it.

"She knew her name, Apache. She said her name to me."

"Bullshit, Roland. Nadine doesn't have a mean bone in her body. Not even subconsciously."

"She'd say the same thing about you."

"Fuck off. What did the witch say was the solution?"

"Well, that's the thing, Apache. Apparently this is your fault."

"Don't you think I fucking know that?"

"No, I mean the part where I'm cursed. The bruja knew that you had the gift too, and she said that you're broadcasting it. What we did. She said on some level you're telling Nadine what we did, and Nadine's hearing you, and now she's going to kill us both."

"…This has got to be the biggest load of horseshit I've ever heard. I knew you were jealous of our friendship, Roland? But you have seriously lost the effing plot if you think I…"

"Apache, seriously, this isn't about you. I'm seriously scared here."

"Good. You deserve to pay. We both do."

"Apache, if it's true, think about what you're doing. To her, to Nadine. Think about what you're putting on her. It's not fair to her."

Apache ripped her thumbnail away from the nail bed, viciously, and her thumb began to bleed. Bastard.

"So you're going to leverage my friendship with Nadine against… what, exactly? Your impending death? Not a fair trade."

"I promise you, Apache. I'll disappear. You won't ever see me again. Nadine either. I'm just really scared here, and I need you to help me. Do it for her."

Apache sighed. Fucking Sweat stuff, invading again. Magic powers and witches.

"What do you need?"

"We have to go see the bruja and she'll do some kind of…"

"-- Rule number one, white boy. Just call her a witch. Your Spanish accent is atrocious. We're going to play this my way, okay?"

"Whatever you want. You know more about this stuff than I do."

"No. I don't."

The woman started laughing the second Apache walked in, pointing at her cruelly. Her grandson sat at her feet, and rocked lightly back and forth with an expression of such seriousness Apache wondered if the kid had ever smiled.

"What's so funny, Grandmother?" Apache asked.

"You're like a cracked vase with the world inside. You spend so much time ignoring your gift. Spitting on it, when you could save the world."

"Roland, go outside," Apache said. She didn't want to talk about herself in front of him.

"But I…"

The old woman nudged the child with her foot.

"All boys outside. The women need to talk."

The little boy looked at Apache before he left; his eyes were oceans. He took Roland by the hand and led him from the room.

"What do you mean?"

"There's saints and there's sinners, girl. You could help, and you do nothing. That makes you a sinner by omission. If you're not part of the solution…"

"-- You're part of the precipitate. I know, Grandmother. I'm not here about my career path, I'm here to talk about Nadine."

"I know damn well why you're here, girl. It's no use getting smart with me. I painted the sky when your great-great-grandparents were walking the Trail of Tears."

"If you know me so well, you know I don't want to talk about this stuff. And you know why."

"True enough. We're sisters, you and I."

Apache looked around the little room, with its heavy carpet for a door. It seemed to absorb sound. It was like being locked in a closet with an old woman who smelled like sage and liniment. The smell was chokingly strong, come to think of it.

"Sit, girl. This won't take long."

Apache sat, gratefully, and looked up at the woman. Her face was lined, and seemed carved from wood. She had been beautiful once, with sharp proud cheekbones. She still was; Apache would have liked to photograph her.

"We're not sisters. There's some creepy stuff in here, Grandmother."

She could see the skull of a goat, almost hidden beneath a rocking chair, and several spooky masks adorned the walls.

"It's for ambience. We could be doing this at a Starbucks, but nobody would believe they were getting anything for their money."

"Starbucks?"

"I drive a Prius, girl. Don't imagine that you know me."

Apache laughed.

"Apache Tear. Your name means sadness, for our people. Why did you choose it?"

"Not my people. My people are real estate agents in Sacramento."

"And the women of the Sweat."

"You know it?"

"I know of it. There's a school of thought that would say without places like the Sweat, we wouldn't even have these gifts. It's the stories that keep us alive."

"Places… There are other places like the Sweat?"

"You'll live at one. You'll visit another. You'll die in a third."

"Grandmother, I don't want to die."

"You're going to, if you can't figure out a way around this one."

