“You haven’t been around someone you trusted and loved?”
He paused for a long time, then slowly nodded his head. “I know I wouldn’t until then. If I found them? I don’t know. Maybe still not. But I’d at least I could trust them enough to… see.”
“You will find them,” Evelyn said very softly. “And when you do, however you feel, it’s okay. This is a very weird situation, but it doesn’t change who you actually are.”
“Don’t know who I actually am,” he mumbled. “No way to tell surrounded by strangers, that’s the problem. Don’t feel anything unless I’m already with someone. I’m a freaking paradox.”
“If it helps,” she said, tone tentative but casual. “I don’t think you’re a paradox. But you might be asexual.”
Regan’s mouth fell open. He looked up with wide eyes again but for a much different, much better different reason. Slowly, the tension melted out of his shoulders and his frill dropped back down to hang loose. When he looked at her now she saw something else in his eyes. One of her favorite things to see. Hope.
“I can’t say for sure, obviously, but it might explain a few things,” she said, voice calm but with an undertone of restrained optimism. “I’m not, myself, but I’ve known a lot of wonderful ace—asexual—people in my life, and you’re saying a lot of the same things they do.”
“Tell me.” He was still looking at her, but with a different kind of intensity now. It was the same look he’d had when he was listening to the familiar song, trying to remember where he’d heard the words he knew by heart but couldn’t place. “I think it’s important.”
“Me too. And from what you’re saying—never experiencing sexual attraction, or maybe only sometimes, or only for someone you really trust?”
“Yeah. It fits.”
“Then try it on.” She smiled. “There’s no one size. And your words exist for you. As long as they help you instead of making you feel trapped, everything’s… aces.” A ghost of a smile appeared on his face, and she encouraged it with one of her own.
“You know a lot.” He looked at her with raised eyebrow ridges. “Probably more than I’ve even forgotten.”
“I want to keep people safe, so I try to learn all I can,” Evelyn said as her heart swelled with an intense feeling of recognition. “About minds, hearts, sexuality, gender, identity, your whole life, it’s all important… Wish I’d known a lot more a long time ago. It makes everything easier.”
“Just having the words helps,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” She nodded; her cheeks ached from smiling. “Words are important. They let you know it’s real, you’re fine, more people like you exist. They let you know you’re not alone.
“What was the other one?” He asked. The intensity of focus passed, replaced by excitement. “What you called your family, and… what I might have? Or be? Or something?”
“Poly—polyamorous. Loving more than one person at the same time. Not cheating, different than that. Everyone on board. Everyone happy and okay. Just more people, more love.”
“Wow,” he said, almost a sigh. Regan stared into space, eyes wide; as she watched, the vertical black slits of his pupils slowly grew until they were rounder as well. He blinked a few times, very quickly. “Um, sorry about all that. You asked me about practical stuff and I was really unhelpful.”
“Sounds like it helped you, though.”
“Maybe it did.” He gave a soft laugh. “No closer to finding where I came from, though.”
“But no kids, right?”
“I’m not sure what to do with kids, I’m sorry.”
Evelyn laughed, shaking her head. “Well, we got poly, ace and kid-less. There’s three things we know for sure.”
Regan nodded, but his smile was more bittersweet than anything. His tongue flitted involuntarily in and out, tasting the heat under the smoke. “It’s so frustrating catching these little bits of—of myself. They’re like puzzle pieces. But they don’t fit together right—or at all. I can’t tell what the picture is supposed to be yet. And then it’s like they disappear in my hand.”
One piece stood out very starkly. Sharply. The palm of a hand spread across his chest, another supporting his back. A gentle touch beneath his neck frill, a light solid contact that chased away the intangible strangulation. The memory alone reminded him to take a breath.
“Have you ever talked to Zilch?” He asked at last.
“Hmm?” She looked up. “I’m not…is that a person?”
