by M. K. Easley
Sol knelt beside Tristan, looking furtively over her shoulder at the lights of an ambulance in the distance. Tristan felt her leg move with a great jolt, her mouth opened in yet another agonized scream, and then Axis was shooing Sol away, taking his place by Tristan and Beckett as the ambulances screeched to a halt.
“Tristan. Come on, Tristan, open your eyes.”
Her eyes were open, weren't they? There, she could see Axis, glowing orange in the light of the car fire. She could see the wet road under her back, the trees, the paramedics rushing towards her. She could feel her hand tight around Beckett's.
“Tristan!”
She was being shaken now, and Tristan closed her eyes, opening them again to find Rachel’s worried face peering into hers.
“There we go. There you are. I think we might have gone a little heavy-handed with the pain medication. I'm gonna ask you some questions now that I need you to answer, OK?”
Tristan could still see the scene of the accident, though it was fading now, being replaced with her hospital room. No wait, not her hospital room, a different one? The walls in here were pale blue; her room had lavender walls. That meant…
Tristan’s head swiveled back and forth like it'd been unhinged, and there, to her right, was another hospital bed, and in it, asleep, was Beckett. The image of him in bed was overlaid by him in the road, and Tristan just stared dumbly. What was happening?
“Tristan, I need you to tell me what day it is, OK? Tristan.” Rachel's voice was loud, brash, and she clapped several times, the noise sounding like gunfire next to Tristan's head. She winced.
“What day is it?” Rachel’s face once again moved into her line of vision, and Tristan tried to get a grip on her scrambled egg brain.
“Monday?”
“Good. What month?” Rachel asked briskly, nodding, and Tristan wondered where her eternally sunny disposition had gone.
“Um… May?”
“Good. What's your full name?”
“Tristan. Trinity. Tristan Trinity Wallace.” Tristan's mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and sounded that way, too.
“And how old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Who’s that in the bed beside you?”
“Beckett.”
“Full name.”
“Beckett,” a weak chuckle escaped Tristan's lips, “Beauregard Benson.”
The fog in her mind was lifting now, and Tristan could tell Rachel knew it, too. Rachel nodded again as she hung a bag of something on Tristan's IV pole, hooking it up to her port.
“Good. Two more questions. What's my name?”
“Rachel.”
“Do you remember my last name?”
“Meeker.”
“And do you know why you're here?”
“That was three questions. Car accident.”
Rachel checked the bag she'd hung, checked Tristan's IV, and finally smiled at her.
“Excellent. I just gave you something that should help clear up the rest of your grogginess. PT will come for you after dinner now instead, which will give you some time for the pain medication to level off.”
“Can you…” Tristan pointed lazily to Beckett's bed. “Can I be closer to him?”
Rachel gave her a kind smile.
“Let me see what I can do.”
She left the room, returning not ten minutes later with three males in scrubs Tristan vaguely recognized. Quickly and efficiently, they cleared the furniture from between the beds and rolled Tristan and Beckett towards each other, until their bed rails were touching. With a grateful smile, Tristan snaked her right hand through the rail, grasping Beckett's. Though he'd stayed asleep during the action, his hand twitched in hers, and she stroked the back of his hand with her thumb.
With her other hand, Tristan raised the head of her bed so she could see Beckett over the rail. She stared at him, not wanting to look at anything or anyone else for the rest of her life.
Beckett’s head moved on his pillow, and his eyes fluttered open. He looked down at his hand, following it up to Tristan's face.
“Tristan.”
“Hi.”
“You're here.”
“I am.” Tristan gave Beckett a watery smile.
“I knew you would be.” Beckett smiled, and Tristan's heart quadrupled in size. “My beautiful girl.”
“I love you. I’m so glad you’re alive,” Tristan whispered.
“There was no way I was dying without you. We were going together or we weren’t going at all. I’m so sorry for the accident, though. It happened so fast, I’m still not even sure how.”
