Nightmares hounded her that night. Thrice she woke screaming, the feeling of claws, bullets and fire still fresh in her skin. Her father came into her room for the first, but after a quick: “They’re nightmares. What do you think they’re about?” he left her alone, only bringing a glass of orange juice, as if it would help.
She stood on a hundred battlefields and fought horrible things, each a new flavor of terror. Nor were the other kind better, filled with dark corridors and skittering in the dark, her eyes darting around, looking for any sign of the enemy. Only for claws to take her spine and some alien thing to eat it in front of her while she was bleeding out.
Part of Taylor dearly wanted to remove the Card and just get some sleep. But every time she woke, the warmth in it was diminished, and her vision without glasses slightly better. Nor was it alone, as her body tingled, though she was unsure what the other effect was. But she would find out.
The fourth time she woke with a scream, dawn had come, and she decided to get up. Enough was enough.
***
Taylor couldn’t even bother with sandwiches today. Or toast. She just grabbed some dull morning cereal and poured two bowls. While she was eating and starting to wonder about her day, Danny came down and silently joined her. Well not silently. He said “Thanks” while slipping into his chair, but that was about it.
“Sink is getting full.” Taylor said, actually asking for some details. Could she do chores at least, or was her sentence bed rest?
Danny frowned and asked: “Still have a fever?”
Taylor flushed, suddenly aware she hadn’t even checked her bandages this morning. “I’m feeling fine.”
She felt better than fine. Nothing hurt anymore. The bandages still itched, but it was like being dirty, not hurt.
It didn’t stop him. “Why would it? Not like he believes me.”
He was back with a thermometer sooner than she would have liked. Several time Danny looked almost like he was going to speak while they ate, but it never quite happened. Finishing breakfast with one arm wasn’t fun, but the silence that followed was worse. Of course, he brought it on himself.
“So how is…” and as he trailed of it must have occurred to him that his habitual questions were all terrible here.
“How am I?” Taylor asked, tone flat. “How’s school?” she bit out. “It’s fine” she answered, trying for that exact same tone, word and voice she’d given him every time he’d asked the perfunctory question before running of to work every morning. “I’m fine.”
“Right” Danny sighed, but his skin reddened.
“Peachy. Dandy.” Taylor kept going. “Splendid. Marvelous.” She put on a southern accent, that special kind of drawl and it came out crisp and clean: “Why I’m feeling quite divine.”
.
The conversation died. Taylor meant it to. After all, he came down dressed for work.
***
About the only extra thing she got out of him before he escaped back to work was his hurried “Take your meds and you should be up on your feet by Monday.” as he left a small plastic cup with pills on the breakfast table.
“You mean I’ll be back to school by Monday. Damn it.”
A belated “Stay home!” half way out the door later, Danny was gone. Taylor was livid. She almost tore into his side of the room first, but still thought to check the medicine cabinet. It was filled with medicine, but with how often she reached into it for something for a bruise, she knew at least some of those boxes.
Eventually, Taylor managed to find the right box and took the drugs name online. She needed to know. The very first search sent her right to the CDC website.
It was their page for something called post exposure prophylaxis. The first paragraph said:
“PEP (post-exposure prophylaxis) means taking medicine to prevent HIV after a possible exposure. PEP should be used only in emergency situations and must be started within 72 hours after a recent possible exposure to HIV.”
Taylor stared at the screen. For a long while. Then she started clicking links. She spent over an hour on their old computer, looking it up. 28 days of treatment. Has to start within 72h. “Monday, Tuesday. Tuesday. One day. Just one.” Up to 80% chance of deflecting the exposure, making it so she never gets HIV. Doctor’s appointments for check-ups afterwards every three months. And more. The parts that scared her.
Taylor kept her head. It wasn’t easy. HIV and cancer were the bogeymen of diseases. Except apparently, that for once something had gone right and someone had invented a drug that helped. In 2007. So she had meds, she had powers, Taylor would deal with it.
That did nothing for the fact those three did this to her. As a joke. A Card responded to her turmoil with Grim Resolve. There’s bullying. And then there’s attempted murder. She’ll give the cops and the courts their due. And she’ll be ready. So if there is a next time, it will be the last. If they come again, the body that hits the ground won’t be hers, and it will be self-defence.
***
It took her a while to finish making plans and exploring options in her mind. To level out and work through the response just thinking of that Trio brought up. Taylor had a more immediate problem. She had to recover first.
“Question is, can my power help with the diseases? None of this will matter if I drop dead in a few weeks.” She did not expect an answer. She got three. Scholar, Cyborg and Wizard grew hot with promise, while Taylor ignored the weak tingle of heat from the Necromancer.
