by Jay Posey
Then there was the call, or chant, or whatever it had been. Even as young as he was, Wren had spent more time than most out in the open, and had heard the usual cries of the Weir. As frightening and unnatural as they were, still they were not so unearthly as the sound they’d made last night.
A knock sounded at the door, with a gentle familiarity. Wren knew it was Able, so instead of saying “Come in,” he just slid off the bed and opened the door himself.
“Hi, Able,” Wren said.
Hello, Wren, Able signed. You have a visitor.
“Does my mom know?”
Able nodded. She’s with him now. It’s Painter.
Without knowing why, Wren felt a little jolt of anxiety, an unusual reluctance to see his friend. He found himself hoping to find an excuse to delay the meeting. “How long until the address?” he asked.
Half an hour, Able signed, and then added a shake of his hand afterwards to indicate the uncertainty… could be sooner, could be later.
Wren was already dreading facing the crowds. And he really did want more time to prepare. “Maybe I should tell him to come back another time?”
From Able’s expression, Wren could tell he must’ve picked up on his own uneasiness. Able gave a slow shake of the head.
You should see him now.
Wren sighed before he could catch himself, and felt bad about it. “OK.”
He stepped out into the hallway and closed the door to his mother’s room behind him; their room, at least for the past few nights. Able turned and walked down the hall, and Wren followed behind with a flutter in his stomach. Why was he so reluctant to see Painter? Maybe it was just that he hadn’t been prepared. An unexpected situation, while his mind was busy with other things. An unwanted interruption. And, he realized, he’d kind of forgotten about Painter. Just for the time being. He was still sorry for his friend, but he’d wanted to deal with it before. Now there were other things to worry about. Wren felt bad for thinking that way. But it didn’t change the fact that he was annoyed by Painter’s selfishness.
Able led the way to the eastern side of the building, down a flight of stairs, which suggested that Painter had probably come in through a side entrance. They found him in a side room, a sort of sitting room that had mostly gone unused. Cass was there as well, evidently keeping him company. Wren gasped when he saw him.
Wren asked, “Painter, what happened to your face?” His right eye was puffy and mottled with bruises, his upper lip split and swollen.
“Hey, I cuh-can’t help it if, if, if – I was born uh-ugly,” Painter said with a shrug and a strained smile. It made Wren feel terrible for being annoyed at him.
“No, really, are you OK?”
Painter nodded. “Took a tum – a tumble in the street. Caught myself with mmmm- my fuh- with my face.” He held up his hands like it was no big deal, but behind it all his eyes seemed sad, even with their moonlight glow. Maybe a little angry.
“Painter came to talk to us about the girl,” Cass said carefully. “He’d like to see her.”
“Oh. OK. Does Mouse know?” Wren asked.
“He’s all set. We’ll go whenever you’re ready, Painter.”
Painter looked at Cass and drew a deep breath. His gaze dropped to the floor as he absent-mindedly scratched his cheek and then ran his fingers over his mouth. Finally, he nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Alright then. This way,” Cass said. They all left the room and walked the long halls to the compound’s clinic in a heavy kind of silence. It seemed awkward not to say anything, but it seemed like it’d be even more awkward to say something inappropriate. And Wren couldn’t think of anything that seemed appropriate for such a time.
Mouse was waiting for them when they arrived. He had a kind expression on his face, and a quiet way of welcoming that seemed mismatched with his size, a gentleness that made Wren feel calm and safe.
“Mouse, this is Painter,” Cass said. Mouse reached out his massive hands and shook Painter’s hand with both of his.
“Painter,” he said with a nod. “I’m sorry we haven’t met before now.”
“That’s alright,” Painter replied. “Wren’s muh-muh-mentioned you en-en-nough, I forgot we hadn’t.”
“We’re ready to see the girl,” Cass said, her voice even and cool.
“Sure,” Mouse answered. “Wren, why don’t you wait here with Able?”
