Bitter Sixteen

by Stefan Mohamed

  She meant it. I pulled us up. It was amazing that my reflexes worked so well because this impossible storm was killing me inch-by-inch. I saw the two of us in the glass as we flew up the side of the building, the mad reflection of a snarling woman on the back of a flying boy, and when we reached the roof I fell gratefully to the floor, exhaustion filling me up like wet cement poured into a body bag. Everything that had happened today broke free of the mental cage I had created to contain it, and now my body wouldn’t respond. My bones were weak with fatigue, my throat choked by the rain, my lungs full of water, my arm bleeding. I tried to crawl towards the door at the centre of the roof but a foot caught me in the ribs and I spun over. The impact knocked the wind out of me and I retched violently. I looked up to see Pandora standing over me, her hair tangled and sodden, water running down her face. ‘Enjoy that?’ She kicked me again. My ribs felt like they were about to shatter. I had never felt pain like this. ‘How about that?’

  Another kick. I rolled and my flesh screamed.

  FLASH! We were somewhere else. I felt cold stone under my face. The Tube station. Black and white, but lines of green kept sizzling and the walls drifted in and out of colour, red to black, black to blue, blue to —

  THUD!

  Something did break this time. I felt it, and heard it, two ribs cracking, and I retched again, vomiting water laced with copper-tasting blood. The blood stuck around my lips and bubbled in my throat. My head was starting to cloud with pain. I wanted it to be over. My vision kept threatening to give out.

  No . . .

  Blue . . .

  Must . . .

  Red . . .

  Get . . .

  Green . . .

  Tara . . .

  Purple . . .

  Back . . .

  The rain was still falling, even inside this imaginary Tube station. Photographic physics. Was my pain even real? Maybe . . .

  Pandora had stopped kicking me. She knelt down in front of me and lifted my head by my chin, like Kloe would, although not quite as tenderly. Blinking to maintain focus, I looked up into a face of pure malevolence, my neck straining. ‘I was going to leave you to Leon,’ she said. ‘But I’m starting to enjoy this. I don’t get to do much fighting, I usually send other people to do it. Although it is a shame, really. I genuinely thought you could be useful.’

  I tried to answer but only blood came out. Pandora waited patiently. I think she wanted to hear what I had to say. And I want to say it.

  Finally the words came. Every syllable was agony. ‘You . . . can’t . . .’

  ‘Can’t what, Stanly? What can’t we do?’

  ‘Can’t . . . can’t win . . .’

  ‘I think we can,’ said Pandora. ‘I think we have.’

  My body was shutting down on me. I was going to fall asleep and Pandora would kill me and I wouldn’t wake up.

  Screw this, in a big way.

  We were somewhere else again, back in the park. I could dimly see green grass and black and white trees, and still the rain fell.

  I’m not going out like this. The hell . . .

  An empty street with blue buildings . . .

  With . . .

  The Thames, its waves red, orangeyellowpurplegreen —

  THIS.

  ‘AAAAAAAAAAARGH!’

  The scream I wrenched from my throat was inhuman, the feelings behind it were primal and the blood that came with it was mine. I dragged myself up, using my mind to yank my anguished body from the floor, puppet master barely able to drive the puppet. Body might have been on the way out, but my brain was intact, and my brain was my fists, my feet, my everything. Pain was just signals, white noise above the raging storm. We were back on top of the building and I had my power back.

  Pandora took a few steps backwards. I staggered towards her, spitting blood and wheezing, my left side threatening to collapse with less than the recommended number of ribs to hold it up, but I could do it. I had strength. More than I knew. Except I do know. I flexed my mind, lifted Pandora up and stumbled towards the parapet, levitating her out and holding her, squirming, above a drop of thousands of feet. Imaginary feet, maybe, and an imaginary drop . . . but I had a hunch that it wouldn’t matter. ‘Now,’ I slurred, trying not to either faint or drop her, ‘you’re going to tell me . . . where Tara is.’

