by Rachael Craw
“It’s not his fault. He didn’t want to hurt her. He told me.”
Jamie lifts his gun.
I grip my head. The sound of Kitty’s weeping, the pull of the tether, Aiden bleeding on the cold ground. My vision blurs. I cry out with the pressure that’s tearing me apart. “Don’t kill him, Jamie.” I cough and taste blood. “I don’t want you to kill him–”
“Evie!” Jamie pulls me up. I didn’t know I fell. The pain in my shoulder blinds me and I cry out. My lungs struggle to fill and all I can taste is blood. There’s nothing but the tether and I cling to the pulse until it too disappears and I’m gone.
BONDS
I cough and choke, clamping my teeth on a hard plastic tube, gagging against the foreign feel of it lodged in the back of my throat. I grasp the line with numb fingers, desperate to pull it out, squinting through white fog. There is a dull ache in my shoulder.
“Hold on! Don’t pull it. Shit.” Hands grab for mine, too late.
I buck and retch as the tube comes up out my mouth, a hot surge of blood and vomit splattering my chin. I gasp and shake in the aftermath.
“Damn! She’s strong.”
“Hold her!”
“No!” My throat burns. “I can breathe on my own.” I can’t see through the bright light and I turn my head side to side, my eyes running.
Shapes emerge in the haze, colours. White and pale green. The backs of my hands bump against cold, metal rails, a hospital bed. Tubes tunnel in my arms and machines beep by my head. Something tugs behind my bellybutton and I move to cover it with my hand. There’s a sting and pop as a needle tears from my wrist.
“Kitty! Where is she? Is she okay?”
“I said hold her! She’s torn her line!”
A man in blue scrubs leans over the bed and his ebony skin almost glows in the white light. “Sweetheart, your friends are fine but you have to stop moving. We’re trying to help you.” He presses a stethoscope to my chest near the wound, frowning as his lips part. “Shhh!” The others in the room grow still. “Unbelievable.” He straightens up and shakes his head. “Lungs are clear.”
“What about Aiden?” I pant. “He was shot in the stomach.”
“She means the kid in oh-three.”
“It’s a mess.”
“He’s bleeding out.”
Aiden is still alive? Jamie didn’t kill him. The tether’s strong. Kitty’s safe.
He’s bleeding out.
“He’s my twin,” I blurt, unthinking. I needed to say it.
The room goes quiet, except for the beeping monitors. I can count them now, the bodies moving around my bed. Five people looking at me then at each other. Then the room comes alive in noise and motion.
“Move, move, move!”
In moments my bed is being pushed down a corridor. My head bounces on the hard mattress and fluorescent lights, set in pockmarked ceiling panels, run above me. Four different hands hold me down and the ebony-skinned doctor squeezes my shoulder. “Let’s go, let’s go.”
“Evie!”
“Jamie?” I try to sit up and the four hands push me down.
“What’s happening? Is she okay?” He comes into my line of sight, his face etched in dismay.
“Out of the way, kid! Move!”
A nurse pushes him back and they wheel me into a theatre. Aiden lies grey and unmoving on a metal gurney, stripped to the waist, a blood-soaked sheet over his hips. Blood is on the floor, on scrubs and rubber-gloved hands, blood everywhere. The metallic tang of it competes with the reek of disinfectant. His stomach and chest are smeared red and a nurse stands with her hands pressed hard over his wound. I can’t hear his pulse above the urgent voices but it’s there on the monitor, a faint erratic stab cutting the horizontal line.
Doctors and nurses bark terse instructions back and forth across the room. They park my bed beside Aiden’s. A woman turns my arm, a stinging prick and she digs a needle deep in the crook of my elbow. I watch my blood pulse through a smoky white tube, inching along the track in time with my pulse. With quick, sure hands she attaches the line to a stubby nozzle in Aiden’s arm. She opens a valve then tapes the join and the top of the tube to his skin. The swarm of blue and green scrubs grows still, watching with me as the blood reaches my brother.
“Hold him.”
“Wait.”
I hold my breath, as if I know what they wait for. Do I expect him to open his eyes, or gasp for air? Nothing happens. A collective sigh rises around the room and people begin to move again.