For a moment, Wren felt relief at the idea of avoiding seeing the dead girl again. But if it really was Snow, if it really was Painter’s sister… it just didn’t seem right to take the easy way out. He knew he’d regret it if he didn’t stand there by Painter’s side.
“No, I want to come too,” Wren said.
“You d-d-don’t have to, Wruh-Wren,” Painter said.
“I want to.”
“Alright,” said Mouse. “She’s this way.”
Able waited in the front room while the others followed Mouse through the clinic and into a room in the back. Wren had never been in the compound’s morgue before. It was small, and there were a couple of steel tables and some things that looked like tools, but not the kind of tools Wren would ever want to have to use. He didn’t know what they were for and really didn’t want to.
There was something under a white cloth on one of the tables, and Mouse moved next to it. He put his hand on the covering and paused. Wren took a deep breath, tried to prepare himself. Painter nodded, and Mouse drew back the cover.
She was there, the girl that had attacked Wren, looking calm and peaceful and lovely, and so very young. Apart from her absolute paleness, it was hard to believe she was dead and not just sound asleep. The breath caught in Wren’s throat and everything came flashing back, and it seemed so impossible that such a beautiful and fragile creature could have ever tried to do him any harm.
Painter didn’t react at all. He just stared at the girl, emotionless, expressionless. They waited in strained silence for him to identify her, to acknowledge it was his sister – or to confirm that it wasn’t, to give some sign of recognition. Anything. But he just stood there.
Mouse watched him for a few moments, and then slowly slid his eyes over to Cass.
“Painter, sweetheart,” she said in soothing tones.
He rubbed his nose with the back of his fingers, and then abruptly turned and walked out of the room. Wren could hear him sit heavily down in the room next door. The three others stood in silence for a moment, watching, and then Cass finally turned to look back at Mouse. He covered the body again.
“What do you think?” Cass asked.
“I think that’s a confirmation,” Mouse said. “But someone ought to talk to him.”
“I’ll do it,” Wren said.
“We’ll go together,” Cass replied.
“No, Mama. Just me. To start.”
She chewed her bottom lip for a second, the way she did when she was nervous, or thinking, or both. But finally she nodded. “OK, baby. To start.”
Wren walked to the room next door, feeling hot and cold at the same time. His palms were all sweaty, and he felt a little bit like he might throw up. He didn’t know if it was from having seen the girl again, or from fear of what Painter might say. Or do.
When he entered the room, Painter was sitting in a chair with his hands on his knees, looking at the floor. He didn’t look up when Wren came in. Didn’t show any signs of knowing Wren was even there. Wren stood in the door, wondering what to do next. An empty chair was next to Painter, so eventually Wren just went over and lowered himself carefully onto it.
They sat in silence for several minutes. Or at least what seemed like minutes. Finally Painter started moving again, just running his hands along his legs, back and forth, like maybe he was trying to dry his palms on his pantlegs.
“That’s alright,” he said. “That’s alright. She’ll be alright.” And then he laughed, a short bark that made Wren jump. “I ffff-ffff… I forgot to bring her coat. I have a cuh-cuh-coat. She left it. I was suh-suh-ssss… supposed to
give it back t-t-to her.”
“I’m so sorry, Painter. I was hoping it wasn’t her.”
“It’s not – it’s nnn – it’s not her,” Painter said. He was still looking at the floor, still running his hands back and forth, back and forth. “Not r-r-really.”
Wren felt a chill race down his back, felt vulnerable. He glanced at the other room where Mouse and Able were with his mama.
“That isn’t your sister?” he asked.
“No,” Painter answered, shaking his head, his voice calm and even. “No, Snuh-Snow’s not… she’s not… Snow dances, Wren. She’s a duh-duh, a dancer. Best dancer you ever saw. She g-g-g-glides. That grrrr – that g-g-girl, she’s just lying there.”
“Painter…”
“Just luh-luh… just lying there,” he said, still rubbing his legs. Wren looked down and inhaled sharply. Painter’s pant legs had grown dark and torn, his fingertips blotched and spattered. Wren only now realized that Painter’s claws were out and he was cutting into his own flesh.
