The Vigil
Purging Innocence
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Sigh.
Sweat, beaded, drips slowly, the runnels cooling on my skin. The air is so still. I do not know how much time has passed since Logan held my hand as Luke drugged me, but things have changed.
I am alone now and that dreadfully familiar ache from before has settled into my core. I pluck out the catheter connecting my forearm to that thin clear pipe and groan, pushing myself upright. The edge of the bed feels too high. My feet dangle before I hop down, stumble, recover. Just.
I feel like a half-filled water skin. The carpet is warm under my feet, the padding makes walking feel unfamiliar. On trembling legs, I pad over to the window.
It’s also warm. Sigh.
It does not open. I push and tug on the frame, then knock and then hit the pane with my palm but it only shimmers slightly with some kind of energy field.
Sigh. I could probably break through with some effort but destroying part of Luke’s house for a breath of fresh air, seems like a poor way to repay him for saving my life. It probably wouldn’t help much anyway.
Outside the window, the ground is as dark as my cell at TTH, but the sky is magnificent. I did not even know that so many stars exist. We know no moon on Telera except for the large red crescent of Maxillia that hangs just above the horizon where the suns set, and even on our darkest night when the sky is deep cobalt and the ground is bathed in shadow, no more than a few hundred stars shimmer through.
This black canopy is hung with a shining disk that is pale as bone and uncountable twinkling gems that glitter and sparkle. At first, it seems like they are standing still but as I stare out, imagining the cool freshness of the night air, gradually, they start to move. The constellations trek achingly slowly in perfect unison, marching across to disappear on the horizon and it is enough to distract me from my discomfort for some time.
It does happen to cross my mind, sometime during the night that I have left my old life behind. No more training with Teag. No more mind games with James. No more sparring room with its heavy blue light. No more TTH. These people seem good and kind and there is only the burning within me and the loss of Chrys to dampen my joy at the limitless possibilities of this new freedom.
I start to wonder at the turn my life has taken. These people are not the Manorian rebels that were supposed to have met Chrys and me, beyond the caves. They seem to be just some random visitors, some kind of scientist, and his two adopted sons.
Now, I have been saved, from a training program designed to either break or kill its students, in the hope of making them into something more, and, shell-shocked as I am, it occurs to me that my saviors are going to expect something in return. They must realize that I have nothing to offer them. Chrys had been the prize for the rebels. The crown princess is a rare prize—alive. The Manorian rebels probably wouldn’t even have taken me if I showed up without her, without even the words to explain.
The sky starts to lighten as I rock back and forth on my heels. Black fades to grey, which brightens to blue, and I cannot tear my eyes away. At its brightest, the color is paler than Telera’s night but deeper than our day. There are wisps of cloud tinted every shade of natural flame, floating, swirling. Below them, the world—this Earth, is alive and full of green growing things.
One bright spot appears, biting a chunk out of the horizon, growing it as it rises. I wipe the sweat from my brow as the light of a single, yellow sun, floods the room.
I startle when Logan appears behind me. I didn’t even hear the door open. I drop my gaze on and exhale slowly, balling my shaking hands to steady them. Did he see? It wouldn’t have fooled Teag or James. Not that it matters.
He speaks. The sound is far away. Suddenly all I feel is the heat my body is generating and the bandages restricting my breath. My bound chest rises and falls and the scene outside has become hazy and indistinct.
I feel irritated. I should have sensed his presence from the other side of the building, followed his energy as he approached. I should have been able to hear his footfalls in the passage, and feel the change in air pressure as the door opened.
I force another too-shallow breath.
Logan puts his hand over mine. All resistance flows out of me. I follow his lead and totter back to the bed. Clambering up, I feel terribly clumsy.
Fluidity of movement is one of the hardest lessons I learned at TTH. It took nights and nights of painful mind games with James followed by full days of practice under Teag’s perfectionism to fine-tune my muscular control to the point of utmost grace, but now I am more awkward than I was when I was learning my first forms at age three. I lie back trying to hide my ragged breathing and force thoughts of tomorrow from my mind. No use dwelling on it. There is no way to stop it from happening. Rest and ride it out. It will be over soon.
Luke’s scanner beeps constantly as he finishes up his latest examination. I stand by the window, rolling the bandages up quietly, remembering the sight of Elle’s torso as the last layer of gauze fell off. My eyes flit to where her chest rises and falls rhythmically, unable to forget the sight of the black and blue bruises covering her scarred chest. The worst ones are now hidden by her soft green gown, but some blotchy yellowing contusions still show at the neckline. I look away as bile rises in my throat. That is because of me.
Luke hardly gave them a passing glance. A tentative prod and a new light dressing, and it was over.
