Life Within Parole

by RoAnna Sylver

  “Hmm.” Evelyn shook her head, finally breaking the embrace and leaning back to dry her eyes and wet, flushed face. “Well. Moving on. Jenny, what did we learn tonight? Not this, this embarrassing crying thing that we’re never speaking of again. Before this.”

  “That I can’t talk to the dead.” She sighed, looking at the floor again and twiddling a strand of her silvery hair.

  “Well, yes, but that wasn’t what I meant.” Her mind was already working, eyes brightening, heart beating faster. “So you can’t talk to dead people. But you can talk to living people. As far away as New Mexico, if we believe Hans.”

  “Do we believe Hans?” Jenny looked apprehensive.

  Evelyn hesitated. “I’ll get back to you on that. In any case, living people who at least aren’t here. You could talk to Garrett, even if you didn’t know exactly where he was, right?”

  “Right. I just… I just thought, Garrett, we love you, we want you to be here very hard. I found the—the string, that connected me to him, then I pulled it. And then here he was.”

  Evelyn inhaled deeply, like taking the first breath of fresh, sunlit air after a week locked in a small, dark room. “We have so many missing and lost people. Maybe now we can start finding them.”

  “Yes! This will be so, so good!” Jenny bounced a little on the balls of her feet. “I can help you, Evelyn? Really?”

  “Really.” She smiled, a real smile. It felt good to find she still remembered how. “You’ve helped so much already. Actually, I have an idea for the first person you can find.”

  “Oh! Good! Who?”

  Evelyn took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Rose. I know she’s alive. I need her. Not flowers, her.”

  “Yes. I’ll find her.”

  “Thank you,” Evelyn sighed, tension lines in her face smoothing for the first time in what felt like weeks. “I just thought of another one. Well, I guess it’s more like two people in one now. Do you remember Regan, the man I came here with? The, uh. Lizard-like one.”

  Jenny went quite still, thinking. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that one.”

  “Good. Well, he’s pretty important to find. For a lot of reasons. Do you think you could help me find him? He’s got someone else with him now who’s very important too.”

  “What’s their name?”

  “Gabriel. He’s a little boy who’s been lost and alone and scared for a long time. We want to help him if we can.”

  “Then so do I.” Jenny nodded. “Yes, I’ll find them. If it’ll make them stop hurting. If I can make you stop hurting, then I will.”

  Evelyn smiled, squeezed her hand. “That’s why you’re a hero, Jenny.”

  “Hmm, hmm, hmm…” Jenny was back to humming the song she’d started when Evelyn was crying. “Hans, I know you’re there, I can feel you, like the shivery tickles in a lightning storm. Someday you might get your wish. Who knows what will happen? Maybe a castle will rise above the highest clouds. Maybe a ghost will breathe and sing after all. Maybe the trick will turn out to be a treat!”

  Evelyn thought about the bright circle of candles where Garrett Cole’s image had floated and told her that the show must go on. She thought about Benjamin’s resting face, peaceful and serene at last. Maybe her own face finally had the same look of peace. “Sure did tonight.”

  Author’s Note: The following story is canon-adjacent but not confirmed. In case of ending ambiguity, assume the best.

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  Sometime in the undetermined future…

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  There are rules to surviving in Parole.

  First rule: never leave anyone behind. Including yourself.

  Second rule: if you can, always follow the first, because you often won’t have a chance to come back for anyone or anything.

  Third rule: if you have to break one or two, break them completely, with everything you have. Run so fast you fly. Run until you can’t anymore. Hide so well you disappear completely. Take cover where you can find it; hold very, very still. And the second you get a chance, run again.

  Finn runs, bursts out of his precious cover and darts across the street like his life depends on it. This time it does.

  “There! He turned down that alley!”

  Finn’s lungs burn and his feet explode in pain with every desperate step - though he hasn’t made anything else explode for weeks, not even tonight. That wild thought floats through his brain, he should be proud of that at least, if he dies in the next minute, he can at least be proud of that.