"I know it."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Can't tell the truth. Can't lie about it anymore, it's leaking out. Can't go somewhere else, because she'd still kill me…"

"Girl, don't be imprecise. You know she's not trying to kill you."

"Things have certainly got harder since …"

"Since you fucked her husband. What are you thinking, living with a powerful psychic like that with something on your chest this big?"

"I love her, Grandmother."

"I see that you do. It burns in your chest."

"Please, help me."

"And what will you give in return?"

"Anything."

"Never say that to a witch."

"What are you asking for?"

"A favor, and a secret. And your death."

"Grandmother…"

"Not now. When the time comes, you'll know what I mean."

"And the favor?"

"Also, when the time comes. Nothing too terrible. Just a little budge in probability."

"And the secret?"

"That one, you give me now. You know the one I mean."

She held out a tiny blue glass bottle, and Apache took it. She looked up at the witch, shivering. The air was close, suffocating.

"You can … see it on me?"

"Girl, it doesn't make you special. It makes you just like one-quarter of all women. You think you're the only girl that ever got interfered with?"

"Not a club I really want to belong to."

"Everything that happens to us, marks us. Every single thing. Doesn't mean it defines you. Why are you called Apache Tear? Something beautiful out of something ugly."

"They marched us down the trails, and eventually some threw themselves off the cliffs, rather than be taken."

"And their tears became stones."

"You know the story."

"Girl, I was there. You thought the name would give you power, make you beautiful again. But it won't, not until you tell. Give me your secret."

Her cheeks were wet; she was angry at the old woman because her cheeks were wet. The room closed in, and it sounded like the ocean. She could hear her heartbeat like a drum.

Apache held the bottle to her mouth, choking back sobs. And she began to speak.

The little boy led Roland back into the room, patting his hand kindly, and resumed his seat at the old woman's foot. Roland was supremely uncomfortable. Apache sat on the floor, looking up at him dumbly, wishing she could stretch out in that creepy old closet and take a nap. She summoned her strength and looked at the old bitch savagely.

"I'll have your ass for that, witch."

The old woman chuckled, eyes sparkling, and gave her a thumbs up.

"You are tied together, in your shame. You'll have matching punishments."

The little boy produced something from under the old woman's chair; in the half-light of the candles it seemed to be alive. He held up his hand and looked mutely at the old woman. She reached out and took the object; it seemed to flow to her like water.

"Give me your hands."

Roland held out one arm, shuddering, toward her. Apache rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, roughly, presenting them both. A little ceremony, please?

The old woman stroked their hands and then clasped two identical bracelets -- obsidian, or something, they were never sure -- around their wrists. Blue serpents, sparkling in the dark.

"They'll keep your secret safe, until you're strong. I think you'll find life is easier with them on, but I wouldn't keep them on too long. You two have proven so strong in the face of temptation that I'm sure you'll be fine. While you wear them, none of your secrets will leak out."

"Thank you," said Roland, and she shook her head at him.

"Don't thank me. You're being rewarded for your weakness, in my opinion. This is a punishment. You'll see."

Roland began fussing with his wallet, and Apache strong-armed him back behind her, toward the door.

"Already paid for. Get the hell out of here," she whispered, and looked again at the old witch.

"Grandmother?"

"Yes, darling."

"You said one-quarter?"

"In this country, in this century."

"Couldn't you, I don't know, do something about that?"

Her eyes glittered in the dark.

"We're working on it."

Her witch's laughter followed them out of the closet, down the hall, out of the shop, into Roland's car, down the street, into sleep.

SERPENTINE 7-8

2008-07-15T05:08:08Z

CHAPTER SEVEN: HANG THE DJ HANG THE DJ HANG THE DJ

"Wow, so…"

"Yeah. She's one of my favorites. Sometimes the job pushes down… Not often," said Grace, "But sometimes. She makes it easier, right now."

"How do you…?"

"Survive? People always say that. Listen, I wasn't kidding before. My gift is a lot closer to hers than to yours. And I know how hard it was for you. You know what that girl was feeling, you've been there."

