Subject Nightingale 1: Birth and Death

by Tim Cody

  “It's almost noon, so you've got about six hours. We'll see you back here when you're done?”

  “Yeah, I'll see you later.” Nightingale started toward the street as her bird returned to her shoulder. It made itself quite comfortable in her cozy new scarf.

  Chapter 18

  Practice Makes Perfect

  Luckily, the pit was a straight shot from Baker Street—Nightingale didn't know the layout of White Rain Falls, but walking several blocks until she encountered a giant hole full of garbage shouldn't prove a challenge. The hustle and bustle of the city was easy enough to cut through, but became particularly thick after a few blocks. The sidewalk was more packed than usual, and the crowd was hardly moving. They were gathered around something of interest, and Nightingale didn't notice until a police officer grabbed her shoulder to keep her from walking into it.

  “Hold it right there,” he said, and Nightingale panicked at first.

  She looked up at him, eyes wide and mind immediately cluttered with fight or flight scenarios. The small silver shield pinned to his black button-down shirt boasted the words Council Enforcement arched above and below a representation of Bastion: a simple pillar separated by several discs.

  He let go of her shoulder and adjusted his black cap. “Get out of here, kid, this isn't something you should be looking at.”

  “What...” Her panic was replacing itself with confusion. She looked ahead of herself, where the attention of the crowd was focused, and her stomach churned at the grizzly crime scene she had almost stumbled into.

  A shirtless man was facedown on the pavement in a pool of his own blood. Two long vertical slashes in his back had allowed the killer to crack his ribcage for access to his innards, and his lungs—although still connected to the rest of this poor victim—were now on the outside.

  Nightingale raised her hand to her mouth in shock, and turned her head away. The sight reminded her of what she had seen at the Lab.

  “Get moving,” the police officer said, his tone firmer.

  She nodded, keeping her face turned away from the officer as well. She tugged her scarf right up to below her eyes, hiding as much of her face as possible, and turned around to head back through the crowd. She cut across to the other side of the street and continued toward the pit.

  “I wonder if that sort of thing happens around here often...” she wondered aloud, and her bird chirped in response. The thought only strengthened her desire to discover her own powers; she arrived at the pit shortly after.

  It had been filled overnight like Elise said, but the clutter didn't look much different—furniture, bags of garbage, whatever random items those living up above decided they no longer needed.

  “Can you check out the area for me?” Nightingale asked her bird as she stood at the edge, and it fluttered off her shoulder. She shut her eyes, and suddenly saw through the nightingale's.

  She could spot herself as it soared up high—a dot at the edge of the clutter—and the rest of the pit. It looked to be about a mile wide, and she could spot a few others scattered throughout it, foraging. They looked pretty spread out, though, so she figured she would be alright.

  You can come back, she thought, and opened her eyes. The bird landed on her shoulder a moment later, and she headed in.

  She picked her path carefully, finding a nice wide table she could leap toward. It was a sturdy enough platform, and once she had her footing, she made her way deeper in. She advanced several yards, and then looked all around to make sure she was alone. She was far enough away from the edge so nobody would immediately spot her, and couldn't even see the other foragers.

  “So, where should I start?” she asked and looked at her bird, unraveling her scarf from around her face so it wouldn't get in the way. The nightingale just cocked its head to the side and chirped. “I can see what you see, read someone's thoughts, what else have I done... Move things?” She hadn't intentionally telekinetically moved an object yet, so she shrugged and looked around for something small and harmless enough to test it on.

  She spotted an old weatherworn book a few feet away, and narrowed her eyes at it.

  “Just think it, right?”

  She simply imagined the book lifting into the air, and it happened in real time. Her eyes went wide and she kept the image in her mind, the book lifting up and down, panning left and right, and hovering toward her. There was no lag between her thoughts and it actually happening.

  “It's really that easy, huh?” she asked as the book levitated right in front of her face. It laid itself horizontally in the air and the front cover opened, and she imagined the pages flipping rapidly. Its torn and ratty pages flapped from one side of the book to the other, faster and faster, as fast as Nightingale could imagine it happening. “Can you believe this?” she asked her bird, and it chirped along with her excitement.

