Normal

by Francine Pascal

  Ed signaled for the check. “Do you want to go somewhere else? Maybe shoot some pool?”

  Kai searched Ed’s eyes a little more deeply. “I’m thinking we should just go our separate ways tonight,” she said. “Maybe restart the friendship tomorrow? Possibly a Ping-Pong marathon. Don’t you think we should call it a night?”

  Ed smiled. “I do. Are you going to go home?”

  “I don’t know. I think I’m looking pretty cute. There’s a couple of parties I might hit over in the East Village. You?”

  “I don’t know,” Ed replied truthfully. “It’s been a pretty weird forty-eight hours for me. I think I’ll probably just, you know, wander toward home. . . take a walk and try to clear my mind.”

  “Sounds nice,” Kai said. “I’m heading east—you want to walk for a while?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do,” he said truthfully.

  Ed paid the check and held the door for Kai as his one last romantic gesture for the evening. And then he and Kai were strolling side by side down the dark sidewalks. Ed could feel the weight lifting from his shoulders. He was finally here, on the other side of the conversation he’d been dreading. . . and he felt fine.

  There wasn’t any particular urgency to going home, Ed thought. And with Kai walking alongside him, Ed realized that there was still really only one place he could go to clear his mind and think. And whether it was the shining sun and the crowds in the daytime or the damp and quiet of the nighttime, he was sure it could still do him some good. So, with Kai walking agreeably beside him, he headed toward Washington Square Park.

  OLIVER

  I don’t know how I could have become so stupid.

  Stupid, ineffective, and slow. I don’t know how that happened to me.

  It’s always the fate of strong people. When you’re strong, everyone tries to rob you of your strength. It’s just a natural process. If you expect it, if you see it coming. . . you can ward it off. You can guard against it.

  That’s what I’ve been forgetting to do. Keep people from robbing me of my strength. But I’m not going to forget any longer.

  From now on, I’m going to take control. I’m going to make things happen the way they’re supposed to, and nobody’s going to stand in my way.

  Why did it take me so long to get my network going? I waited weeks before doing that, when any idiot can see that it’s the best way to get anything done. Within minutes I knew where Gaia was, thanks to my spies. And it would have taken the CIA much longer.

  I should have killed those two when they came to bother me. It would have been easy. And then Gaia would be safe.

  Gaia—that wonderful, maddening young woman. If I’d been just a bit smarter, just a bit quicker, I could have saved her from whatever dark fate she’s chosen. Whatever dangerous foolishness they’ve talked her into.

  If only, if only. It’s like a voice in my head that won’t stop, reprimanding me for my pathetic weakness. What was I doing writing her letters? From the very beginning, I should have been doing everything in my power to keep her safe. Forget the CIA, forget Tom: I’m the only one who can do it. I’m the only one with the strength of will.

  God only knows what’s happening to her right now. According to my people, she’s entered St. Vincent’s hospital and hasn’t come out. There’s just no way of knowing what’s happening to her.

  I’ll get to the bottom of it. And I’ll destroy anyone who tries to stop me—anyone who gets in my way. I’m not going to let my own weakness or confusion stop me from doing what’s right.

  How could Tom run away and leave his daughter so vulnerable, so unprotected? What kind of weak fool would do that?

  But it’s not his fault. He’s the way God made him—there’s no getting around that. He’s always been confused since the day we were born. It’s tragic, but it’s the truth.

  No, the failure’s mine. I’m man enough to admit it. I let them get to me—all the naysayers and con men and fools. I let them bring me down.

  But no more. Whoever is trying to stop me. . . trying to mess with Gaia. . . you may have won a round, but you’ll lose the big fight. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.

  I’m not confused anymore. My head is clear. I’ve got my operatives back and my strength back, and now I’m going to make things right.

  Watch out.

  Knives Outstretched

  ALL SHE REALLY REMEMBERED FOR sure was counting to ten and waking up. Everything else was foggy.