“It wasn’t your fault. The man lost control of his car. There was nothing you could do.”
“Tristan.”
“Yes?”
“I love you. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I won’t if you won't,” Tristan laughed, letting out a small sob.
“I remember you holding my hand,” Beckett said, slightly lifting their joined hands, and Tristan froze.
“What?”
“After the accident. Or during? Sometime after the shit hit the fan. The last thing I remember is you holding my hand.”
Tristan smiled at him, and Beckett studied her face, his gaze an easement on her soul.
“I wasn't sure I was ever gonna see that smile again. It's even better than I remembered.”
“You almost didn't,” Tristan told him, cold fingers of fear wrapping around her heart. “I was so close to losing you. I would have never forgiven myself.”
“Tristan, the accident was in no way your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault but the other driver, and hell, maybe it wasn't even his.”
The accident. Right. Tristan felt a strange pang of sadness -- she knew Sol was right, that to tell and show Beckett too soon what had really happened would overwhelm him, but selfishly she couldn't imagine carrying the secret for both of them for very long. She was done with secrets, done with lying, done with evading questions and making up vague, non-excuses for things. What had happened had brought her and Beckett closer than they'd ever been, and it was a hard pill to swallow knowing that context had disappeared for Beckett.
“I wish we could share a bed,” Tristan whispered, and Beckett smiled at her again.
“As soon as we get outta here. We'll have to do some maneuvering around my shoulder and ribs, but we'll figure it out.”
“And my side. And my leg. We're quite a pair.”
Beckett frowned.
“What's wrong?”
“My fibula is broken, in my left leg, and I have a really horrible burn on my right side. My hands were burned, too, but not too bad.”
“I am so sorry.” Beckett's finger traced the line of the bandage at her wrist.
“Don't be.”
They lapsed into silence then, looking at each other, holding hands, needing nothing else in the world.
Chapter 42
The remainder of the week brought about many changes. Tristan was released from the hospital on Tuesday, and, though she was reluctant to leave Beckett, it looked like his discharge was not far behind; only by two days, in fact, if he continued progressing so well. Tristan had transferred more energy into him one last time, early Tuesday morning while he slept, and when he'd woken up he'd talked animatedly about how good he felt. Tristan had been pleased, noticing that he even looked better -- his bruising was fading quickly, and his color was nice and healthy.
Tristan could not walk because she could not bear weight on her leg and could not bear pressure on her hands or sides to utilize crutches, so the hospital released her with a wheelchair -- which Tristan knew they'd be returning as soon as Sol could work her magic on Tristan's hands -- and a pair of crutches anyway, for later use. Indeed, once Tristan had gotten settled in at home, Sol fully healed her hands, and worked some more on her side, which was proving to be incredibly stubborn; apparently a burn from a direct hit by powerful magic fire was a lot worse than a residual burn from trying to hold off
a wall or two of elemental magic. As they'd agreed, Sol left Tristan's leg alone, something Tristan wanted desperately to recant once she started attempting the crutches.
Olivia brought home Tristan's school work, and Tristan spent virtually all of Wednesday and Thursday catching up. Hers and Beckett's senior English class project was thankfully well and truly complete -- drafted, proofread, finalized, community service hour sheets turned in, portfolio ready to be handed over to Ms. West. All they had left was the oral presentation, and Tristan was confident they'd handle it with ease. She thought back on their community service days at the library in the next town -- their ESL students were so young, ranging in age from six to twelve, had come so far, and were so eager to help Tristan and Beckett assemble their project in whatever ways they could. Tristan smiled. She and Beckett had agreed they'd continue tutoring “their" brilliant kids through the end of the school year, and she hoped the accident wouldn't end up setting them back too far; Tristan had come to genuinely love the work.
On Friday, the Elder committee showed up. Tristan knew they had arrived before they ever knocked on the door; she felt their presence at the end of the driveway as surely as though they were already in the room with her.