In a way, Nadine knew, she was right. But still.

"Nadine. If we're going to work together you need to understand this. I can handle it. I'm not a martyr, I haven't been handed anything I can't handle. I could ask how you survive, or how Apache survives."

"So you know her gift?"

"It's not something easily put into words, as I'm sure you know. But it's like that old saying, if you had your option of all the burdens in the world, you'd choose your own. I don't think I feel as badly about it as you, or anybody, does. It's not easy, but nobody's job is easy. If it is, they're doing it wrong. I work it out."

"I just can't…"

"Nobody can. I just look at it like… You like to dance? I love dancing. We go dancing every weekend. And if a song comes on that you don't like, maybe you sit the song out. Get some water, or something. But you don't hang the DJ. Because if you kill the DJ for playing a song you don't like: no more songs. No more dancing. So you can either take a breather -- which I often do -- or you keep dancing. Because the option is, no more music. Ever."

The next case on Grace's callsheet, Nadine hated to admit, was a little easier. Not because of the patients, who were clearly in agony, but for whatever reason, it was emotionally easier to deal with. Maybe it was because she'd already seen something so rough, or because the patients were not psychic and so were just broadcasting a normal amount, or because their pain was mostly physical… Whatever reason, it didn't take the bite out of her that she was expecting.

"Wasn't there talk of a 'sentient virus'?" Sounded interesting.

"Yeah, Buzz said he didn't need me. Turns out the kid's telling the truth, so I don't really need to be in there. Catch the symbiote and the pain will go away. It's not a fact of life, so I can't waste my energy. And I really wanted you to meet these two before lunch."

The little boy, probably fourteen, was covered in burns.

Grafts at the real hospital, he's healing well. We have medical interns to catch what we don't miss, there.

Nadine noticed that Grace didn't speak aloud in front of them, but more importantly, she hadn't spoken silently to her in front of the little ghost-girl, Ruby.

She picks it all up. We didn't worry about it for awhile, but she started to get antsy once I had to estimate how long her recovery would take.

Nadine could not imagine.

But these kids, they're head-blind. They like the quiet.

Grace adjusted a pillow behind the boy's head. On the other bed was another girl, of similar age, with bright hair. Both her hands were bandaged.

The bandages are driving her nuts. Half the time it's not even pain management, just distracting her.

And the boy?

Mostly worried about her. To the point where we thought he might actually have a gift. It was amazing, Nadine. We'd have the MD's operating on her in another room entirely and he'd be screaming. Half the team was in here. It was like Buzz and Andrew when they were dating, just a complete mesh. That's true love, I guess. Screaming when they're cutting on her. He's sort of a hero around here, and has no idea why.

She looked down at the boy, sleeping soundly. His bangs were in his eyes, he looked like a child.

He picked her. They ended up in here together -- Grace sent her an image of the scene, where the chemical plant had exploded: fires everywhere, gurneys and winding sheets, chemicals pooling on the ground, toxic fumes -- they were skipping school, of all things, and decided to check out the runoff pools, because of the wild colors they turn. They were almost a mile from the actual explosion, but … Chemical burns. Look at him, though.

His aura was a murky and muddled blue-pink, which was totally wrong. Nadine tried to look at it the other way, and saw him now as a small grey wolf. It was licking the girl's snoring hand, and whining. Hers was a cockatoo, curled up against her face on the pillow.

He picked her. I mean, he's sustained almost no personal trauma. And his injuries are twice hers. I treat her pain, his retreats twice as far as hers. You could spend a lifetime…

Grace dropped off suddenly, for some reason, and blushed.

Well. It's an interesting case, anyway. Save him, they both roll and moan; save her, they sleep soundly. I can't imagine loving anybody like that.

Nadine could. Apache Tear. Not even Holden the Bastard, on the day she loved him best, could make her heart hurt like when Apache was in trouble. Maybe it was because Holden's feelings got hurt so often, and Apache's so rarely, but that was the only thing she could think of to compare.

"So, I just … Lay my hands on her? I … go inside?"