  But his mind really is still on the rules. And the only rule on Finn’s mind is the fourth: never let the enemy follow you home. If you leave alone, come home alone.

  He skirts around vast, open pits of fire edged by rubble, more carefully on foot than he ever does on four wheels. These streets are dangerous, not least because the ground around them is unstable, and the last thing Finn needs is to fall into another fiery pit. He’s had enough of that for a lifetime. All of his senses are on overdrive, listening for the familiar sounds of helicopters, watching for searchlights in his peripheral vision; danger comes from above as well as behind. If one of those pillars of light finds him, he’ll be dragged in again, back in a hot cell, a voice demanding answers. Locations. Names. Pain when he doesn’t answer, or doesn’t know.

  He’s terrified, but not of that; he’s withstood it one time already. Finn’s not afraid of what he’ll say under pressure, he’s afraid of what they’ll learn even if he doesn’t. Somehow, the Eye in the Sky always finds what it wants to. So he can’t let it find him. And he can’t go home until he’s alone.

  Rule four. That’s the only one that matters tonight.

  He takes a desperate chance, throwing himself behind the façade of a ruined building. He rolls into a crouch—and almost lets out a squeal of panic when he can’t stop, he’s rolling down a hill, but at least it’s away from danger. Finally the wild ride ends, somewhere dark and quiet. Quiet means safe. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut, savoring the overwhelming relief… and slowly dawning confusion.

  Cold. It’s never cold in Parole.

  Finn sucks in more painful breaths, trying to keep silent, trying not to wheeze. His heart is pounding and he clamps down on the terror, silences the part of him that will lead to explosions and noise and setting the whole place on fire. More people dead. They’ve seen enough already.

  Deep breaths. He remembers a low, rough voice, distorted from mismatched, re-animated vocal cords telling him to take slow, deep breaths. Observe the fear but don’t lose himself to it. Don’t deny it, acknowledge it. Accept it, and you won’t drown in it.

  Finn tries. Somehow, he takes a moment to re-center, while the earth shifts below him and voices grow louder above. He regards the panic like meeting the eyes of an old acquaintance from far across an empty room. Without judgement. The rumble deep underground subsides.

  Armored feet pound past him—no, above him, where is he?—and he lets his head fall back, where it gently meets cold concrete. Now he lets out his breath in a rush, and immediately becomes aware of the painfully hard pounding of his heart. Both of them.

  That’s the third time this week he’s had to run that fast, and it’s starting to wear at the edges of any calm he’s established. Not to mention the havoc it’s wreaking on his toes. SkEye has gotten even more watchful lately, and vicious. They’re panicking, every ounce of restraint they ever had before the collapse crumbling like Parole’s streets.

  Finn stays curled in the fetal position and keeps his eyes shut. It’s just for now. Just until he can figure out where he is and how to get home. (Alone, alone, don’t lead anyone back, don’t let them follow.)

  Something touches his ear. Finn scrambles backwards until his back hits the wall, stifling the short gasp of alarm that spills out of his mouth.

  “Shut up!”

  His eyes fly open at the harsh voice and now he takes his first look around at his hiding place. He’s in the shelter of a deep trench, what might have been a sewer be
fore it had been cracked and blasted open by Parole’s ever-shifting tectonic plates and urban warfare. That explains the cold; it’s insulated enough from the fire, and permanently shaded from the weak sunlight that filters through the barrier and smoke.

  And he’s not alone. A pair of bright green eyes with narrow, vertical-slit pupils glint at him from the darkness; there’s someone else curled up in here too, staring at him but not moving aside from the jerky rise and fall their shoulders with each irregular, ragged breath.

  “I’m so sorry—I didn’t—” Finn raises his hands, praying he hasn’t all too literally fallen into a cache or hiding place someone’s prepared to kill or die for. Everyone’s so terrified and desperate for a safe haven or drop of water, even more than before, nights turn deadly after far less provocation or misunderstandings than this.

  But then he stops. Finn knows that voice. He knows those eyes.

  “Finn…” The voice rasps again. “They came by here… once already. Please shut up.”

  “Regan?”