  She remembered Dr. Ulrich keeping her at ease as they prepped her for examination and treatment. She had been compelled to keep reminding him that she did not need to be kept at ease. Though hopefully that was all going to change now. . . .

  The doctor had spent a fair amount of time trying to describe the specifics of the treatment to her as he worked, but they had already begun administering the initial anesthetic, so she could really only recall bits and pieces.

  The most she could gather in her memory was that they had required a massive sampling of her genetic material. She remembered the seemingly endless pricks of needles from various locations on her body. Then, as best as she could understand it, once they had made the genetic corrections to the samples, they would then combine that corrected material with something Dr. Ulrich called an adenovirus. The corrected material was reintroduced to her bloodstream with an injection of that adenovirus, which would act as a superfast carrier and start a chain reaction of genetic regeneration. There was clearly much more to it than that, but Gaia couldn’t possibly have understood every aspect of it. In this rare case, she accepted the fact that she was simply a patient. A very important patient, yes, but still, just a patient. A patient with a lot of fantasy-level hopes and dreams.

  And there had been plenty of time to dream. Twenty-four hours. That was how long she had stayed unconscious while they waited for the treatment to take. And when she awoke, Dr. Ulrich and his staff had been there, waiting for her. She had felt surprisingly refreshed upon waking, not sluggish at all, almost like waking up from a good night’s sleep. It hadn’t taken long before she was dressed and signing off on all the necessary release forms.

  They had insisted on putting her in a taxicab, and she had agreed and promised to go straight home and go to sleep. . . but after she’d traveled ten blocks, she’d changed her mind, asked the cab to stop, and started walking. She couldn’t help it; she just had to be outside, experiencing this new sensation completely. A voice in her head told her that she had just lied again. . . and that it was becoming a bad habit. But she ignored it.

  And now, as she walked home through the West Village, she could hear Dr. Ulrich’s intelligent voice echoing through her head. His parting statement was really the only thing that mattered to Gaia now:

  If the treatment has taken, expect an indication within the next hour or less. But if the treatment has not taken now, then I’m afraid it never will.

  Gaia was doing her best to walk the streets prepared for both eventualities. She had to prepare herself for the very real possibility that the entire procedure had been futile and that she would officially be consigned to the fearless life she had come to know and despise. But much, much more importantly than that, she was trying to prepare herself for the other possibility—the very legitimate possibility that at any moment her new life would begin.

  So she was testing. Testing in every way she could think of as she passed Waverly Place heading down Seventh Avenue.

  What might scare her? Who might scare her? What would be the first indication if and when it hit? She remembered the feelings of absolute horror she’d had after Loki had given her that injection, but that hadn’t been fear. Not really. That had been practically dementia and schizophrenia and paranoia, complete with deadly fever hallucinations and irrational terrors that had left her nearly paralyzed. No, now she was looking for the real thing—the feelings and behaviors she’d spent her entire life understanding only by observation. The way a person’s shoulders would jerk upward when a loud noise took
them by surprise. The way a girl would screech at the top of her lungs when a cat jumped across the screen in a horror movie. The way she’d seen people shiver and chatter and cower and duck. And even the very real screams she’d heard in New York City. When it wasn’t a movie. When the circumstances were painfully real. She was constantly checking her body and her mind for any of it. Any of that stuff that had never made a stitch of sense to her. She had even seriously considered running smack into the middle of moving traffic just to see what would happen—to see whether she would stiffen up like a deer in headlights or dive desperately for the curb. But she wasn’t stupid. It was her fearlessness she had hoped to remove. Not her intelligence.

  By the time she’d begun to cross Bleecker Street on her way to the boardinghouse, she was having some serious and extremely depressing doubts. Loud noises hadn’t done a thing to her. And neither had traffic, and neither had her continuous attempts to take the darkest and seediest streets possible. She was beginning to feel like only two possibilities remained. Either the treatment had failed, or else life was just not particularly scary. But judging from what she’d heard from most of the human race, the latter did not seem all that likely.