It has been ten days since we found her. Her recovery is nothing short of miraculous. The internal injuries are gone, bones set, even the incision is knitting into a faint line. There is hardly a trace left of the horrific damage from when we found her. Luke is flabbergasted. She’ll be fully recovered in days. For the thousandth time since we got home, I force the thought that I was almost a murderer out of my mind. She is fine, recovering, but then why the fever?
“So it’s not an infection from the operation?” I ask Luke again, trying to sound less pathetic than I feel as I roll up the last bandage and put it in the basket.
“None of this is your fault, Son. As I’ve told you before.” He mutters absently, tapping furiously on his tab. The scanner buzzes and clicks. There is still a lot of data to collect, apparently.
“But what could be causing it then?”
“That is what I am attempting to find out.” He looks up impatiently, then continues to ignore me.
* * *
The treadmill starts slowly, I turn it up to a comfortable jog and let my mind dissect every detail of this horrible day as my feet take over. Elle was already pretty out of it when I found her at dawn, staring out the window.
She was shivering violently, drenched in sweat, and dazed. Her eyes glazed as if she couldn’t even see me, hardly made it back to the bed before passing out. She was breathing raggedly, and burning hot.
Luke got the fever down a little with medication, but it flared up again. We spent hours checking over every inch of her body to try to find a cause, but to no avail.
I turn up the speed another notch and I can feel my tensed muscles loosening as I start to warm up.
I recall the look on her face, sitting there holding her arms above her head. After open heart surgery maintaining such a position should have been excruciating, or at least difficult, but she never faltered for a second. She didn’t even grimace, just looked at me serenely, even when the last layers of support fell away. The whole time I was trying to figure out what could’ve been going on in her head. Even though her eyes stayed fixed on me, they had somehow lost the intensity that was there before. It was just blank, like some kind of trance.
It would be so much easier if she could just say what she’s feeling, where it hurts. Luke’s answer to that question is post-traumatic stress disorder. She has to work through and snap out of it. It will take time for her to do it on her own.
I know Luke has been trying his tricks, and I also know he has not succeeded. His frustration is making him detach. His clinical attitude, the lack of empathy—it is all because he can’t get into her head. I don’t think he’s ever met anyone like her.
Another notch up, and my feet pound the belt as perspiration starts to form at the back of my neck.
* * *
In the morning, she’s back there, half out of her mind with delirium. It’s like it was on the ship all over again, moaning, incoherent... I manage to coax her back to her bed but it takes Luke’s magic potion to keep her there and even then, it doesn’t knock her out completely for long. It’s getting worse. I don’t feel right leaving her alone.
The day drags, Luke comes around every few hours to administer another dose but her cries have turned soft and timid. Sometimes she cringes and weeps, others she is completely unresponsive. By sunset, she seems to be in real pain. When she is awake, she holds her head with one hand and clutches the other to her chest, curled up like a baby, crying.
“It could be viral,” Luke says later, in the Library, building the fire with mechanical precision. “But her immune response seems to be fading. Whatever it is, we didn’t cause it.”
I flop onto the sofa, watching him. “Allergy? Environmental.”
He pauses, match in hand. “It would have shown sooner.”
“What, then?”
He doesn’t answer. Just lights the kindling, kneeling, staring at the flames and starts muttering about Teleran biomechanics, Manorians physiology, how we all may look human on the outside but nothing works the same, energy signatures he can’t measure.
Every time he rehearses this lecture it’s the same voice. The voice that corrects ‘can’ to ‘may’ even when the house is burning down. He’s not listening to me. He’s stopped hoping. He’s cataloging.
“Luke.”
He looks up, like he’s forgotten I was here. “Is there something that you can do?”
He stares at me for a long moment. “I don’t know.”
* * *
Friday comes around and Tom comes back. I am almost asleep in a hard plastic chair, back in the infirmary, but I sense him come in by the front door and follow his steps mentally.
Sensing his presence now is a breath of fresh air. I am surprised by just how much I have missed him. He stops on the way somewhere near Luke, an energy spike, maybe irritation. Then he continues on his way.
We moved Elle back downstairs when the side effects got bad. The drugs either failed or made it worse. Shock Cocktail was turning her face purple, like some weird butterfly mask that had been tattooed on. Buprenorphine sent her into a seizure.
Safer to have her in the infirmary where everything is at hand.
It’s hydromorphone and ketamine, now—with a synthetic to stop it burning off so fast. She moves too much for a drip.
Hospital-grade restraints are useless. She mangled the bed frame with the first set, and snapped the second in minutes, cutting her head open when she fell out. After that Luke dug out a cargo strap from the hold on his ship—lonsdaleite fiber, unbreakable.