  “Get out of here.” His clenched, pointed teeth are bared in a grimace of pain. He’s never looked more like a cornered lizard, every muscle tense and joints locked, one hand pressed against his side with red seeping out between his fingers. His other arm props him up off the ground, a tremble in his shoulder his only movement.

  “Oh my gosh. Are you—”

  “I said go!” Regan hisses at him but it turns into a rattling gasp, and the flaps of skin around his neck suddenly flare. It’s like he’s trying to look bigger than he is, but Finn can’t remember seeing him look smaller.

  Finn shakes his head as he takes in the wet, dark wound in his side—before Regan shifts to hide it from his view. But even with the injury hidden, it doesn’t take much to tell something’s wrong. Regan’s face is contorted with pain, and even if it wasn’t, the slickness and faded discoloration of his scales would give him away. Finn didn’t even know his scales could get pale or sweaty, but he’s never seen Regan this hurt either. He never wants to again. “No. I’m not leaving you. Why would you say that?”

  “Of course. Of course you’re not,” Regan wheezes, almost laughs, as his frill settles back down. “No sense… Just like Zilch said, never any…”

  Finn hesitates, feeling more helpless than he can remember. He hates it. If Zilch were here, or Rose, or Evelyn, God, someone who knows what they’re doing…but they’re not. He is. So he gently takes Regan by the shoulders, they look uninjured at least, and helps him into a better sitting position, propping him up against the wall. Now that he’s closer, Finn can see Regan’s snakelike eyes starting to roll back into his head, watch as he blinks hard and forces them back into focus. When Regan’s hands curl around his arms in a desperate grasp like he’s hanging onto Finn, the present, and life, he stays close enough to feel the irregular pounding of his heart.

  “I should know by now,” Regan makes himself speak very deliberately, like he’s trying to keep himself conscious. Every word sounds like he’s forcing it out of crushed lungs, like the simple act of opening his mouth costs more blood than he has left. “Bastards jumped me. Should’ve-should’ve seen them coming.”

  “It’s okay,” Finn soothes, hand gently running across Regan’s smooth forehead and pointed ear. It twitches in reply; at least that reflex still works. “Happens to me all the time.”

  “Yeah, but…” Regan shakes his head so his eyes seem to roll around like billiard balls struck by a cue, darting wildly around in different directions. “I’m supposed to protect you, not—”

  “Regan, hush. I’m getting you home.”

  The second rule. If you can, follow the first: never leave anyone behind. You won’t get another chance. Neither will they.

  “No… Too late.” There’s naked fear on his face, and Finn doesn’t know if it’s a lizard’s primal terror of being trapped, or Regan’s very near and equally primal fear of dying. Maybe both.

  “It’s not too late,” Finn insists, though he’s shivering. He can’t remember the last time he’s shivered, not for ten years. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “N-not fine. Tried to crawl away already. Can’t stand up. Can’t even move. Finn, they’re gonna find me.” A gasping breath. “Don’t need to find you too. Get away. Don’t be here when they come—”

  “I’m staying right here.” Finn smiles, but he feels sick. “It’s okay, Regan, I’ve got you. Now I’m getting you out of here, and we’ll make it home together, and—”

  “I’m leaving a trail,” Regan growls through clenched teeth, neck flaps starting to rise again, but more slowly this time. “They’re gonna follow the blood.”

  “No!” Finn blinks back tears that surprise him, but not nearly as much as anything else tonight. “Zilch would never forgive me if I didn’t bring you home. Neither would Evelyn.”

  “Yes they would.” The look Regan gives him at that is almost fond, underneath all that pain and terror. “They’re attached by now. To you. Might as well be stitched. And Ev... I dunno, she just—just doesn’t...”

  “They love you.”

  Regan shuts his eyes. “N-no. No, they—”

  “Yes. Yes they do.”

  “God damn…” He tries to flare out his frill again but can only manage a weak twitch. Regan squeezes his eyes more tightly shut. “Okay.”

  “And I’d never forgive me either.” Finn gently but decisively wraps an arm around Regan’s waist, but his friend pulls away.