“Is it working?” I ask.
“We’ll see,” the doctor leans in again. “The last three transfusions produced instant seizures. So far so good. Watch his skin. It should get some colour.”
Aiden’s arm changes from grey to white and gradually a pink tinge appears. I exhale.
“Slowly now, folks. Don’t drain her dry.”
The nurse adjusts the valve on the tube. The doctor begins a running commentary. They’re stabilising Aiden to remove the bullet. It’s lodged in his spine. He should have died. I should have died but my bullet wound has already closed. Internal bleeding stopped. Lungs clear. Vitals strong. Rate of recovery, unheard of. I can’t concentrate to really listen; I just lie there, feeling too many things at the same time, watching Aiden change colour.
Jamie let him live. He let Aiden live when it went against everything that was in him as a Shield, as a brother, as a son. What had it cost him? Kitty is in the hospital somewhere; the tether is strong but there’s no anxiety. I can feel Aiden’s signal in the bandwidth but the shadow is like a distant cloud, a storm that’s retreated. I wait as my blood courses into him, to see if the shadow will threaten again.
They bring in a curtained metal stand and slide it between the beds so all I can see is Aiden’s head and shoulders. Something brushes against the curtain and then I see Aiden’s shoulder move and his pale arm hangs down off the bed. I can’t explain what compels me but, carefully so as not to pop any more wires or tubes, I slip my hand inside his. The bandwidth goes blank, a black hole without sight or sound. It disorientates me but I don’t let go. I stay in the void, wanting a miracle.
I wish I could reach through time and undo everything, make it so Aiden and Kitty never met. But I know it wouldn’t be enough. Aiden would have transitioned sometime with someone else.
I wonder when it happened and what it looked like when Aiden touched Kitty and the transition began. It’s in here somewhere, the moment of impact. There has to be a way past the wall that keeps me out, all those nightmares I’ve seen through his eyes. Maybe that’s the key, his unconscious state – his guard down? I lean into the bandwidth, pressing against an invisible film of resistance. I summon Kitty to the forefront of my mind and push again. Something gives, and it’s like falling through a split seam. Vivid colours burst before my eyes.
I’m crouched in the service entrance of the governor’s mansion, almost groaning with the sick twist of the invisible umbilical cord. Poison pulses to me from the girl in blue, diamonds glittering on her neck. Certainty fills me. It’s her. She’s the virus, eating me alive. Everything about her is a lie. The soft fragile body, the small mouth, the pretty eyes. Static screams in my ears and I lurch up from the wall and run at her.
I gasp and release Aiden’s hand, almost blinded by the lights above the bed. A nurse leans over me. “Are you in pain?”
“No.” I want a clear head to try KMH again. “It doesn’t hurt.”
She pats my arm. “You tell me if it hurts. Don’t be brave.”
She turns back to the readout and I don’t hesitate, grabbing Aiden’s hand, closing my eyes. Again, the blank resistance, but I throw myself against it like pushing through a seam in a thick plastic wall. The roar fills my head. I search for Kitty and the images come quickly, layers of moments: her face over and over, and with each image, fear, sickness and rage. I lean harder until the roar reaches a peak, then my ears pop and clear. My mind fills with light and colour.
It’s hot. T
here are too many people. My suit is tight through the shoulders and the collar of my shirt constricts my neck. There’s a sharp zap in my spine, and I bite hard on the inside of my lip. Damn it. I curl my toes and clench my fists, willing the pins and needles to pass. It’s getting ridiculous. I haven’t slept more than two hours together for the last few nights. My body is falling apart, stretching, thinning, buzzing with static.
I straighten up at the sight of the governor making his way through the crowd towards me. That’s Leonard Gallagher beside him. I recognise him from Forbes magazine. He’s tall, square-shouldered, polished-looking. The governor says he’s a difficult man, which about sums up anyone whose opinion differs from his.
“Look.” A coiffed women nudges her friend. “I told you Leonard Gallagher was gorgeous.”
“Shhh,” the other woman says, “they’re coming over here.”
