Nightlife

Chapter Eleven

I'd kept the sweatshirt, Jesus, how many years now? Three? No, four. It had been almost four years since I'd come home, naked and vulnerable. I ran a hand over the worn material, faded with bleach spots here and there. It was barely more than a rag, held together by prayer and a few stubborn threads that refused to give up the ghost. Niko had tossed it in the garbage on more occasions than I could count, but I fished it back out every time. I talked big about not clinging to things; material possessions only slowed you down when you were on the run. You had to be ready to leave it all behind at a moment's notice. You had to lead a disposable life, and for the most part I stuck to that rule. Why this one sweatshirt was such an exception wasn't easy to understand.

Maybe it was because it had been the first sign of normality in a suddenly strange and foreign world. While the greater part of me wasn't even aware I'd been gone, there'd been a tiny corner of my subconscious that had been all too in the know. It was the part that had me practically foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog when I'd reappeared. When Niko had gotten the clothes out of the trunk for me and helped me pull the sweatshirt on, it was like… like I was putting a human suit back on. It wasn't an exact fit, the shirt or the humanity, but I'd held on to both throughout the years with a desperately tight grip. The shirt reminded me—reminded me that I was home and reminded me there was at least a part of me that was human. Sometimes… hell, more often than not, I needed the reminder.

There was another thing it brought to mind as well. It was what I'd worn the day I'd started running. And to bring things full circle, it would be what I was wearing the day I stopped. Stripping off the gray sweater I was wearing, I put on the sweatshirt. It was still too big. Niko always had been taller than I was. It was just one more thing for him to lord over me in the manner of all evil older brothers. I gave myself a halfhearted grin, but didn't succeed in cheering myself much. They say those who don't learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. What they don't say is what happens when you forget it totally. What did the Grendels have planned when they made me? Had I escaped from them or had they let me go? And if they had, why were they chasing one now? Could it be they weren't so much chasing me as keeping track of my location?

A thousand questions and not one single goddamn answer. It got old, it really did. For every fear of what I would discover, there was an equally strong need to know, to finally know. Sucking in a deep breath, I blew it out and then stood. Leaving the bedroom, I joined Niko and Robin in our living room. "So, you ready to slap the whammy on me or what?" I asked with dark cheer.

"You've decided, then." It was a calm statement of fact. Niko had resigned himself to the idea that in this instance I was the master of my fate and captain of my soul. I was sincerely hoping the metaphorical ship didn't go down, dragging its captain with it.

"Yeah, I have." Crouching by the sofa where Niko sat, I let my hands dangle over my knees. "I feel pretty good about it, Cyrano. No worries, all right?"

"Good" was an exaggeration, but I did feel determined.

"Easier said than done," Niko said dryly. "But I'll take it under consideration. Still, I do feel somewhat better about it. I've been discussing the hypnotic procedure with Goodfellow."

"Grilling me is more like it," Robin corrected with a wounded expression. "The Spanish Inquisition had nothing on your brother. Put him in a red smock and funny hat and he'd be employee of the month."

"Regardless," Niko said pointedly, "as it stands now, I'm more confident in your abilities. I don't believe you'll turn Cal's mind into pudding."

"Damning with faint praise. Is that only a motto to you or do you actually have it tattooed on your ass?" Resting his chin in his hand, he flashed a bright rapacious grin. "And if so, can I see?"

"Whoa, don't even," I cautioned, holding up my hands as Niko threw me a look of sheer malevolence. "You're the one who called him. You have no one to blame but yourself." Pausing, I cocked my head and added with mock sincerity, "Oh, and your hot little tush of course."

Niko shifted his attention back to Robin. "Exactly how long can you leave him under? Days, weeks, a decade or two?" Poor Nik, caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. I was damn glad I hadn't given voice to that particular thought. God only knew what kind of wordplay Goodfellow could've twisted that into.

"Family, the gift that keeps on giving." Despite the cynical inflection Robin gave the words, I had a feeling the sentiment was genuine.