“Yeah. They were here when we first got here, they came outside. They’re…” he paused, tongue unconsciously tasting the air again in thought. The faint memory of Hans’s hospital room floated back; the smell-tastes of antiseptic and linen sheets. He tried to remember any other scents, any tastes… nothing. That in itself was almost as strange as the rest of the incident. “Tall, thin. Wearing a ton of black clothes, like a hood and cloak type outfit, but kind of ragged and—”
“Oh!” Evelyn blinked, eyes going wide. “That’s—Zilch? Am I saying that right?”
“Yeah.” He kept his face as neutral as possible; now it was his turn to watch her reaction, but unlike Regan, she didn’t appear to be concealing anything. “They’re, uh, not as creepy as you’d think, actually.”
“I’m… glad to hear that. I haven’t talked to them, no. Did they mention…?”
“Why they’re here?” Regan paused. “Uh no, not exactly. I was just kind of hoping you might recognize them. Or someone would. They sure seemed to recognize me.”
“That’s right,” she nodded, the encounter in the driveway seeming to dawn on her. “But they didn’t say from where? That could solve everything right there.”
“No.” He sat very still. Hans’s ultimatum buzzed in his head like a live wire. Say nothing. He had Regan’s brain, memories, identity, entire life hostage. And if he was to be believed, Zilch’s heart. Regan couldn’t bring himself to do anything to endanger either of them. “And I don’t remember them… exactly.” But he couldn’t stop himself from saying that last word either.
“They’re a piece of the puzzle?”
“Yeah. Even if I can’t see the picture on the box yet, I’m pretty sure they’re on it.”
“Well, if I see… Zilch, I’ll try to find out more.” She was quiet for a moment in deep consideration, running over several things he’d said in her mind. “In the meantime, keep trying to fit the pieces together.”
“I’m trying. And it hasn’t been that bad,” he tried to smile again and had more success. “Aside from the part where we’re fugitives and accused of murder. Mostly, I don’t really know what to do with myself. If this is it, this is my life now? I could live with that. If I never remember anything, that’s…” he paused. “It would hurt. But at least I’d have a life. Even if I don’t really know how to… live it.”
“I think the most important thing is just to live it. Figure out exactly what you want… then go for it with everything you have. As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else, your life is yours to express yourself to the fullest. Get in as much living as you can.”
“Because tomorrow the ground might open and swallow us up.”
“Part of living in Parole is having that in the back of your mind, yes. We have… a unique relationship with ‘tomorrow.’ Some people don’t think there’s any such thing. Some do people plan for the future.”
“Which do you do?”
“A little of both.” She grinned. “I decided a long time ago to live as much as I can, while I can. Do as much good and love myself as much as possible, while I still have the chance. But that doesn’t mean you give up on the rest of your life. Let yourself fall in love if it comes your way. Start a family, or find one. Live for today, but plan like tomorrow exists too. Otherwise…” she trailed off, shrugged.
“Otherwise you’ll find yourself alone,” he finished.
“That’s the secret to surviving life within Parole,” she said, looking out over their home with a mixture of stee
l and tenderness. “It’s easy to forget that you don’t have to do it alone. So I try to help everyone remember. Self included.”
Regan had seen a lot in his life (he thought so, anyway) but never anything like the warm, confident strength she radiated. Nothing like the determination to survive, the fierce love with which she surrounded her family. With Evelyn here, they might actually have a chance. Or at least she might. Wasn’t sure about himself yet.
He watched the still-living city for the space of a few breaths. It was still alive, just in a different way than he expected, if not remembered. “Evelyn… what… how did Parole…”
“Happen?” She smiled and shook her head, still gazing out across the city toward the fiery crater at its center. Her expression was faraway and bittersweet, as if she were seeing not the surreal landscape around them, but a memory made of the farthest extremes of joy and pain.
“Yeah. I’ve picked up bits and pieces but…” He tried to laugh and quite didn’t make it. “Everyone kind of seems to have a vested interest in keeping me in the dark. So… feel like shining a light?”