  “Leave. Me. Here.” Regan opens his eyes, glares at him with something between a growl and a groan of protest. “Do not take me—to where they are. Do not make me give them away.”

  “Shh. You won’t.”

  “Don’t, don’t make me do it,” Regan’s voice drops into a whisper. He isn’t glaring anymore. Now he sounds near tears, practically begging, but he doesn’t move away. Instead he leans into the embrace and drops his forehead down against Finn’s, like he doesn’t have the energy to keep himself upright anymore. “Don’t make me kill them, I don’t want to, I don’t, I can’t hurt them—”

  “You won’t,” Finn promises, shoving every bit of fear and doubt behind him. Not ten minutes ago, he might have cried these exact words. Now he swore to Regan and himself that this night would end with warmth, safety and relief instead of fear or pain. Most incredibly of all, he believed it. “You’re not putting anyone in danger. You deserve to get home safe too.”

  “I just… I just want…”

  “And we all want you home safe.” Keeping one arm firmly around Regan’s waist, Finn drapes one of Regan’s arms around his own shoulders and slowly stands them both up, staggering a little bit as both of their weight shifts. “So come on. If we die, blame me.”

  “I’m probably blaming you.” Regan almost laughs, but it hurts; they both hurt. “But the others. I’ll—”

  “Everybody knows where the library is already,” Gently, making sure not to jostle the wound he can see and careful of any he can’t, Finn takes an experimental step. Regan comes with him, step much weaker and smaller, but he’s walking. “We won’t give it away anymore. You’re not hurting anyone by living.”

  Regan lets out a weak hiss. Finn doesn’t know if it’s out of frustration, fear, or pain. “Okay. Let’s go home.”

  They crawl out of the sewer together. Regan’s head hangs down low and he leans heavily against Finn but he’s moving his feet, and Finn prays to every guardian angel he’s not sure he believes in anymore that the sidewalks home will be empty and clear.

  They make their way through the barren wasteland of broken buildings and choking air. They stop every few minutes, holding very still and listening for the sound of sirens and helicopter blades, watching for flames licking up through cracks in the sidewalk. Finn lays a gentle hand on Regan’s back while he sucks in fast, deep breaths and tries to stop hyperventilating. His pupils are completely dilated by now, and his tongue hangs out as he pants like a tired dog. His grip on Finn’s arm tightens, he digs in his cur
ved claws until it hurts, and Finn holds his hand and doesn’t let go.

  It’s dark by the time they stumble into the familiar part of town.

  Finn strains his eyes ahead. It has to be close. Still, it seems like forever before he catches sight of a familiar facade, bricks crumbling and windows dark, but still a beacon of hope and safety to anyone who knows how to look. He reads ‘Li-b-y’, sees the book-shaped sign, the most beautiful sight even scorched and smoke-stained and peppered with bullet holes, and relief rushes through him so fast and hard he nearly falls to the ground—then remembers who’s leaning on him, and stands firm.

  He grins and gives his friend’s shoulders a little squeeze, turns his head to tell him they made it.

  Regan’s eyes are closed and he isn’t hanging on tight anymore. He doesn’t answer to his name, or Finn’s cries, or increasing desperation.

  Finn’s blood runs cold. He doesn’t really remember winter or ice, but he feels it in his veins now. This can’t be happening, they’ve only got a few more steps more to go, they’ve almost made it home. None of it is fair, the way nothing has been fair for the past ten years or longer.

  Just for a moment, the solid wall of smoke that makes up Parole’s sky clears, and the moon comes out. That’s not fair either, that it’s the first time he’s seen it in years, and it illuminates... this. It’s silent. All night, there hasn’t been a single explosion. Not one.

  Finn takes the last few steps, and he’s home. For the first time that night, he prays he’s not alone.

  Theme to CHAMELEON MOON

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  Ashes, Ashes, we’re all gonna learn to fly

  Our colors are changing in the blink of an eye

  The shadows around us are watching us all

  Don’t step on a crack, you might fall

  We’re all catching fire by the light of the moon