"You don't have brothers?" I asked curiously. I remembered he said there were no female pucks, so there would be no sisters. "Lucky bastard." I elbowed Nik sharply.

"No." He shook his head. "The fashion in which we procreate… no. There are no siblings, ever. Lucky…" The twist to his lips was as rueful as the green of his eyes was melancholy. "I guess that's one way of looking at it." Abruptly, he straightened and clapped his hands sharply. "Let's get this show on the road." Climbing out of the beat-up recliner, he motioned me toward it. "Have a seat."

Taking my position cautiously, I was suddenly wary despite my best intentions. I caught Niko's gaze lingering on the faded sweatshirt. His lips parted, but in the end he said nothing about the shirt. What he did say was, "If you change your mind, Cal, at any time, simply speak up. Robin will stop immediately. Correct, Goodfellow?"

"Right away," he promised promptly. "Hand to Zeus. Or Baal, God, Buddha, Amon-Ra. Take your pick." Sitting on the arm of the chair, he captured my eyes. "We'll start with a relaxation technique, and then we'll work on deepening the state. All of this is totally painless and probably even boring for you, Caliban. So get comfortable."

"What? No shiny gold watch to swing in front of me?" I shifted nervously despite myself. Some big, bad monster killer I was.

"No." Robin smiled reassuringly. All the teasing, provocation, and gleeful determination to annoy was gone. Here was a Robin as professional and empathetic as any doctor. Goodfellow was proving to have layers upon layers. "No watch. No amulet. I may have you focus on something in the room, but that's it. Are you ready?"

My mouth went dry, but I nodded. "Nik, don't let him make me act like a chicken, okay?"

"I won't." Niko squeezed my arm lightly, then tugged at my ear. "Not this time anyway."

"Ready?" Robin repeated.

"Yeah," I exhaled. "Let's do it."

Robin leaned in closer. "Listen to my voice, Cal. That's all you have to do. Listen. It'll be the easiest, most simple thing you've ever done. Just listen."

I did. I listened and the world went away.

I woke up with a wall in front of me and the hardwood floor beneath me. It was as if no time had passed at all. One moment Robin was talking to me in a soothing, lulling voice while I sat in the chair, and the next I was… where was I? I blinked several times and my vision cleared. I was on the floor, curled up in the corner of the living room. On my knees, hands flat on the cool surface of the wall, I had my head jammed into the corner hard enough I felt the pressure like an ache. I sucked in a breath that burned my throat like acid. My throat was sore. Why was my throat sore?

"Cal?"

Niko's voice came from behind me. It was calm and controlled… on the surface. Underneath I heard something I hadn't heard in a long, long time, not since the night I'd come home: anguish. Nik… what was wrong with Nik? I managed to turn my head, my neck howling in protest. It was stiff, tight, locked into place like the rest of me. But I still managed to move enough that I could see Niko and Robin crouched behind me, several feet away. Both looked the worse for wear. Goodfellow had a bruise blooming on one cheekbone, a scrape on his chin, and his shirt half torn off. Niko had blood trickling down one side of his face from four parallel scratch marks, and several hanks of blond hair had been pulled from his braid to straggle loose. He had a hand outstretched toward me, patient and unmoving.

"Nik?" My voice came out hoarse and strained, all but gone.

Niko sagged a bit, but his face remained placid and mild. "I'm right here, little brother. Everything's all right. We're home. Everything is fine."

One hand dropped from the wall to land on the floor beside my leg. I watched it blankly, feeling numb, disconnected. "Fine? Oh. Okay." Even those few words had the pain flaring in my throat with the heat of a volcano. Ignoring that, I concentrated and managed to get my other hand down too. The fingers were blanched white from the grip they'd had on the wall. "My throat hurts." I looked up again at him and Robin. "Why does my throat hurt?"