  As her depression really kicked in, she dropped down on one of the empty benches in the park and began to simmer.

  All that trouble. All that goddamn trouble for nothing. The talks with Dr. Ulrich, the talks with Ed and Chris, the entire procedure, and all for what? For this. Another wasted fearless night in the not remotely frightening dark shadows of Washington Square Park? The trees loomed and swayed in the breeze just like they always had. The wind blew the leaves along the empty paths just like it always had. Everything was miserably and exactly as it always was and as it always would be. What the hell was the point?

  But the point, it turned out, was a giggle. Not even the giggle so much as what happened when Gaia heard the giggle.

  It was her shoulders. Her shoulders had jerked. They had jerked—so slightly upward that the average person probably wouldn’t have even noticed it. But Gaia noticed it. She noticed it because it was the first time in her life that it had ever happened.

  It’s happening. Jesus, it’s actually happening.

  Gaia turned behind her and tried to see where the giggle had come from. But she could see nothing. She could only hear them. It was a “them” now. The giggle had turned into two and then three—giggles growing louder and louder but from no discernable place—either the trees or the bushes, she couldn’t tell. But they were getting closer.

  And then her chest began to tighten. And her spine began to stiffen. And it suddenly became very difficult to swallow, because her mouth was growing drier and drier by the second.

  My God, it’s really happening.

  She wasn’t imagining it. She was sure of it. She wasn’t trying to force the symptoms of fear. She didn’t need to force them. They were beginning to unload on her like heavy machinery. And as sick and as odd as they were beginning to make her feel, Gaia was in such a twisted state that she actually found herself wanting to dole out thanks. She wanted to thank Dr. Ulrich and the Rodkes, especially Chris. And Ed, too, for talking her through that very last step. Christ, it was like she had won an award or something. The award of being dry mouthed and ill at ease. The award of having her heart race far and beyond any kind of comfort level. The award of feeling like her own death was actually imminent if she didn’t do something to make her stiffened limbs move. At this one moment, here at the very beginning of this new life, Gaia was well aware of the fact that she was a sick, sick puppy, elated to be terrified, delighted to be feeling ill with panic, overwhelmed with joy at how deeply joyless it was to be stuck in the middle of Washington Square Park, alone and after dark and in serious, serious trouble. But to know it. To really feel it. To actually feel that she was utterly and completely screwed.

  Gaia’s emotions began to diverge into a chaotic heap, pulling her head in so many directions that it felt like a massive tug-of-war inside her skull. On the one hand, there was the rush. The rush of fear. It was enormous and palpable. The rush of feeling real, feeling totally, 100 percent human. Not to mention the glorious and perfect sense of beginning something. Something truly new. Something she had been dreaming about and hopelessly praying for year after year.

  But on the other hand. . . there was the why—the reason that these delicious new symptoms were taking control of her body. She knew those giggles. She knew them far too well. She knew them so well that her shoulders had recognized them even before she had.

  Them. The freakish skinheads from hell. Those were their giggles. The sound was unmistakable. And now Gaia was a sitting duck right in the middle of their little trap. And her mind had suddenly turned to one very essential question: Just what would these “wonderful” new symptoms do to her fighting skills? How would they affect her defenses? What was it like to fight when your body and a huge portion of your brain were begging you to run? Not just begging, but ordering. Her entire being was ordering her to hit the road, here and now, before any of those psychotic assholes took another step toward her.

  But she had left herself with no more time to think about it, no more time to wonder. Because they had already rolled out of the bushes and begun to converge on her bench with the same wild-eyed vengeance that she’d seen the last time. The test had already begun. And she already despised the results.

  Move, goddamn it, move.

  “We’ve got her all to ourselves this time!” one of them howled. Gaia recognized him immediately. The swastika earring dangling from his left ear, the huge gash on his arm that he’d inflicted all by himself.