“Painter, your legs…” Wren said, too terrified to move. Painter stopped and slowly lifted his hands, turned them over. He watched them as if they belonged to someone else.
“That’s my baby sister,” he said quietly. “My… baby… sister!” He flashed up out of his chair and in a single motion whipped it off the floor and across the room. The chair shattered against the wall, and Painter let out an inhuman howl of rage.
Mouse was there in an instant, grabbing at Painter, and Wren saw Painter’s hands flailing, thrashing in Mouse’s powerful grip. Able materialized seconds later and grabbed Painter from behind. Cass skidded into the room and put herself between Wren and the others, while the two men struggled to pin Painter’s arms down and control him. Finally their combined strength overpowered Painter’s, and he dropped to his knees, his fury giving way to bitter anguish. Able held on to him as he shook with soul-deep sobs.
“Snow,” Painter said, “Snow, Snow, Snow.”
Cass knelt next to him, and put her hand on his head, consoling him. Wren couldn’t stop his own tears, and no one seemed to mind. Gradually Able released his hold. Painter slumped further forward until his face was almost on the floor, his hands slack in front of him. Cass gently pulled him over until his head was on her lap, and there she held him like a child.
Able remained crouched next to them, ever watchful, but all the fight seemed to have gone out of Painter. Mouse motioned for Able’s attention, and when Able looked up, Mouse said, “If you’ve got this under control, I’m gonna get cleaned up.”
Wren noticed the cuts across Mouse’s arms, and chest, and face. Bright blood ran freely from a cut along his cheekbone.
How bad? Able signed.
Mouse shook his head. “Stings a little, but they’re not deep. He wasn’t trying to hurt anybody.”
Able nodded, and Mouse disappeared. Painter’s loud weeping eventually dwindled to an exhausted sort of despair, and he sat up with his hands in his lap.
“Sorry about… the, the, the, sorry about the chair,” he said quietly. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and stared at the floor.
“It’s nothing to worry about, OK?” Cass answered.
“Can I be a-a-alone for a few minutes?” he asked. “I woh-woh- won’t go crazy.”
“Sure, Painter. Whatever you need.”
“Th-th-thanks.”
Cass motioned to Wren and together with Able they left the room and returned to the front of the clinic.
“What do you think?” Cass asked in a low voice.
Keep him here for a couple of days, Able signed.
Wren collapsed into a chair in the corner by the door, exhausted and overwhelmed. Cass and Able carried on a quiet conversation, whispering and signing, but Wren didn’t care to try to follow any of it. The scene that had just played out before him had been more terrible than he had imagined it would be. Death was nothing new to him, unfortunately, and he had seen the many different ways loss could affect the grieving. But Painter’s unrestrained fury had surprised him. Since his Awakening, Painter had never been anything but softly spoken, humble, and kind. To see him tormented so fully broke Wren’s heart.
“Do you think I should take him some water?” Wren asked across the room.
Cass stopped her conversation and looked over her shoulder at him. She smiled gently and then nodded. “Sure, baby. That’d be very thoughtful. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”
Wren rummaged around and found several empty steel drinking canisters in a cabinet. He took one and filled it with water from a nearby tap. The water ran cold and clear, drawing from a reservoir deep within the ground. Mouse had once explained how the compound’s system worked, but all Wren remembered clearly was that it was a combination of natural water collected mostly from rainfall and water recycled from other sources. The fact that Mouse had stressed how many times the water was filtered and sterilized made Wren uneasy about what exactly “other sources” might have meant.
With the canister full, Wren walked carefully back to the other room, quiet so he didn’t disrupt Painter, listening carefully to see if he’d started crying again. As Wren got close to the room, though, he heard Painter muttering. He leaned closer, straining to make out the words.
“I swear,” Painter said. “I swear I will find them, Snow. I will find them and I will drain every last drop of blood from their veins for you. I swear it.”