Robin turned the color of milk. His eyes dark holes in his white face, he scrambled to his feet and ran. Moments later we heard him retching in the bathroom. I tried for a smile for Niko. My lips refused to cooperate, barely twitching. "Something I said?"

"I think he blames himself." Niko moved closer to me and, with hands fastened gently on to my shoulders, carefully eased me around. Then he pulled me into a hug so tight I felt my ribs creak. "He isn't alone."

Bewildered, I patted him awkwardly on the back. "Nik, what happened?" The colors were beginning to seep back into my surroundings; I was losing that peculiar distance. "How'd I get down here?"

Sitting up, Niko released me and swiped an absent hand across his face, smearing the blood. "Ah, damn." Carelessly pulling his shirtsleeve over the heel of his hand, he mopped the blood from his face. It was one of the most uncharacteristic things I'd ever seen my obsessively clean brother do.

The blood under my short fingernails caught my eye. Fresh. Red. And I had a pretty good guess whose blood it was. "What'd we learn?" I swallowed thickly. "From the hypnosis? What the hell did we learn?" That was worth this, I finished in my head.

"Nothing." He stood and reached down to grasp my wrist to help me to my feet. "It didn't work, Cal, simple as that."

Simple as that? Robin was in the bathroom praying to the porcelain god, both he and Niko looked like they'd had the shit beaten out of them, I'd been trying to burrow my way to China via a living room corner, and it was as simple as that? I didn't think so. "What'd I say?" I insisted, unsteady enough to grab a handful of Niko's shirt to stay on my feet. "When I was under, what did I say?"

"You didn't—" He stopped, tightened his lips, and then tried again. "You didn't say anything, Cal. Not a word, I promise you." Urging me toward the couch, he gave me a soft push down. "Sit down. I'll get you something for your throat."

My throat. If I hadn't been talking, why was it so sore? It struck me then, hard and dirty. Screaming. I must've been screaming. And from the ripped sensation of my throat, I must've been screaming my guts out. As Niko headed to the kitchen, I heard Robin beside me, voice soft and hesitant. "Caliban?" I turned to see him standing beside the sofa. His face was damp from where he'd splashed water on it, beads of moisture sparkling in his hair. "I'm sorry," he said, still pale. "I thought I could… I thought… I'm sorry."

"What happened?" I asked barely above a whisper. Niko wasn't going to tell me, but maybe Goodfellow would.

"You…" Robin shook his head. "What happened to you is best left forgotten. You weren't… coherent. Whatever they did far overshadows any ability I have of letting you reexperience it with any range of distance. I'm sorry I ever convinced you and Niko otherwise." He raked a hand through his hair. "And if I can't do it, Cal, it can't be done. Never… never let anyone else try. It was almost impossible to bring you back. Others might not be able to."

Before I could question him further, not that I had any idea what I would say, Niko descended on me with a cup of steaming tea. "Drink," he ordered. "It has honey, loquat syrup, and garlic. It should soothe your throat."

"Or put me in the grave." I wrinkled my nose but gave in and took a sip. When it came to Niko's herbal remedies, there was no escape. He'd picked up more than martial arts in the string of dojos he'd frequented over the years. Choking down another swallow, I stated flatly, "I hurt you guys, didn't I? What did I do?"

"Not a thing," Niko instantly denied. "We just got in your way. All you wanted to do was escape. You didn't intentionally raise a hand to us. Cal, you didn't even know who we were. You didn't know who you were either. You didn't know anything. None of it was on purpose."

"Yeah?" I studied the golden brown liquid in the cup and then finished it. Handing Niko the cup, I said lightly, "All better." My throat maybe, but everything else was far from all better. I think everyone in the room knew that.

Robin broke the long silence with a grim comment. "I need a drink."

"I think we all need a drink," Niko agreed. Yet another un-Niko-like turn of events. Niko have a beer? The world truly was coming to an end… or had done so only minutes ago. And Niko and Robin had been forced to watch it.

I was the lucky one; I'd slept through it.