It seemed grotesque, violating, to go inside this girl's house while she was knocked out. She'd known how, on some level, they'd be doing that -- moving into the patients' minds, moving things around -- but to actually be asked to do it seemed disgusting.

"I know. Trust me, it gets easier. We're just helping. Watch…"

Grace held Nadine's hand, and placed the other on the girl's forehead.

See? See how we move…

Nadine was suddenly in the girl's house, with Grace. It was filled with children's toys: dolls and bright pink kitchen stuff, books, all the things a kid would want. Nadine started to feel funny about her own austere, plain house. She'd built it so long ago.

Let's go find her, said Grace, and pulled her along by the hand upstairs, to the girl's imaginary bedroom. Her imaginary face was as beautiful as ever, luminous, but there was a long scar down the left side. It had healed as well as it could, but you could still see a slight indentation, a discoloration. Nadine looked away.

"Callie?"

Callie sat on the bed, staring out the window.

"He's come again today. Keeps knocking on the door. I can't use my hands."

"Not right now," Grace said. "They got hurt. But you can get stronger."

"What he wants," the little girl said, "He wants so much. I know he thinks I'm going to wake up, and he'll be sitting there like my boyfriend, and I'll wake up in love with him."

"I think that's sweet," Grace said kindly.

"I guess it is, technically, except I don't actually like him and would never date him."

Nadine's jaw dropped. She thought they were in love.

"Well, he seems to like you a lot."

"Yeah, and Heather G., last week, and Brandy the week before that. Let me tell you about boys, Dr. Connelly. They don't know what the hell they want. He's in love with me this week. And if he hadn't gotten me blown up yesterday he'd be moving along right about now."

Nadine couldn't believe it. The little girl -- young adult? -- was so much prettier inside than out, and she had started out lovely, all peaches and cream and that amazing hair.

"That's not very compassionate, Laurie," said Grace. She managed to say it without sounding chiding or nagging; it was something to behold.

"Dr. Connelly, come on. Are you … Are you as pretty as you look?"

Nadine laughed. Only inside could that question make sense. Grace looked at her suddenly, surprised by the laugh, and Nadine looked the girl in the eye.

"Even prettier," she said.

"Well then, you have no idea. Like I thought. I know what I've got. No boobs, a sense of humor, a bunch of freckles. I'm cute, but they don't get it yet. Including my future husband here. I'm just the best option. Frankly, I think he's gay. I mean, his name's 'Harry.' We were kind of going together when I let him take me to the runoff pools, but I was thinking of dumping him anyway. Trust me, if he weren't right here dying along with me, he'd be obsessing on somebody else. Probably that blonde with the big boobs."

Did Claire Redbud have large breasts? Didn't seem likely. Nadine realized this girl probably had never laid eyes on the staff in the real world. It could be anybody!

"Laurie, come on. You're telling me you feel nothing for this kid? He's … You know what we do here?"

The girl nodded, and looked away again, out the window.

"Well, I can tell you honestly that when your pain level goes down, so does his. Do you know how rare that is?"

"You need to talk to him. He forms magical psychic connections with girls all the time. And he writes creepy little letters about it, and talks about it to his friends, and it's totally weird. Maybe he's like you, I don't know. But it has nothing to do with me."

She sounded like Apache: Like guys were these mysterious machines that responded the same way every time, depending on what you did to them. Like it didn't involve you, anymore than an engineer in the caboose cared about the train. Unless it broke.

"Laurie, that's awful. You're never going to get better if you keep thinking such nasty things…"

Grace looked at her with a deadly look, cutting her off. And for real! What was she thinking, saying something like that. She would never say that in the real world.

"I've been here long enough to learn a thing or two about you guys, you doctors. What's your name?"

"Nadine Blumenthal."

"Nadine Blumenthal, stow it. You're such a romantic you've got little bluebirds flitting around your shoulders. Even after everything you still believe that. I'm talking about real life."

"You're fourteen!"

"Yeah, and you're well past thirty. Catch a hint."

"Laurie, I'm going to ask you to be less of a bitch to Nadine. It's her first day."

"Then tell her to butt the hell out, Gracie."