I make to step away, but Richard appears from the library with his stumbling girlfriend and I stop where I am, tingling and hyper-aware. Richard pushes a glass of champagne into her hands, smirking and raising his eyebrows at me. I glare. The girl leans heavily on Richard’s arm, tips her head back and drinks. Richard runs his fingers over her throat, along her collarbone and down over the swell of her breast. Anger and revulsion kindles inside me – I know that son of a bitch and his MO.
I lose my chance to slip away. The governor arrives in front of me with Gallagher. We shake hands. I try to tune in but an uncomfortable electric stabbing ignites in my spine.
A girl comes up beside Gallagher and touches his arm. His daughter. Kitty. I remember her from school. A petite blonde with dark eyes and a soft pink mouth that curves with a laughing smile. She presses up on her toes to whisper something in his ear and his lips purse like he’s trying to hide his amusement. The governor kisses her cheek in greeting. Her father turns to introduce me.
I squint as though I’m looking down a long tunnel.
“I know Aiden,” Kitty laughs. “We had bio together last year.”
I don’t laugh. I can’t take my eyes off her. My heart begins to pound. What the hell is wrong with me? She’s pretty but there are plenty of pretty girls at the party. Why am I staring at Kitty like I’ve never seen her before? I wipe my free hand on the leg of my pants. Am I really sweating? I reach for a glass of water from the table. My hand shakes and pins and needles zip-zap.
A waitress passes, bumping me with her arm and water slops over my fist. Kitty exclaims as it splashes her dress and she stumbles back. “I’m so sorry.” Without thinking, I reach to steady her. The moment I touch her, my ears pop and roar. Everything amplifies: the hammer in my chest, the static in my head, the electric stabbing in my spine.
“Oh dear.” She laughs again.
“Don’t just stand there, boy,” the governor says. “Get the girl a towel.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry–” I almost topple sideways as my head swims. I barely make it to the bathroom before my stomach heaves and the tiled cubicle spins to black.
I come out of the vision into the cool white light of the hospital. My hand is so tight around Aiden’s, I can feel his bones grinding together. I force myself to relax my grip and lie there, trembling.
I don’t know how much time there is left for Aiden. Somehow, I have stopped myself from killing him when everything inside me required him dead. Even now the dark cloud of his signal sits in the bandwidth, without strength or menace but still there. If it grows strong again, will I act? And what about Jamie? How far can his mercy stretch?
An irrational idea takes hold of me. What if I can give Aiden a new memory? What if his body could experience a Shield’s potent reaction to Sparking? What if that memory could replace, reprogram, recalibrate the twisted code of his instinct, to love, protect and save? It’s a ridiculous idea … Didn’t I just experience his transition? It didn’t change me. But desperation makes me reach into the bandwidth anyway, pushing my memory before me.
Effortless Kinetic Memory Transfer. I let it fill out till the hospital disappears and I’m back at the governor’s mansion, leaning on Jamie, holding my cut hand, Kitty coming towards us in baby blue chiffon and diamonds, laughing at our matching stains. My panic, my thrashing pulse, my electricity, Kitty’s arms around me and the end of the world.
As I fall in the memory, the storm erupts in my body, an explosion of static seizing my joints. Voices rise around me as I arch on the hospital bed. Bodies rush, arms reach, hands press me down. I still hold Aiden, crushing his fingers in an iron grip. I can feel a violent tug and pull on my arm. I manage to turn my head to see his pale, blood-stained chest arch high on the gurney as he convulses beneath the desperate grasp of doctors and nurses.
My head swims and the room becomes dark. Static in my ears grows dim. The tether pulses once, twice … the hook releases behind my bellybutton and I’m falling again, falling, falling and never finding the ground.
HOPE
I leave the hospital-issue gown, with its unreliable ties and unpredictable gape, on the bed. It feels good to be dressed, rediscovering my land legs after lying down for so many days – more days than I needed, but the medical staff were insistent. More noticeable than the stiff ache of my shoulder is the sense of feeling so different. I pause at the end of the corridor, testing again, spreading my hand over my stomach where the tether used to be. No pull, no static, just a faint hum in my bones. I doubt I will ever get used to the quiet.