  ‘Please let me down! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll —’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I’ll show you! I’ll show you! I promise! Just . . . please don’t kill me! Please!’

  ‘Let’s . . . go then.’ I rose from the ground and began the long and agonising flight back towards the other building, still holding Pandora in mid-air like a ragdoll.

  Back and forth, back and forth.

  See-saw, Marjorie Dor, Johnny shall have a new master.

  He shall have but a penny a day.

  Because he can’t work any faster.

  I pretended I wasn’t carrying myself. I wasn’t the puppet master, he or she or it was elsewhere, connected to us by invisible strings, guiding us across the gulf. In the distance I saw a sheet of lightning erupt like a volcano beneath the surface of this false reality, shaking everything, casting its killing light over the city, and seconds later the thunder came, an epic drum roll from above the clouds, a heavy metal sky concert. The puppet master drew us back across, through the vertical ocean.

  See-saw, Marjorie Dor, Johnny shall have a new master.

  Twenty feet.

  He shall have but a penny a day.

  Ten feet.

  Because he can’t work any faster.

  Another flash. For a second we were back in the park, then we were flying again, then we were in the Tube station, then we were by the sea, then there was sky, and the colours were too much . . . back in the sky . . . I was going to drop her and die . . . no . . .

  We were back, through the broken window, in the office. I dropped Pandora unceremoniously on the ground but kept myself floating. The moment my feet touched the floor again I knew my legs would give way, my body would fall apart like loose timber and I would die in a puddle. Pandora picked herself up, eyeing me with real fear. You’d better believe I’m scary. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Where . . . is she?’ The words still hurt, my oesophagus burning with sulphur.

  ‘This way.’ Pandora crossed the room and walked through a hole in the air, and I followed her, wobbily, through another photograph. We were in a room . . . a proper room . . . real physics . . . real colour . . . it was done.

  And there she was.

  The sight gave me strength. Tara was lying on her back in a cosily-lit room with her eyes closed, listening to Beyoncé on a posh-looking hi-fi system. Realising that somebody was there, the little girl opened her eyes and jumped to her feet. ‘Stanly! You came!’ She stopped, eyes widening at the sorry state I was in. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I happened,’ said Pandora. She turned to face me, and she had a gun in her hand.

  Oh shit.

  ‘Nobody threatens me,’ she said. ‘Nobody.’

  Doubleplus sh —

  She pulled the trigger. Tara squealed. I looked down at myself. There was a hole in the left of my chest, where my heart was. I was no longer flying. I was standing, swaying. Dull pain started to spread, blood trickled. I felt more of it coming up in my throat, a geyser of red. It came up and caught in my teeth, and I watched it dribble down my chin and hit the floor. I’m staining Tara’s nice white carpet.

  Now I was really going.

  Big red stain . . .

  I was dying, very fast. Shortly everything about me would cease to be. I would just be a shape on the floor, a pile, dead flesh.

  Tiny little person.

  A hole in my heart.

  So fragile.

  So much blood . . . such a tiny hole.

  Fire again.

&
nbsp; What?

  She’s going.

  What?

  To.

  My instinct told me what to do. My reflex powered it. My brain flexed for the last time, and there was a scream and a crash, and I looked up from the stain I was making to see Pandora lying in the corner. Her gun had fallen away. Her eyes were closed.

  Like mine.

  My eyes closed.

  I’m dying.

  Dying.

  Dead.

  This’ll be the day that I —

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  NOTHING MUCH HAPPENED, maybe for a very long time, maybe for no time at all. There were no celestial trumpets, no glowing escalator. I didn’t get a sepia-toned slideshow of Stanly’s Greatest Hits. I just ceased to exist. Like sleeping.

  And then there was the most subtle spark, the barest flicker of awareness. It was dark. I knew it was dark. Dark was what was happening. But also . . . I could see something flashing, almost subliminal, a single frame in the blackness, irregularly appearing and disappearing. It was . . . me. Smiling at myself. A knowing smile. An I told you so smile, even though I’d not told myself anything.