Nadine nodded.

"Fair enough. Let's do some work."

Dealing with Laurie for an hour and half, Nadine reflected, was a day's work. On a normal day, of course, which until now had meant a six-hour shift at Target sweeping products across an infrared reader machine and reminding people to press DEBIT or CREDIT. Here at Halcyon, her day wasn't even half over. Grace dropped her with Buzz to run and have lunch with Apache Tear, having cleared her morning schedule.

"I'll see you around, and on rotation later this week. I had a great time -- you're a natural. I think you're probably the only person Laurie actually likes on staff at this point. Can you visit her with me tomorrow?"

Nadine agreed, but found this characterization of Laurie to be somewhat indulgent. She's stopped being horrible, sure, but it was clear she was way too busy to actually like any of the doctors. Frankly, Nadine kind of loved her for it: she couldn't be less interested in this place, or the doctors, or even poor little Harry. She just wanted to fix the problem, come back out into her body when the coast was clear, and get back to doing stuff. Whatever teenagers did, which Nadine could barely imagine anyway, which was clearly part of what irritated Laurie anyway.

"So. Alien abduction, Andrew said. Is that … a metaphor?"

Buzz laughed, all his laconic stress from earlier seemingly evaporated.

"I thought it was a metaphor. Wasted about three days of Palatine's time on it, actually. But no, this is the actual rare true abduction."

"Buzz, aliens don't exist."

"I'm not going to disagree with you. I'm not positive either. But this is differential diagnosis. We've ruled out everything else it could be, so even if it's not alien abduction, we might as well treat it that way. The patient will respond."

"And how long has this particular patient been here, since his close encounter?"

"Mmm. Three weeks. But I only figured out he was really abducted yesterday, so that's water under the bridge."

"Or the Martian canals, in this case."

He laughed and clapped her on the shoulder.

"Basically, Andrew's given me twenty-four hours to prove everything is ruled out, or he's calling a psych consult."

"Shouldn't you be ordering those, like, first thing?"

Everybody in this place was obviously crazy, or mentally ill or whatever -- why not give them to professionals?

"I guess, except for how everybody on staff is psychic and can already tell. Right? There's not a psych attending on the west coast that can give a consult quite as fast as one of us taking a little look inside."

"Andrew said that if they're really crazy, they'll believe it all the way down, so isn't it the same thing?"

"Not the whole story. Because, at least in my specialty, if they believe it's true, you're better off treating it like it's real. I was a psychiatrist for ten years before I got here. Trust me, it's all a metaphor anyway."

She wasn't sure what he meant, but so far she didn't feel confident that she'd grasped any of the weird conversations she'd ever had with him, so she just nodded and followed him to Gold Wing.

As they passed room 36-D, on the way to their patient, Nadine had the strangest sensation. It was like hearing something, only quiet. It was like in the old days, when she was just learning the ropes, and she'd pick up on strangers having sex or fighting behind their closed doors. It had been a long time since she'd let something through the cracks like that, but the sensation was unmistakable. What if she was cracking up?

When they entered the patient's room, 45-D, she lost all memory of that moment, because while her craziness was up in the air -- just like it had been for thirty-something years -- the patient's craziness in 45-D was all too real.

He was a telekinetic, on top of everything else, which Buzz had neglected to mention. So not only did opening the door release a blast of psychic and emotional energy on her, a whirling green mass of clouds and dust and screams, but she also came close to getting socked in the eye by … What was it? Like a piece of balled-up trash, or a …

It was a million paper airplanes. Or if not a million, at least a whole bunch. Whirling around the room in perfect formation like an Air Force exhibition, darting and twirling in the air, zooming low to the ground, catching gusts from the central air vent near the bathroom door before twisting themselves back into the dance. Once she'd accustomed herself to the not-actual danger of it, she could see the logic of it. It was beautiful; it was like looking at Buzz's aura, all whirling parts and teams within teams, wheels within wheels moving in perfect synchronicity.