  His first knife swipe cut off a swatch of her hair, and another set of brand-new symptoms erupted. A gasp fell from her lips. Shivers shot through each of her legs, making them wobbly and unsure. She couldn’t even take the time to see how many of them there were because her eyes were darting in all directions from panic. Fights had always seemed like slow motion to Gaia. There had always been plenty of time to plan, to organize, to concentrate. Now it was just the opposite. Everything felt sped up. Too fast to keep track of anything, no time to focus on anything other than her pathetically wobbly legs.

  And now there was a new voice screaming in her head. A voice she had never heard before. And its message was simple.

  You’re dead. Jesus Christ, you are going to die here tonight. There is no doubt about it. You don’t have a chance in hell.

  She was learning. She was learning fast. A new lesson every second. Fear and pessimism. . . they were somehow connected. She had to keep reminding herself what she was capable of. Because she kept forgetting. The closer their knives got, the more she seemed to forget her ability to dodge them—to do a hell of a lot more than dodge them. For Christ’s sake, she was still the same person—wasn’t she?

  She rocketed through three quick forward rolls just to buy herself a little time, a little distance. But they were closing in so fast.

  “Feel the power, bitch!” They were chanting it over and over. “Feel the power of God!”

  “I’m gonna mark this bitch with an X!” one of them howled. “I’m gonna scratch a big fat X right through this bitch’s back!”

  The mob howled their support as they all gave in to fits of giddy laughter, storming toward her with their knives outstretched.

  Focus, goddamn it! Please, Gaia. Focus.

  Latest lesson: Fear could leave a girl actually pleading with herself.

  The knife nearly cut her chest straight down the middle, but she managed to grab her assailant’s wrist first, twisting his arm straight out of its socket and then flipping him flat on his back. But the next knife was already coming down from the left.

  “No!” Gaia screamed. It had just flown out of her mouth—this totally involuntary plea for her life.

  She crammed her knee sharply into his groin and then snapped a hard back kick to his jaw that flattened him out. But she was already out of juice, and she could feel it.

&
nbsp; Lesson number six: Fear saps every ounce of energy that you should have had on reserve.

  And so she began to back away as they advanced. She had to or she was dead. A backward roll and another backward roll.

  “Oh, man, look at the Gaia bitch!” the leader cackled. “Look who’s afraid now. We are freaking supermen, and look who’s turned into a plain old girlie bitch.”

  “X!” that asshole howled again. “I gotta have it. I’ve gotta see a bloody X on this bitch.” He started to pick up speed, driving toward her. But Gaia didn’t have it in her to take him down. Not anymore. No way. She’d make a mistake now—she’d screw it up, she was sure of it. So she did all she had left in her to do. She dove fast and hard into the bushes, landing on her hands and knees in the brush and searching for a safe place to hide.

  “Oh, man, come on.” The X man laughed. “It’s gonna be like that now?”

  She crawled through the bushes, gasping for air. Their laughter only grew louder and louder as they stomped around on all sides, trying to spot her. She dropped flat to the ground with her face nearly in the dirt and tried to catch her breath and make a plan. What the hell was she going to do now? She was exhausted, disoriented, and freaked out of her mind. How the hell was she going to take out the X man before he took her out? There was no way. There was no way she could do it.

  And then, quite suddenly, with her nose stuck in the dirt and the sweat pouring down her face, Gaia had an epiphany. An honest-to-God revelation.

  She didn’t have to do this anymore.

  She was just a girl now. Just a normal, fearful, real live girl. She didn’t want to fight anymore. That was the entire point. Her entire fearless life had boiled down to fight after fight after fight. It had been all she had. It had been the only thing that gave her any pleasure. But that was all going to change now. Let the NYPD deal with the X man. That’s what they were here for: to protect the normal everyday citizens like Gaia Moore.

  The X man was no longer her responsibility. She was not responsible for every two-bit scumbag and drugged-out skinhead in New York City. She was out. She was finally out. Out of the fighting game. Out of the vigilante justice game. She was free. Free to fall in love and have a relationship and a family like everybody else. Free to run for her goddamn life. Just like everybody else.