  Nobody ever tells me nothin’.

  Hahaha.

  Then light.

  White light.

  Bright.

  Too bright!

  Too bright white light!

  Hehehe.

  Rhymes.

  Eyes opening.

  Opening?

  Is this the escalator? Or is it an elevator?

  Also, why is it playing ‘Irreplaceable’?

  I sat up. A room. White carpet, red stain. Teddies. Pandora in the corner. Speakers belting out ‘you must not know ’bout me’ in Beyoncé’s voice. No pain. I looked down at my chest. No holes. I looked at my arm. No teeth marks. I looked at my left side. All ribs accounted for.

  Tara’s mouth was open. ‘You’re . . . you’re OK?’

  ‘I . . .’ I nodded slowly. ‘Seems so.’

  ‘How?’

  My mouth opened and closed, at a loss, and then I looked at her, really looked at her, and something occurred to me.

  No way.

  It can’t have been . . .

  They did say they needed her for a reason.

  Power?

  ‘You,’ I said. ‘Was it . . . you?’

  The little girl looked bemused. ‘I . . . I don’t know. I didn’t think I had powers.’

  ‘Maybe you don’t even know you do.’

  She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter for now,’ I said. ‘I’m just . . . glad.’ I grabbed her and pulled her in for a hug, and she hugged me as well, and I felt her tears on my neck. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Sorry I let them take you.’

  ‘It’s OK.’

  It’s OK, she says. Kid gets kidnapped by a monster, then kidnapped again, all in the same night, and it’s OK.

  I couldn’t tell you how long the hug lasted. Moments like that are impossible to measure anyway, even without the benefit of death and resurrection. All I knew is that when we broke apart I had made a decision.

  Anyone ever lays a hand on her again, I will kill them.

  I stood up and glanced at Pandora. Her eyes were flickering, and now I could hear a familiar pawing at the door. I opened it with my mind, revealing Daryl, one ear torn, blood around his muzzle. ‘You found her,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘The others OK?’

  ‘Some bruises going around, but they’re all right.’

  ‘Good. Take Tara to them and get everybody out of here.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘Do it,’ I said. ‘Tara? Go with Daryl and get out of this building, please. Be safe.’

  Tara’s eyes were wet and she looked concerned. ‘Don’t kill her.’ Goddamn mind reader.

  ‘I won’t,’ I said. ‘Go on, sugar plum. Wait outside.’

  Sugar plum?

  I used to call my little cousin Jade that.

  So long ago.

  Tara nodded and left the room, closing the door very carefully behind her. I walked over to Pandora and watched her come to. When she saw me the colour drained from her face as though we were back inside the black and white photograph. ‘I killed you!’

  ‘Came back,’ I said.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Are you seriously telling me that you were so desperate to get hold of that girl that you didn’t bother to check what her power is?’

  Pandora looked befuddled. ‘I . . . she did it? She . . . my God . . . it can’t be. It can’t be! She’s . . . powers shouldn’t manifest until at least early puberty! And she’s so . . . small.’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘What will you do with her?’ said Pandora.

  ‘I’m taking her back to her foster parents.’

  ‘She doesn’t belong with them.’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘Do you know anything about her real parents? You seem to know everything else. What happened nine years ago?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her foster parents?’

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  Pandora laughed. ‘How have you made it this far with such an incredible lack of brain cells?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Pandora shook her head. ‘She’s yours.’

  I frowned. What had she just said? What did Pandora say? What? Huh? ‘What do you mean, “mine”?’

  ‘I mean what I said,’ said Pandora. ‘Tara is your daughter.’

  Red alert.

  We have just lost cabin pressure.

  What the fnunck?