And in the middle of this display sat a young man. Overweight, hair down to his shoulders, bad skin, wearing a comic-book t-shirt and drumming softly on his crossed legs. His eyes were closed, but the calm grin on his face was beautiful and triumphant. He had a beautiful face, like a cherub, and his head swung slowly from side to side as though he were playing a particularly demanding piece on piano or guitar.

"Chuck. Hey, Chuck," Buzz said softly, as one would to a son. It was clear he liked the boy.

"Zzzt. Forty-six. Never got forty-six…"

Buzz backed off, and the two of them watched this strange maelstrom, and the strange boy in the middle of it all, orchestrating it with quiet movements and almost-silent hums. Buzz grinned at her like he was showing her one of those bizarre and wonderful new life forms that he always talked about.

Maybe he was.

After a time, probably less than ten minutes, and a shockingly beautiful finale in which the birds lofted around Buzz's face like a cartoon, like those bluebirds Laurie had mentioned, and plucked at his clothing with their airplane noses, the planes coasted to their places on the floor around Chuck like they were assigned by name. For all Nadine knew, they were.

"You're Nadine. Blumenthal. They said you were coming. Buzz said. I told them you wouldn't really do it. Too scared."

She smiled. His face was so open and funny.

"And how did you know that?"

"There's nothing wrong with being wrong, I don't mind it. I saw a crossroads and you chose this place. I thought you'd choose… The other thing."

"Which was what?"

"Death. Eventually. But before that, a downward spiral of madness. Blue sparks and rage."

"Chuck…" Buzz said warningly, and Chuck smiled.

"You're going to be okay, Nadine Blumenthal."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. My first day has been pretty exhausting."

"That's nothing. Your real life is way harder. It's about to get bad, I can't fix that. But you can trust them."

"Chuck, that's enough. She gets freaked out by precogs."

"Only because they don't lie to her," Chuck mumbled, but he let it go. He clapped his hands together like a little boy and smiled at her.

"What are we doing today, then?"

An hour later, Nadine had learned more about alien abduction than she thought was possible, even after having been a faithful X-Files viewer for nine years. Or had she?

"It's all a metaphor," Chuck giggled, and Buzz pretended to swat at him before gathering him into a bearhug headlock.

"Same time tomorrow, Chuck. If we don't start making some headway I have to call county. You know that, right?"

"Okay, so what's my timeframe before I'm officially nuts?"

"I don't care if you're nuts, I care if you're happy. That's the goal. Let me worry about the rest."

"Okay, so how long until I'm happy?"

"Chuck, if I knew that I'd tell you. At least it would give us somewhere to go."

"I don't need to go anywhere. You'll see, Buzz. They're coming for you."

"Wish they would. I could go back to grad school."

CHAPTER EIGHT: LOOKING FOR A FARMER

Things worked for about six weeks, after Nadine left Holden. Or Holden left Nadine, in his unassuming and lazy way. In practice, what he'd done was tell her to leave, and then wait for her to do so. Completely loving and cordial, as though nothing had changed, but with that edge of polite waiting that always set Apache's teeth on edge. He did it whenever they slept together: everything fine until it was time for her to go, and then he'd just sit there on the bed or couch and look at her, until she got the hint and left. And actually, come to think of it, he always did that at his house with Nadine, too, when the evening was over and the singleton was free to leave.

Nadine and Apache spent that time having more fun than either of them had ever had in their lives. It hadn't been too long before Holden that they'd met again, after their years apart, so this was their first grownup time together without responsibilities. Nadine got to cut loose a little bit, and Apache always had somebody to come home to, and nobody got scared or frustrated or anything. And every night, after Nadine had gone to bed in the guest room, Apache would sit on the front porch, drinking scotch with diminishing amounts of water, and eventually drag herself off to bed as the sun was going down. It was a life.

Until the Night of the Snake, which is how they referred to it from then on. Apache was a little toasted on -- was it gin that night? -- and Nadine was doing a funny little dance in the living room to some pop stuff on the radio they'd never heard before, but agreed they loved more than anything the world. Apache went out to the car to get a bag of ice she'd forgotten, and on the way back she'd stumbled nearly on top of a tiny garter snake, half-coiled in front of her back door. She'd screamed like a fool, of course, and Nadine had come running to save her. Of course.