“Mom,” Tristan called out calmly, from the living room couch. “The Elder committee is here.”
Sol appeared from the kitchen, looking surprised before she pulled open the front door, confirming. The Elder committee -- ten of them normally, today only nine: Pele, Vitalis, Axis, Bayle, Abrus Macimier, Azure Colquitt, Perpetos Ruptis, Cimmeris Plamondon, and Iniq Botterill -- filed inside the house, greeting Sol as they passed her by. Tristan tried not to be nervous, but as the cloaked Elders lined up before her in the living room, she felt trapped, and about two inches tall. Sol came to sit beside her, and Tristan took her hand gratefully.
Just as Tristan began to wonder who would speak first, Pele stepped forward. Tristan had been afraid that would be the case.
“Trinity, presumably you know why we’re here today.”
Tristan nodded, forcing herself to hold Pele’s violet-eyed gaze even though she really wanted to run out the front door and keep going until her legs gave out. Not that she could, of course, but still. Pele had been closest to Orion, and Tristan didn’t need her to say anything to know that Pele harbored plenty of ill-will towards her.
“We will ask first that you relay your version of the events that took place on Saturday night. Then, with your permission, we will retrieve and review your raw memories to see how the two correspond.”
Tristan nodded again.
“Would you like to sit?” Sol asked, but the Elders declined in unison.
That wasn’t unnerving or anything. Annoyed, Tristan set aside her schoolwork and tucked her hair behind her ears, folding her hands in her lap. She took a deep breath.
“Where would you like me to begin?”
“You can choose,” Bayle responded, his voice much kinder than Pele’s.
Slightly bolstered, Tristan decided to start with when the guards had brought Beckett into the clearing. She relayed the information nearly tonelessly, sticking only to facts; she did not want to involve her emotions in case they muddied up the waters of her recollection. When she’d finished with waking up in the hospital, the Elders -- minus Pele and, Tristan noticed, Perpetos -- looked equally impressed, horrified, and satisfied. Pele’s face was pinched with distaste, and Perpetos looked highly suspicious.
“You don’t believe me,” Tristan said to Perpetos, in disbelief. It was out before she could stop herself, not that she would have really tried.
Pepetos looked offended now, his face twisted in a sneer as he looked down at her.
“Your tale is quite unbelievable. Surely someone as intelligent as you realizes that.”
Why had he emphasized the word intelligent? Tristan’s eyes narrowed, and she’d just opened her mouth to fire back at him when Pele interjected.
“Cimmeris will retrieve your raw memories now,” Pele said in a raised, clipped voice. She turned to Sol. “Is there a space we can use to view the memories privately before we reconvene in here?”
“The dining room is open, or there’s a patio set in the backyard you can utilize. The yard is protected, so no need to worry about a lack of privacy.”
Pele gave her a short nod. She looked at Cimmeris, who approached Tristan, his blue eyes kind, but Tristan for the life of her could not relax. His eyes were far, far too close to the same color Orion’s had been, and she shrank back into the couch cushions.
“I think perhaps Bayle or Axis should do this part instead,” Cimmeris said after a moment, sending a not unkind look Tristan’s way before turning back to Pele.
“Why?” Pele snapped, and anger flared in Tristan. She clamped her mouth shut lest she start a whole new battle with the remaining Elders.
“Trinity is more familiar with them,” Cimmeris replied placatingly, and, as Pele’s sharp nostrils flared, Tristan wondered why he bothered.
“Very well. Bayle.” Pele looked at Bayle and jerked her head at Tristan, and Bayle nodded, dropping to his knees in front of Tristan.
“Hi Trinity, glad to see you’re well.”
Tristan smiled in spite of everything.
“You too.”
Bayle’s hazel eyes were kind as he nodded, placing two fingers from each hand on each of her temples. It occurred to Tristan for the first time that, though he was of no relation, with his dark hair and light eyes, Bayle could be Celes’s older brother. The thought of Celes made her sad.