The words sent a shock of cold racing through Wren’s body, like ice water through his veins. He stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do. Painter shifted in the room and sounded like he was standing up. Afraid of being caught in the hall, Wren crept slowly backwards, and then quickly made his way back to the front room. Too afraid to face Painter, terrified by what he’d overheard.
When he reached the front room, Mouse had joined the others. Wren’s mind was flooded with emotion and thought. Surely he had to tell someone. Or did he? Was there anything to Painter’s words besides the raw emotion anyone would feel in his situation? Had he even heard him right?
“Didn’t want it?” Cass said. Her words called Wren to the moment, but meant nothing to him.
“What?” he said.
“The water. He didn’t want it?”
Wren shook his head and paused, trying to figure out how much of the truth to tell them. But they didn’t give him a chance.
“We need to get up to the Council Room,” said Cass. “Everyone else is already there.”
“What about Painter?” Wren asked.
“I’ll keep him company,” Mouse answered. His cheek had a sheen where he’d sealed the lacerations. Now they were just two thin red lines running along his high cheekbone, maybe half an inch from his eye. “And I’ll walk him back when he’s ready.”
“Able thought maybe we ought to keep him here for a day or two. Make sure he’s not going to hurt himself.”
Or anyone else, Able added.
Mouse ran a hand along his jawline, scratched at the coarse stubble while he mulled it over. “I guess we could put him up on our floor.”
Able nodded.
“Alright, I’ll talk to Swoop about it. See what we can work out.”
“Thanks, Mouse,” Cass said. Mouse just dipped his head in something between a nod and a bow. She looked back at Wren. “Why don’t you leave that with Mouse, sweetheart?”
Wren handed the canister of water to the big man, who in turn placed a huge hand gently on top of Wren’s head. A momentary reassuring touch, like a priest offering a blessing. He didn’t tousle Wren’s hair, though, and Wren always appreciated him for that. Cass stretched out her hand to Wren. He reached up and took it, warm and soothing. But just as they were turning to go, Painter appeared in the doorway.
“Hey,” he said, head bowed, staring down at the floor.
Wren was glad for that. He knew he couldn’t have met Painter’s eyes. “I’m suh-sorry… for all of th-th-that,” Painter said.
“We all understand, Painter,” Cass answere
d. “You don’t need to apologize.”
He shook his head. “I do. I do nnnn-need to.” He raised his eyes, glanced around at them. Wren started to look away, but caught himself. Painter looked calmer, softer. More like his usual self. “I sh-sh-shhh… I shouldn’t have l-lost control like that. I’m real sorry. Especially to you, Mouse.”
Mouse walked over and laid a hand on Painter’s shoulder. “All’s well with us, son.” He squeezed Painter’s shoulder once, dipped his head in a meaningful nod, and then let go and propped himself against the nearby wall.
“We were just going up,” Wren said, finding himself starting to feel better. “I have to give an address. Want to come with us?”
Painter smiled at him a little sadly. “Actually, if you d-d-don’t mind. I was wuh-wuh, I was wondering if I could buh-buh…” his lips tightened as he fought to force the word out. He closed his eyes and took a breath. “…I’d like to bury my sister.”
“Why don’t you wait?” Cass said. “After the address, we’ll all do it together.”
Painter shook his head. “I’d like to d-d-do it alone, Miss Cass. There’s a p-p-p-place we used to go as k-kids. Just us. Our secret place.”
“Burying’s hard work, son,” said Mouse. “Harder when it’s your own.”
“I, I think… I think she would’ve w-w-wanted it, this way. And I’m a l-l-luh, I’m a lot stronger than I look.” He added a little smile, but there was no humor in it. Mouse, Cass, and Able all exchanged looks, and all seemed to agree.
“Alright,” Mouse said. “You all go on. I’ll make sure he’s got what he needs.”
“Come on back to the compound when you’re done, OK?” Cass said. “We’d like you to stay with us for a little while.”
“Thank you, Miss Cass, b-b-but I’ll be alright.”
“I know you will be, but we still want you here.”