  The book suddenly took off to the left, however, when she became a bit overzealous. It broke her concentration and she watched it soar toward the edge of the pit, and she smiled sheepishly.

  “Oops...” She couldn't see where the book had landed, but she almost immediately imagined it floating back up into the air. It sprung up as expected, and then she pictured it appearing in front of her—rather than traveling to her.

  The book dropped back into the clutter.

  “Hmm...” Nightingale frowned thoughtfully and levitated it back into the air. “I guess it's gotta be possible,” she theorized as the book returned to her. It made sense that she couldn't actually distort reality—just manipulate it. “What else... Did I make that fire last night?”

  She imagined the book catching fire, and the paper was instantly ablaze. A raging fireball spewed flames in all directions, and Nightingale shrieked and lifted her hands in front of her face to protect herself. Her left palm stopped the fire and scorched her skin, and she lost her balance. The burning book fell to the ground and she toppled off her feet, holding her left hand close and reaching out with her right to catch herself.

  Her hand landed on a glass bottle and it shattered, several shards slicing into her palm. She screamed and looked at her hands as she knelt, one badly burnt and the other bleeding, and she immediately got to work telekinetically unzipping her jacket. Her medical kit, slung around her shoulder and secure against her torso, opened up, and the supplies inside began rummaging themselves.

  She was looking for a pair of tweezers to remove the small pieces of glass, but her panicked state made it difficult to concentrate on the fine movement required to search for a specific tool. Multiple objects inadvertently moved as one, and some spilled out onto her lap when she tried moving too many at once.

  She breathed deep, pained breaths, sniffling and trying to blink her tears away to see. But when the pain began to fade she started to calm down, and returned her worried gaze to her hands. Her left palm tingled as the scorch marks faded, the wound quickly healing. The glass in her right palm pushed itself out, and the small slices sealed themselves; soon her left palm looked as good as new, and she just had some blood on her right.

  “Is that the nanobots?” she asked, sniffling once more and wiping her eyes. She thought back to Phellman—that monster in the Lab—and another surge of panic hit her.

  He had changed quickly, though. “If I was gonna become a monster, I would've changed already... Right?” She looked at her bird, and it chirped and appeared to nod. Nightingale couldn't help but crack a nervous smile. “Thanks,” she said.

  She was curious about the nanobots that she could sense inside her—apparently working to heal her, but what else could they do? She had no idea, and couldn't think of a way to test them. She didn't want to intentionally hurt herself for fear of them not working... She decided to just let them be for now.

  The still-burning book grabbed her attention, and she watched it fly as she hurled it to the other side of the pit. “Stupid book,” she muttered.

  Nightingale sighed and stood, and tucked everything back into her medical kit. She zipped it shut,
and then zipped her jacket back up over it.

  “I think I should call it a day,” she said, “I've got enough figured out for now.”

  Chapter 19

  Comes Great Responsibility

  “Come on, let me go!” Whisper shouted at the top of her lungs.

  Nightingale happened to be within earshot, and she immediately recognized her voice. “Whisper!?” she yelled back, and rushed in the direction of the shouting. She was just a few blocks from Baker Street.

  “You just weren't paying attention!” Whisper shouted again.

  Nightingale spotted her at the far end of the street and began to sprint. “Whisper!” she called out when she saw a man gripping her suspenders, holding her in place.

  “Nightingale, help!” she shouted back, grabbing her suspenders and trying to free herself from the man's grasp.

  “What the heck's going on here, let her go!” Nightingale yelled as she approached the two.

  A middle-aged man in a white apron scowled and only strengthened his grip. “This little brat stole from me!”

  Nightingale looked at the plastic bag Whisper clutched to her chest with one hand, and then up at the corner store's storefront.

  “I did not!” Whisper insisted. “I paid for everything in this bag, you're just trying to get more money outta me! But the joke's on you, 'cause I don't have any left!”