It keeps her hands at her sides mostly. It’s not enough for an IV.
“At least she can’t fall out again and hurt herself,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes. Exhaustion is messing with my head. I cannot remember when last I ate a proper meal or stole more than an hour’s nap, never mind took a shower.
Luke came round with his sedative about an hour ago, so Elle is peaceful when Tom finally reaches me. The quiet is nice.
“You look refreshed.” I smile up at him over my shoulder.
He pauses in the doorway, curling his lip. “You look terrible.”
His whole stance has changed. He’s tanned, relaxed. His hair is sun-bleached. His break’s been well spent.
“Yeah, I’ve felt better.”
He just stands there, watching for a while.
“Do you even know what you’re doing here?” He asks, judgement dripping off every word.
I return his stare.
“Why are you torturing yourself, bro? Luke has made it clear there’s nothing more to be done. Let nature take its course.” He pauses. “What is she to you, anyway?”
I grit my teeth, and say nothing.
“It’s not your fault. It was an accident. No one blames you. Her heart is beating just fine. Every thing’s healed. This is something else, and it’s not on you.”
She stirs and moans in her little girl voice, even he has to look at her.
“It doesn’t feel that way.” I take Elle’s hand, careful not to tug at the cuff.
Tom shakes his head and storms off. I don’t watch.
I know this feeling. The heat, the weight in my chest, the way it hurts. I didn’t understand it when I was little and woke up one morning with this sickening ache in the pit of my belly, but now I know exactly what is coming. It is no less terrifying now than it was back then.
Rest now, sweetling. It will be over soon. Chrys’ voice says softly to me, as I turn my head into the mattress so that my crying won’t make as much noise.
I drift and dream while I can. Awareness comes in fits and spurts. The nightmares mingle with the waking nightmare and the pain. I can hardly tell the difference anymore. It is all the same.
I cannot feel the injections. I can’t sense the strange energy signatures coming and going. There is only the burning and the fear of how much worse it will get before it’s over—that every time it happens might be the last time.
There is much that I would say if I had the words.
I wish I could have been a better daughter, more considerate, less selfish.
I wish that I had been a more dutiful student, more obedient, less defiant.
I wish I had time to learn to be a better friend.
Now the pain is reaching its height.
I want my life to have been different.
I wish I had never left TTH.
I wish James were here, now.
It is so hard to breathe.
I just want it to be over.
The world is tinted the color of my raw energy.
My heartbeat gets really fast.
I can hear screaming.
A long drawn-out wail sends shivers down my spine. I stir, check my wristwatch, then pull the pillow over my head for a few more seconds. It’s been over two hours since Luke came by with his magic potion. It feels like only just closed my eyes a minute ago.
I sit up and blink in the gloom. Elle groans again and I throw aside the covers, sending mental alarm bells in Luke’s direction. Time for another dose.
By the time he arrives, Elle’s wrists are slick with fresh blood from pulling at the strap. I clutch her left hand and talk softly about peaceful things. Sometimes it helps. She tries to turn her head into the pillow and arches her back. I wonder if there’s a gum guard somewhere. She’ll crack her teeth, biting down so hard against the squeals.
I adjust my grip, hold her shoulder and neck still as Luke inverts another new vial and draws a large dose. Even injected directly into her carotid artery it takes a long minute to kick in as the purple rings around her eyes darken a little more.
I flop back down when her screams weaken at last and her small body relaxes.
Tom is here, I see when I look up at last. He looks pained as Luke pushes the empty vial into his pocket. The door swings behind him. A slam might have been better.
I clamber back under the covers and roll over to make the most of the next hour or two. The overhead light clicks off.
* * *
The library’s grandfather clock dings four times. Dawn is threatening. I rub my eyes and then stand up to poke the dying embers in the grate. The log on top smolders and emits another thin trickle of smoke then finally starts to catch.
I’ve heard soldiers talk about watching their comrades being tortured. They say it affects the mind of a spectator as much as that of the victim.
I left Elle’s side for good when Luke stopped the meds. I’ve been here upstairs for more than half a day now. The infirmary is two floors below in the opposite wing and I can still hear her.
It all feels hopeless. Fourteen days and the dots just won’t connect.
When we found her she was barefoot, bleeding, running from… something. She fired at Tom. Why? She can’t have thought it would scare us off. Then there were the soldiers. They were hunting her. She couldn’t let them catch her. She didn’t know if she could trust us. Why attack? Then the whole thing on the ship—exhaustion and shock? What was she thinking? Then the overdose. My fault. She was recovering. Never mind the PTSD. She was better.