The sling is for show. I resettle my arm before turning the corner, steeling myself. The guard on morning shift looks up from outside Aiden’s room. I stare past him, through the window, wishing I could cap the hope that rises in me and brace for disappointment. Instead, I cross to the window and chew the inside of my cheek.
Aiden looks only a shade less white than the sheets he lies on. His face bears only traces of fading purple and yellow, the gouge on his cheek has almost completely healed. His survival and rapid recovery after they removed the bullet isn’t the miracle. The miracle is the absence of fear, a bandwidth without shadow. No pulsing tether. I know he has deactivated. Either by blood or KMT, something has happened in the operating room that changes everything. Kitty’s safe.
Whatever the case, it will make no difference for Aiden. The Affinity Project will finish him – no matter what my theory is. Jamie has made that clear. I realise his choice not to kill Aiden was a stay of execution for my sake, so it wouldn’t stand between us, but to wait at all is a sacrifice for Jamie, a sacrifice for his whole family – a risk. We can’t be sure when Affinity will come. In the meantime, Jamie’s contingency plan is the private guards, coordinated with the police department – if Aiden tries to run, it will be game over. Jamie has warned Aiden himself.
I sigh, resting my head on the reinforced glass. Though Aiden’s eyes are closed, the rapid beat of his heart tells me he’s conscious. Steel cuffs gleam at his wrists. He could easily break them. I wonder if he took Jamie’s warning to heart. Across his bandaged chest and abdomen are more restraints and I know his legs are strapped in place beneath the sheet. Compared to the frenzy the night he arrived, the scene is peaceful.
“Can I speak to him?”
“You can try.” The guard hauls himself up and taps the door. The nurse and a second guard, already crowding the small room, turn to watch me enter. “She has five minutes,” he says.
The nurse edges around me. “I can monitor him from the nurse’s station.”
“Can I speak to him alone?”
“You know that’s not going to happen,” the first guard says.
I shrug and move around to the far side of the bed. He closes the door. The second guard positions himself in front of it and watches me with bold curiosity. I frown until he looks away.
“Aiden.”
His chest rises and falls slowly.
I wait.
He doesn’t move.
“I know you’re awake. I can hear your heart racing.” I can’t help glancing at the guard. Sure enough his eyebrows lift. �
��I’m going home today.”
Aiden’s eyes flicker open to stare towards the foot of the bed and my own pulse quickens in response.
“What do you want?” His voice cracks from lack of use and the guard straightens up at the door.
I’m surprised too, that I get a reaction. I reach for the pitcher of water, stalling for time. I make awkward work of it, filling a glass with my left hand, but I manage to bring the straw to Aiden’s dry lips.
He frowns, confused by the gesture, but he must be thirsty because he drains the glass. I refill it and Aiden shakes his head, attempting to wave the offer away. At the clank of his cuffs he quickly lowers his hand, staring again at the foot of the bed. “What do you want?”
I’m not sure I really know and I stare at his profile, measuring in my mind the arch of his brow, the slope of his high cheekbone and the edge of his jaw. Are they echoes of mine? “How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know,” he finally says. “Hard to get things straight in my head. Bad dreams.” He swallows, unable to hide the fear in his voice. “Is she all right?”
I nod.
Sweat beads on his forehead and his knuckles whiten with strain. His eyes lock on mine. “I didn’t hurt her?”
“We stopped you.”
His cuffs rattle on the bed railings as he grips the chains. He falls back on his pillow. “I thought …” Barely audible, he trembles as he speaks. “I saw it so many times. I dreamed it. So many times. I thought … I had …” He swallows again, wincing at the effort. “But she’s okay?” He looks directly at me. “She’s okay, right?”
I nod. “She is.”
He closes his eyes. Tears track down his cheeks, and I stand, staring as hope and despair war inside me.
There is a tap at the door. “That’s time.”
There’s one more room to visit before running the gauntlet of well-wishers waiting by the nurse’s station. I walk slowly to Leonard’s room. Bandages wrap his neck and shoulder, cutting across his chest and beneath his arm, but he sits propped up on pillows, awake, talking, smiling at Barb. She rises to greet me, her eyes shimmering, her arms coming around me gently, her lips brushing my cheek. Leonard holds his hand out to me and I take it, feeling choked up with joy and guilt and regret.