  Nightingale glared at the shopkeeper and shouted, “Let her go this instant!” She didn't know what was going on yet, but she didn't like this man putting his hands on Whisper.

  He released Whisper on command, and Nightingale suddenly remembered running through all those checkpoints—how the guards let her pass, just because she was telling them to. Did the shopkeeper let Whisper go because he wanted to, or because she told him to?

  “Apologize for grabbing her,” she said as an experiment.

  “I'm sorry I grabbed you,” the shopkeeper said, but didn't drop his scowl for a second.

  “Yeah, you better be!” Whisper shouted as she straightened out her outfit and checked the contents of her bag.

  “What do you have in there, Whisper?” Nightingale asked next, peering into the bag as well. It contained a carton of six eggs and a tube of dark red hair dye.

  “I bought some eggs like Elise said, and I got something for you... But I wanted it to be a surprise.” She frowned a little, looking between the bag and Nightingale.

  “She paid for the eggs, but she stole that dye!” the shopkeeper said. “The thieving little runt put it in her bag when she thought I wasn't looking!”

  “Who are you calling a runt, you old man!?” Whisper stomped one foot toward the man and lifted her fist threateningly.

  “Whisper, calm down!” Nightingale said.

  “You believe me, don't you, Nightingale?” Whisper asked, looking up at her, eyes pleading. “This guy's always had it out for me!”

  “Of course I believe you.” Nightingale stood beside Whisper and held one arm around her shoulder protectively. “It's just a misunderstanding.”

  “This is ridiculous, I'm calling the—” the shopkeeper began, but Nightingale cut him off.

  “She didn't steal the dye, she paid for it,” she said firmly. “You made a mistake, you weren't paying attention.”

  The shopkeeper nodded. “Yeah, you're right. She did pay for it, it was my mistake.”

  “Yeah, I told you!” Whisper said.

  The shopkeeper sighed and shook his head, and walked back into his shop. “Lousy kids,” he muttered, “causing all sorts of trouble, running around without any parents... I wish the city would round them up and...” He trailed off as the girls lost sight of him.

  “Come on, Whisper, let's go home,” Nightingale said, and they headed toward Baker Street.

  “Thanks for helping me out,” Whisper said as they walked.

  “You're welcome. We've gotta look out for each other, right?”

  “It's weird that he just believed you, though, isn't it?” Whisper asked next.

  Nightingale shrugged. “It's not so strange. It's the truth, isn't it? He just realized his mistake.”

  Whisper just nodded and grabbed Nightingale's hand as they walked.

  “Elise!” Whisper called out once they made it back to their hut. Elise was standing beside their steel drum, trying to get a fire started. “I got the eggs!”

  “I should've had you buy some matches, too,” she said, then sighed and held the drum's rim. “We're fresh out.”

  Whisper placed the bag beside the hut and then stood on her toes to peer into the drum. “Can't you rub two sticks together?”

  Elise shook her head. “I've been trying, but I think the last time was just a fluke.”

  “Can I give it a shot?” Nightingale asked as she approached.

  “Sure, knock yourself out.” Elise touched Whisper's shoulder and guided her away from the drum.

  Nightingale reached in and grabbed two thin sticks, and glanced at the girls through the corner of her eye. It didn't look like Elise could see her hands, and Whisper was too short to see what she was doing either way. She rubbed the sticks together and pretended to put effort into it, and they burst into flames. The fire quickly spread to the rest of the wood, and Nightingale took a quick step back to avoid another burn.

  “Wow!” Elise exclaimed. “You really are awesome at starting fires!”

  Nightingale just smiled and shrugged. “Just a natural talent, I guess. Saves you some money on matches, right?”

  “Elise, what's for dinner!” Whisper changed the subject, turning around and staring up at her sister. “I'm starving!”

  “It's not dinner time yet, Whisper, we've still got a few hours to go. But I think we're making sandwiches, we need to use the last of our meat before it spoils.”