"It's just a little garter snake, Patch. I wanted one as a pet when I was a girl."

Nadine bent over, giggling quietly, and picked the thing up -- picked it right up! -- and let it coil around her hand, tightening and securing and calming itself. Its little tongue darted around, tasting the air. Apache felt like she'd throw up.

"Its mouth isn't even big enough to bite you if it wanted to. Which it doesn't. If I weren't living with you I'd get a little cage and feed it pinkies. You know what pinkies are?"

Her grin was hilarious, excited in a way it only got when she was being shocking.

"I do not want to know. I don't want to know what kind of snake it is, or what pinkies are, or where you want to take it to dinner. I want you to put it on the driveway calmly and quietly and step away, so that I can run it over repeatedly with my Honda Civic. And then I want to drink all the alcohol in the house."

Nadine threw her head back and laughed. The little snake curled its tail.

"Apache, you're hilarious. You'd sneak drugs across the border but you're afraid of this little guy. He's beautiful!"

"He is nothing like. This is what happens when you let lesbian witches raise your kids."

"You were there too, idiot. Come here and look at him."

"Shove it, Blue."

"Oh, don't be scared. Come look at him. His little scales, like little pieces of armor, and his beautiful eyes. He uses his tongue like dogs use their noses."

"In your crotch? Gross."

"No, he tastes the world with it. Like the whole world is a novel he's reading. Look at him."

"Nadine, stop."

"Oh, come on. He couldn't hurt a … Well, he eats flies. Not Apaches."

"If you won't kill him, at least throw him over the fence."

"We don't even know it's a him. Come hear his thoughts, he's thinking…"

"None of that spooky shit. He's thinking he wishes he were poisonous so he could kill you where you stand and then go talk about it at the Snake Club. How he bagged a lesbo witch."

Nadine cocked her head at her.

"You're really freaked, huh?"

"You could not be weirder or yuckier right now…"

Right when she said it, she knew it was wrong. She'd crossed the line. Nadine blinked, hurt, and shrugged.

"It's just a snake, Apache. I'm sorry. You don't have to…"

Apache could tell by the crook of her head, the way her eyes slid away, that she was embarrassed. Like she'd become disgusting in Apache's eyes. As if that were possible. If you only knew, Apache thought. You'd throw that snake in my hair.

"Winter Horse told me a story once. I mean, everybody knows it, but I remember it on the Sweat…"

"Is it the thing about the footsteps on the beach and God's like, 'That is because I am your hotrod' or whatever?"

"Heh. No."

"Because she told me that story like a hundred times. 'Even when they're bending you right over and fucking you up the keester, God's there watching.' Like that's a good thing. Like it helps."

"Language. No, this is another story. Guy finds a snake in the yard…"

"-- Oh, yeah. I heard that one."

"Winter Horse told you this story?"

"No. But I heard it. She never told me specifically."

"She should have. You'd have dated better guys, anyway."

"All right, so I don't remember the story."

"Guy, like a farmer or something, a shepherd, finds this snake. It's cold, like, snowing. It's about to get really cold for the winter."

"There's a weather report in this story. Fun. Sounds about right for Winter…"

"Shh. He realizes he has a choice: get inside where it's warm, or deal with this snake. Bring it inside. He touches the thing…"

"-- UGH!"

"-- Touches the thing, and it's nearly dead. Snakes are cold-blooded, right, but this guy's barely moving."

She stroked the snake curled around and through her fingers as she spoke.

"And he takes it inside and lays it by the fire. Every day he brings it … grasshoppers and …"

"-- Winter grasshoppers? That thrive on snow?"

"Grasshoppers that play the fiddle, like another story you should have been told a billion times."

"Right. And you're the ant."

"Yes. But so the snake finally comes awake, by the fire, and he looks up at the farmer, and the farmer looks down at him… Doesn't he, buddy? Looks right at the snake, and says," Nadine chuckled as the snake unwound himself and began to wind himself around her fingers again, at a better angle, sniffing up her arm with his tongue.