“I just need you to close your eyes. This won’t take long.”
Tristan complied, unsure what to expect, but all it felt like was someone kneeling in front of her with their fingers on her temples. It probably didn’t help, however, that her mind was on high-alert already, and her thoughts raced around her skull like she’d ingested speed sometime between the Elders arriving and Bayle collecting her memories.
“That sped-up feeling is from the retrieval,” Bayle told her, a smile in his voice, and Tristan tried not to feel embarrassed.
A few minutes later Bayle had finished, and he stood, a medium-sized, bluish white sphere suspended between his hands. He nodded at Pele, who, wordlessly, turned on her heel. The rest of Elders followed her, filing through the house and out into the yard. Tristan exchanged a glance with Sol.
“Pele and Perpetos can’t still be loyal to Orion, after everything?” Tristan asked.
“Oh, they could be, Pele especially. She stayed loyal to him after everything with Adara, somehow, so it would not come as a surprise to me.” Sol’s voice and face were dark as she responded.
“Then why is she allowed a seat on the Elder committee? Doesn’t anyone find it dangerous or risky or anything?”
To Tristan’s surprise, Sol shook her head.
“In spite of her personal feelings, Pele is an excellent and fair leader. Same with Perpetos. I am surprised at him, though -- he’s usually much more level-headed than he was just now. Then again, he hates nothing more than to be embarrassed, so I’m guessing he’s having some displaced anger about being frozen in time by Orion while Orion wreaked havoc on the community.”
“He seemed to imply that I am not intelligent,” Tristan said, miffed.
“Then he doesn't know you at all.” Sol smiled at her, and Tristan wished, once again, she had even a fraction of Sol’s serenity.
Chapter 43
Nearly an hour had passed before the Elders came back inside. Tristan had resumed doing her homework, the finish line finally in sight, and on a sigh she put her laptop down once again. When she looked up, she was truly taken aback to find all of the Elders looking at her with a sort of admiration or begrudging respect that definitely had not been there when they’d left the room. Tristan blinked several times, hoping one of them would speak first, because she sure couldn’t.
“We have found that your raw memories of the reckoning between you and Orion were identical to your recollection,” P
erpetos said, his tone mildly surprised.
“The reckoning? Is that how we’re referring to it now?” Tristan arched an eyebrow, and Sol subtly elbowed her.
“We don’t usually obtain raw memories that perfectly match someone’s recollection of events,” Vitalis spoke next. “So you’ll have to excuse us if we seem surprised.”
Pele looked at him sharply, but Tristan ignored her.
“I have an eidetic memory.”
“We know that now,” Pele said brusquely. “And since we’ve confirmed what happened on Saturday night, we can move to the next order of business. We, as a committee, feel as though you maintaining your abilities beyond today is needless. Since it’s been made clear that you will not be joining the community next month, we see no reason to delay our standard procedure, which is to strip you of your elevated connection with the universe.”
She sounded genuinely regretful at that last part, and Tristan looked at Sol, who looked back at her sadly. Guilt sent a wave of heat into her cheeks, but Tristan knew, in her heart of hearts, that nothing about her decision had changed. She nodded.
The Elders all exchanged an unreadable look, and Vitalis stepped forward just slightly.
“Understand, Trinity, that we have never done what we’re about to do. Anything like your circumstances -- your reckoning, with Orion,” Vitalis shot a look at Perpetos, “Had never before occurred in the community, and we truly hope there will never be a reason for anyone to repeat it in the future. You broke so many laws that we can’t even really keep track. You inadvertently introduced a commoner into a community gathering. You brought public embarrassment to your own family and to the Crenshaws, who are well-respected in the community, and you, in effect, killed one of our Elders.”
“Now wait a second--” Sol stood, but Vitalis held up his hand, his expression pleading with her to let him finish. Sol crossed her arms, falling silent, but did not sit back down.