  “Okay, I'm gonna read my comics!” Whisper rushed off to find them.

  “Did you get any money for your book?” Nightingale asked once Whisper was inside.

  “Five whole dollars,” Elise answered.

  The girls spent the rest of the afternoon just killing time; chatting about whatever topics came to mind, sharing stories, generally just existing—there wasn't much more for three homeless girls to do. Before long the sun was setting, and grumbling stomachs began announcing dinnertime.

  “Wanna grab the sandwich stuff, Whisper?” Elise asked, and Whisper bolted into the hut.

  “She didn't put the eggs away,” Nightingale said as she picked the bag up off the ground. She reached in to grab the hair dye, to store it separately from the eggs.

  And suddenly she saw Whisper back in the corner store, standing in the checkout line. She was holding the eggs and the hair dye, but she slipped the dye into her sleeve. She paid for the eggs and then when she took the bag, cleverly slipped the dye into it as well. The shopkeeper caught her on the way out.

  Nightingale gasped, eyes opening wide, and she shot Whisper a glare when she came out of the hut with the food. “You did steal this!” she shouted without thinking about it first.

  Whisper immediately cringed, and her eyes panned to Elise.

  “What did you steal!?” Elise immediately shouted and stomped over. She snatched the hair dye from Nightingale's hand and showed it to Whisper. “Did you pay for this!?”

  “No, I—I, uh, just—I'm—” Whisper stammered, suddenly nervous.

  “You're gonna return it, is what you're gonna do!” Elise grabbed Whisper's wrist and placed the tube in her hand, squeezing it into her fist.

  “Why can't we use it!?” Whisper asked. “We already have it!”

  “Because it's stolen!” Elise shouted. “We don't steal things! We've been over this!”

  Whisper looked at Nightingale, her eyes pleading like before.

  But Nightingale just shook her head. “I told that guy you paid for it! You told me you paid for it! You lied to me, Whisper!” She gasped when she realized she used her powers to help. “You made me the bad guy, I helped you steal!”

  “No!” Whisp
er shouted, tears suddenly pouring down her cheeks.

  “Take it back, Whisper,” Elise said. She folded her arms and stared at her sister, nostrils flared and eyes narrow with anger. She didn't pull Whisper's hair, or call her a brat; she was fuming mad, and it was frightening.

  “But—but I can't, that guy will call the cops on me!” Whisper said, crying. “He'll throw me in jail, Elise!”

  “Well maybe you deserve to be in jail, you're a thief!”

  “No!” Whisper shouted again, and began crying harder. “Please, don't make me go back there!”

  “Fine, I'll take it.” Elise grabbed the dye from Whisper's hand. She turned and stormed off without another word, but the presence of her rage could still be felt hanging in the air.

  Whisper stared at the ground and cried, sniffling and wiping her eyes with her hands.

  Suddenly alone with her, Nightingale sighed and folded her arms. She didn't know what to say.

  “I'm sorry, Nightingale,” Whisper eventually said, her voice broken by sobs.

  “You shouldn't have lied to me,” she replied. “And you shouldn't have stolen. You know that's wrong, don't you?”

  Whisper nodded quickly.

  “Then why'd you do it?” she asked.

  “I just wanted to do something nice for you, but now Elise hates me!” She threw her arms out and hurled herself at Nightingale, hugging her tight. She buried her face on her jacket and sobbed.

  Nightingale sighed again, and hugged Whisper. She shook her head. “Elise doesn't hate you... She's just angry.”

  “I don't want her to leave me,” Whisper muttered.

  Nightingale sunk to her knees to be eye-level with her. She smiled and touched her face, and Whisper lifted her eyes. “She's not gonna abandon you, alright? She'll be back soon, she'll probably yell at you some more, and then we'll all go to bed. We'll wake up in the morning, and everything will be just fine.”

  “I don't want her to yell at me anymore, either!” Whisper said, and then hugged Nightingale again.

  Maybe being so honest was the wrong approach...