"Looks at the snake and he says, 'How you doing, snake?' And the snake says…"

"None of this happened in Winter Horse's story. There was no fireside chat."

"Let me tell the story. So the snake says, 'Thanks for saving me. It was so cold out there, and so warm here by your hearth.' And the farmer says, 'You know, we have rules in this house. Like, you can't bite me. We're friends.' And the snake nods…"

"The snake. Nods. Snakes don't even have chins. Their heads are just… More snake."

"Snake nods and says, 'Maybe we're friends, maybe not. But you're not putting me back out in the snow, are you?' And the farmer realizes he couldn't do that. They're friends."

Apache knew she was talking about Holden, or the snake in her hands, but she shivered anyway. Too close, too close.

"So the winter goes along fine. He brings the snake grasshoppers and their tiny violins, brings pinkies from the store…"

"Okay, what are pinkies?"

"Tiny mouse embryos, you keep them in your freezer."

"Winter Horse is a frigging deviant."

"She didn't invent pinkies, Apache."

"Somebody did. And she followed his advice."

"End of winter, the spring is dawning outside. Best day of the year. And the farmer goes over to the hearth. 'Time we went outside, Snake,' says he. And the snake loves the farmer by now. Not because he fed him, or saved him, or anything. They're friends. They love each other. But the farmer's getting closer, on his big feet, and somewhere inside that snake there's a snake part that feels his foot, thumping the floor, and he gets scared, because what do you do when you feel people-feet on the ground?"

"Fuck them up."

"Language. And the snake says, 'Don't come any closer.' And the farmer says, 'Don't you want to see the sunshine?' And the snake says, 'Get out of my way.' And the farmer shakes his head, because: what? Why? They're friends. He doesn't get the snake is telling the truth. So he stomps his big old feet over there, and the rattle starts going. Both the farmer and the snake are surprised by that, because it means danger."

"But there's no danger. Just a farmer and a snake."

"Who love each other."

"Nadine, this isn't how the story goes…"

"-- This is the parts between the regular story. The snake doesn't get enough credit in the usual story. He's just something that happens to the farmer, like the farmer didn't know better. But the farmer knew better."

"So then why did he…"

"He thought it would work out different. The farmer fell prey to thinking that he could change things. He sat in that cabin every night thinking the snake was scary, but every night he sat a little closer to the fire, and the snake let him. He thought he was taming the snake."

"Nadine, I don't…"

"Almost done, Apache. He thought he was taming the snake. And you know what, the story isn't fair to the farmer either. Because you're supposed to think the farmer was being stupid. But I never thought he was. I thought the farmer knew what he was doing, what was going to happen. Like the farmer was psychic. And I think that the farmer even knew when the rattle started…"

"Nadine, I'm serious. Stop it."

"But he didn't care. That's how much he loved the snake, Apache. He knew and he didn't care, because he loved her."

"Him, the snake's a boy."

"You can't ever tell, with snakes."

"So he's clomping toward the snake with his big stupid feet, and the tail's going. The rattle."

"And the snake knows, and the farmer knows…"

"So what keeps him going?"

"What if they're wrong? What if all the farmers before him were just doing it wrong, or didn't care enough, or didn't love the snake enough, and all the farmers got bit. Maybe by this same snake. And maybe the snake is thinking the same thing."

"This time I won't bite. This time I won't bite."

"Right."

"I don't like your fairytales, mommy."

"Me neither. But that's what it made me think of. Anyway, I'm tired."

"Wait, how did the story end?"

"When Winter Horse told it?"

"No! I mean, how does the story end?"

"Oh… Don't know yet. I assume the snake bites the guy and he dies in agony, twitching with venom all through his veins, crapping his pants. And the snake feels bad. But not too bad. And then the snake goes out into the forest, looking for food. Looking for a farmer."

Nadine got up, less steadily than normal. She'd had more to drink than usual. She put the snake down in the grass and it hurried away; she grunted and headed off to bed, scratching her leg and humming quietly.

"Nadine, I love you!"

She didn't mean to scream it, but she did.