Now this..
No source. No treatment. Nothing works. What’s inside her? What’s killing her? Why now?
It starts out with whimpering, then sobs that evolve into screams. It takes half an hour to reach a peak, and then she passes out and a few minutes later it starts up again. Luke says it is like a seizure—the pain gets too intense and her brain cuts out. Resets itself. But that doesn’t solve the problem so when she comes to, it just goes on.
Each time it happens there’s this dreadful moment when you start to wonder if she will come around again. Maybe it’s finally over. But then you find out that it isn’t, and you wonder which is worse... When exactly was it that her voice lost the childlike quality? I can’t remember. My brain feels like mush. She’s got to be nearing her limit.
I draw the thick creamy curtains closed to block out the graying sky and let the sofa re-envelop me. It does little to fend off the yawning pit of despair that threatens to overwhelm me, but it does ease the pounding in my head. I run my hands through my hair for the thousandth time since coming here. I almost laugh, half expecting to feel my skull pulsing when I push my greasy head back to look at the ceiling. I wish it would just end.
The bright spots from the flames that have burned into my retinae make pretty patterns on the white moldings. In the depths of sleep deprivation, I have caught myself wondering if there’s a way to put her out of her misery for good but if Luke had to find out I’d been thinking like that he’d probably send me to a sanitarium. The Deity knows I probably need one by now.
* * *
Sometime during the day or night, I can’t tell which anymore, exhaustion claims me and I sleep in spite of the screams. When I wake, it is with a sense of impending doom. Something has changed.
At first, I can’t place it. It’s quiet again which doesn’t necessarily mean much. I can just barely make out Tom and Luke’s energy signals moving below me, but there is another, much stronger force, right where Elle’s should be. Only it’s too strong.
After another moment’s silence, there is a sudden piercing shriek. I leap from the sofa, bounding through doorways and speeding round corners.
As the screaming continues, my mind outpaces my feet. It has never started like that before, with screaming right away, and the tenor of the screams has changed. There is more urgency and anger.
Luke and Tom are standing just inside the swinging double doors when I get there. The energy is breathtaking. What I see, explains everything.
Elle is suspended in mid-air, glowing a sickly green, with what is left of her hospital bed dangling from the strap, mangled, recognizable only by the light blue pinstriped sheets.
The light pulses, just below her skin—subtle, then growing, then subsiding again. It’s more concentrated along her arms where the cuffs bite below her elbows. The completely destroyed metal frame and smoking mattress are pulled up hard against her back.
As we watch, fixated, she strains, screaming through clenched teeth. What’s left of the bed buckles away from her, then with one final push a sound like a whip cracking splits the air.
Lonsdaleite shrapnel pings as it ricochets around the room. Something grazes my arm, then my cheek—I flinch, look up to see one or two hit Tom. Then my eyes are drawn by Elle’s bedding falling away.
She shudders one more long breath, follows it with a final howling shriek that goes on before fading into a whimper, and then silence.
She is curled into a tight ball. Suspended high above the pile of mangled bed. The glow, reflects off stainless steel and glass, too bright to make out the milky shade of her skin. I hear her struggling for each breath, clutching her head with both hands, her knees drawn in. Another few seconds and even my lungs are burning for want of air.
She pants faster and faster, the green light brightening. Her energy grows so heavy it feels like we are being crushed. Tom and I barely keep our feet, Luke takes a knee.
The light coming off of her is blinding.
Luke falls forward onto all fours. I can’t move to steady him. I just have to stay upright. I have to breathe, keep my vision sharp.
Then everything stops. I greedily suck in precious oxygen. All of the ambient energy has been reabsorbed, but only for a second.
The dam bursts. My energy responds, my own flood tide deflects her flow. I push it outward, shielding Luke. Tom does the same.
Elle’s raw energy sweeps past us but not with fire. It has the quality of water; heavy, fluid. It passes in slow motion, knocking everything that can move back up against the walls, warping around or passing through the rest.
I am first back to my feet, blinking. The lab is mostly intact. The greenish energy steams, a light film all around but there seems to be little damage except for the fact that anything that wasn’t bolted down is now against the walls.
Was that it?
Then I see Elle, lying in the middle of the now cleared floor, naked again, her soft green gown burned off. She’s not moving.
A second passes, and another, and then the first trace of dust trickles down from above. I can sense Tom moving, he grunts, his voice oddly muffled, “We have to get out! The whole house is coming down!”
End of Chapter Two
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And the safety valve blew it seems... finally there is an inkling of what this tiger by the tail is about! And she had no way to warn. Hmm, what a seismic pulse that would probably have created...