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I said. ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Nothing’s impossible,’ said Pandora. ‘Everything’s —’

  ‘Spare me,’ I said. I was having trouble keeping my voice steady. ‘She’s nine years old. How can I possibly be her father?’ Plus the fact that I haven’t actually ever . . .

  ‘Ask Mr and Mrs Rogers,’ said Pandora. ‘They’ll tell you.’

  ‘They know?’

  Pandora nodded. ‘They know.’

  I was having understandable trouble processing this new information. I could barely stop myself from screaming. My head felt like it was going to explode, yet again. I was going to shower Pandora with viscera and I doubted that Tara could save me a second time.

  Tara.

  My daughter.

  I have a daughter?

  ‘What if I don’t believe you?’ I said.

  ‘Then don’t,’ said Pandora. ‘But as I said, reserve judgement until you’ve spoken to the foster parents.’

  Fine. Fine. Mind completely blown, world turned upside-down. Just . . . deal with this. As it comes.

  First, we need to have words.

  ‘Are you going to come after us again?’ I said.

  She didn’t say anything. I looked around, found her gun, levitated it into my hand and pointed it at her head. She flinched. ‘Are you?’ I said.

  Pandora gulped. ‘I . . . I don’t know. We wanted to recruit you, but . . . after all this . . .’

  ‘OK. I was sort of hoping you’d say something like that.’ I started to walk slowly back and forth. Soliloquy time. ‘It’s nice that I finally know what to do,’ I said. ‘Who to fight. If there’s a fight to be had, that is. It’s nice to know that a monster with more monsters inside its head isn’t the weirdest thing in this city. I mean, what was that whole acid trip photograph thing about?’

  ‘You know nothing of this world,’ said Pandora. ‘Or any other.’

  ‘Whatevz,’ I said. ‘Anyway. It’s nice to finally know what’s what. And it’s nice to know that my little girl is going to grow up to be a big powerful girl. And it’s also nice to know that coming back from the dead yields positive results.’

  Pando
ra frowned. ‘What?’

  I crouched down beside her. ‘I can feel it. The power I had before, the power I could always feel but not quite access. It’s all there now. That little trip beyond the beyondness of things really put it into perspective.’

  ‘You —’

  ‘Shh,’ I said. ‘Like I said, if there’s a fight to be had, I know who to fight. But it’s not something I want. You say you have the world’s best interests at heart and until I see something that contradicts that I’m willing to let bygones be bygones. You leave us alone, let us go about our business, stay away from Tara, and there won’t be a problem.’

  This was helping. Making threats and being overly dramatic was a good distraction from the revelation that was still screeching around my head, blending my brains and threatening to disintegrate my skull. ‘That’s the deal,’ I said. ‘Take it or leave it.’

  Pandora nodded slowly. ‘I suppose we’ll take it. For now.’

  ‘That’ll do,’ I said, getting back to my feet. I headed for the door, put my hand on the handle and turned my head slightly. ‘Pandora,’ I said. Scary voice. Come on, scariest voice you can manage.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When I say stay away from Tara,’ I said, ‘I can’t emphasise enough how much I mean stay the goddamn hell away from Tara. If anything happens to her, anything, then I’m going to be really, really, really angry. And I’ll find you. And I’ll find Lucius. And anybody else. Everybody else. OK?’

  As I walked I thought about it. Leaving Pandora alive felt like a bad decision, one I could well end up regretting . . . but I couldn’t kill her. I wasn’t there yet. I hadn’t reached the point where I could knowingly cut off her oxygen supply or set her on fire or put a bullet in her head. I had my power but I couldn’t use it for that.

  Yet.

  The rain had stopped but it was still gloomy, and the pavements shone. They had brought the car around to the front of the gallery, and Connor was sitting on the bonnet smoking a cigarette, his face ablaze with cuts. Sharon had her arm around him. She looked pretty good considering what had gone on. Eddie, who had a ripped jacket and plenty of wounds of his own, was leaning against the car with his own arm around Tara. There was no sign of Daryl.