“Started ten years ago,” she said quietly. The smile slowly faded from her face, and Regan had to lean closer to hear her low voice. “Almost everyone you see with a gift was dying. From cancer, or AIDS, incurable diseases, injuries, or horrible genetic conditions. But then a miracle happened, a way out. A brilliant doctor here invented an amazing medicine: Chrysedrine.”
“Wonderland,” he murmured.
“Yeah. Some people called it that. It cured… everything.” Her voice went soft and dreamy, almost reverent. “And it saves you. It fixes everything. Any human ailment, it would fix. Any physical ailment, I guess.” She added as an afterthought.
“Jeezus,” Regan shook his head. “Why wouldn’t that put Parole on the map forever? Quarantine doesn’t make sense. You don’t block off something that could save the world.”
“Because everything comes with a price.” She took a deep breath, haunting memories at the edge of her mind.. “The healing process was excruciating. And even after it worked, there were… side effects. People developed strange afflictions, and they started to change. Sometimes they were like magical powers, stuff out of a storybook.”
“Or a horror movie.”
She tried to smile, but it didn’t quite take. “Some people are fine afterward, except for being so addicted to it for the rest of their lives that they’ll die if they stop taking it. Some people are wrecked, mentally and emotionally.”
“And some people…” Regan held up one green hand, gently touched the frilled flesh hanging from his neck, his eyes and tongue.
“Yeah. But you’re one of the lucky ones, Regan. People died. A lot of people died, in… awful ways. And the drug was incredibly addictive. Once you started, you couldn’t stop. If the drug didn’t kill you, the withdrawal stages would.”
“Shit.” Regan sucked in a breath and found it a little more difficult than he would have liked. His throat felt uncomfortably tight. “Why would anyone take that crap, if they knew it could kill them? Or turn them into a monster, or worse?”
“You’re not a monster. None of us are.”
“You know what I mean. Why take the risk?”
“Desperate people take desperate measures, I guess.” She shivered, despite the permanent Parole heat. Regan kept quiet, spellbound. He folded his hands tightly together to keep them from shaking, and kept his eyes on Evelyn. Breathing came more easily when she spoke. “Everybody took the new miracle drug, and at first everyone got better. It was amazing. The biggest medical breakthrough in history.”
“Didn’t last, did it?”
“No, it didn’t. A few weeks later, the deaths started. Sudden. Brutal fevers. Their systems violently rejected Chrysedrine. And the ones who survived… could do things they couldn’t before.”
“How many?” He whispered. “How many lived?”
“Not enough,” she answered, almost as quietly. For a moment, her eyes slipped out of focus, as if she were seeing something very far away that he couldn’t see. He didn’t think he wanted to, and was sure she didn’t want to either. “Around two thirds. The… it was…”
“It’s okay, it’s fine, I don’t…” he shook his head. “What about them? The ones who lived? Us, I guess?”
“All at once, awful, gorgeous, dangerous powers. Overnight. It was anarchy. We have people with wings and tails and dragon scales, little girls who talk to machines and turn anything into a living bomb. And that’s just our friends, good people who try to do the right thing. Everybody who got them was… not a good person. There were superpowered street gangs, serial killers.”
“Military police.”
“Exactly.” She smiled for the first time. It wasn’t a happy one. “We were a problem. Their solution… Major Turret’s solution, was a private army called Eye in the Sky.”
“I’ve heard that name.” Regan hunched over, drew his elbows in closer to his body.
“Everyone in Parole has. He would be the man behind the curtain. And the man behind SkEye, the barrier keeping us all trapped in here… and my uncle.”
“Your…” he stopped. “I’m… I’m sorry.”
“Can’t choose your family.” She sighed. Then her grimace melted into an actual smile. “Well, you can. Just not the one you’re born into.”
“But still,” he tilted his head, looking at her through slightly squinted eyes, still and steady in a rare moment of complete focus. “You’re not with him. Turret. or SkEye. Are you?”
“Far from it,” she said mildly with a laugh beneath her words, as if they scratched the surface of an understatement so stark, she couldn’t begin to express it. “We had… a difference of opinion. I left home for a lot of reasons, but that was… a big one.”
“I would too. If my uncle was basically in charge of keeping everyone like me locked up over a fire until we…” He stopped. “Wait.”
“What?” She sat up straighter and leaned forward. “Did you remember something?”
“No… I just can’t believe I never thought of… Oh God, that's it, isn't it?” he whispered. He suddenly felt too muffled, restricted by his cloth mask, and pulled it off of his face. “I always wondered why SkEye didn’t just kill us all, and… they don’t have to. That’s why they haven’t just wiped us out, but nobody’s coming to help us either—they really are just waiting for everything to collapse. And for us to kill each other. All they have to do is wait, and eventually we stop being a problem, and… we prove we’re too dangerous to live.”
“That might be what they want, but it’s not going to happen.” Evelyn’s voice was level, calm and regular. “We’re still alive. We’re going to stay alive, all of us together.”
Regan’s blood ran cold. He clenched his teeth, and willed himself to stop shaking, and don’t panic, don’t run. “We’re all going to die. They’re just waiting for the round to give out, and we’ll all fall in, and burn, if we don’t kill each other first, we’re going to go up in smoke and—”
“No. We’re not. Regan, listen to my voice. That is not happening. It’s not happening now, and it will not happen. It won’t.”
“They’re not going to let us out. When the ground opens up and everyone starts to burn, those bastards in gas masks still won’t let us out.” He shut his eyes, a rushing starting to build in his sensitive, pointed ears.
“They don’t have to. Parole is filled with people who will help, and keep you safe from the inside. And someday we will get out, whether they let us or not.”
“Okay. I’m fine.” Regan nodded quickly, trying to get his breathing back under control.
“You don’t have to be.” There was a moment of silence, and then Regan heard the scrape of chair legs against the floor, and the click of Evelyn’s heels. Then, a warm hand on his shoulder. Regan let out his breath in a kind of shuddering sob, shoulders sagging as he slumped forward. He kept his eyes shut, and Evelyn’s hand didn’t move away. “Even I’m not fin
e all the time. I don’t think anyone is.”
“You’re basically a superhero. And you’re not fine?”
“Not every day. And especially not every night.”
“It’s not going to be okay.”
“Maybe it’s not. But we’re all sure going to try. And for what it’s worth, I’m right here. And it’s not just me either. Wherever you were before, you’re here with us now. You’re not alone.”
He couldn’t answer, so he listened instead. Evelyn was humming a soft melody. Good night, dream sweet… And just like that first night, it made the terror rising in his chest subside and his throat relax enough for him to take a breath. He took another, and the rushing in his ears began to fade, along with the chill that had started running up his spine. He wondered if he’d started to fade himself as well, but couldn’t bear to open his eyes yet to check.
After a while he could breathe again. A while after that he could speak.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Really wish I could remember where I heard that. Starting to bug me.”
“Like a jingle you can’t get out of your head?” Evelyn smiled.
“Yeah. Except backwards. I can’t get it… in my head. At least it’s a nice one.”
“Mm-hmm. And I remembered where I heard it first, at least.”
“Where?” He lifted his head and looked up, eyes opening wide; he could swear even his frill was flaring out just a little in anticipation.
“My mom. I’m sure she sang it to me when I was little, at least a couple times.”
“Oh.” Regan sat back, somehow disappointed. “Pretty sure I’ve never met your mom. I mean, I don’t know for sure, but…”
“Well, I can ask her. Or you can, if you see her—but you’re right, lullabies belong to everyone. One thing we do know from this, though.”
“What’s that?” He asked without looking up.
“You sing songs like that to people you love. Maybe it’s from a long time ago, and you were little, like I was, but you do remember it. You relax and take a deep breath the second you hear it. Whatever memory you have of it, even if you don’t know what it is—it’s good. Can’t fake that.” She smiled. “So we know that you were loved.”
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