“So wait, I can just ask?” she asked.
There was no response.
“Uh. Who’s best at stealth?”
Nothing.
“Stealth?” Taylor tried directing the question to her Cards.
Nothing happened.
“Huh. How do you work?” she murmured, distracted.
***
After a fruitless couple of minutes trying to figure out some logic to how and when the Cards responded, Taylor gave it up. She was determined to ready herself for the next time someone came at her, but first she was going to give this whole damn city one final chance. And that meant putting in the effort on her end. No matter how much it burned. It wasn’t fair, but life wasn’t. Taylor had learned that lesson since High School started.
She started with her own room. There wasn’t much. Some old shirts that she still hadn’t given up on. Several notebooks partially ruined with juice or soft drinks. In the back of her closet she found a pair of jeans that had gone missing during one gym class, only to come back cut up to look trashy or whorish. Taylor heard the second one enough times while she had to wear them for the rest of the day. What was it the principle had said?
“I do not care for your fashion sense Miss Hebert, but you will maintain a minimum standard of dress meeting common decency!”
“Bullshit” Taylor cursed as the humiliating memory came up. Nor was it alone. Every article, every book, everything she separated out of her room was yet another ugly, bitter or humiliating memory. Mockery, laughter and little slights and pushes played out before her eyes, only making her angrier and lethargic. Because nothing had happened for any of those slights, so why should this one be any different?
But it was. Somebody noticed. Someone stood up for her. Even if it cost her talking to a shrink.
It took a while. Her glasses got somewhat wet, had to be wiped down and she had to go clear her nose, but finally it was done.
Taylor took a short break afterwards to calm her nerves, take the pills and wait for the headache to pass, before diving back into it. Looking through the house for specific bills was harder.
The credit card statements for her school supplies were not among the house bills as she’d thought they’d be, but a bit of a search found them in a drawer in the living room. The drawer’s contents gave Taylor pause, as there was a lot of bills in there.
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“I didn’t think it was that bad.”
She put them out of her mind for now, but getting some kind of income just leapt up several places in her list of priorities. A cynical part of her wasn’t surprised Danny would be failing at this as well, while another bashed it over the head with the fact Brockton Bay wasn’t exactly a booming economy.
Taylor got what she needed, even if it was a bit depressing to see just how often she needed new stuff and how much it all cost. It added up. She bundled it all up for carrying, packing stuff into her bag as well.
Now came the hard part. How could she go about getting the documents from Winslow?
Because it couldn’t be as simple as walking in and asking for them. That would only get turned back around on her. Somehow. A kid demanding documents would probably only get told to go get her parent, as anything legal was beyond her, as far as Taylor could recall. She needed an adult, a witness or official, and it couldn’t be Danny. The higher up, more important, the better. Doctors, lawyers, cops, those would be best. Which left few choices. Then her heart skipped a beat.
Taylor didn’t want to do it. It felt wrong. But could she? Could she really call Allan Barns and get him to help her gather evidence against his own daughter?
No. No matter how ironic or in some ways satisfying such a thing could have been, it was also stupid. Taylor had no idea what kind of story Emma was spinning at home, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t “Oh, and I’m a bitch to Taylor at school. It’s fun!”
No, Taylor would stick with something reasonable, so she looked up the local precinct number and dialed. She’d hoped to find the officer responsible for her case. Maybe they could be convinced to help with the school.
Yet as Taylor dialed, her heart started hammering and she realized she wasn’t at all sure what would happen now. Would they pick up the phone and tell her the case was dropped? That they found nothing and not to issue any more prank calls? Would this be yet another false hope, where she’d give herself the stupid idea that things could change? Would she fuck up her last chance to be free of them because she didn’t really know what she was doing?
Anxiety flooded her like suddenly plunging into the ocean, all her being focused on the phone when someone picked up. The click from the phone echoed through her ears and deep into her skull. Down, down her spine to hear heart as for but a moment, a sun was born in it.
“9th Precinct, don’t waste my time.” A gruff voice declared. Taylor had no idea what just happened and no time to think about it, as more knowledge slammed into her mind.
“Um, sir? I need a bit of help, please?” It was a risk, especially in this town, but it wasn’t like they had anything worth stealing if the cop turned out corrupt. Apparently, helping in some occasions was part of the police's regular duties. She hadn't know that.
She could hear papers shuffling and a tired sigh. “You lost a pet kid?” it asked. “Because we have far more important things to deal with” the operator assured her.
“No?” Taylor replied. There was a short pause on the other end, before the gruff voice replied:
“Come on kid. Spit it out. I’m not getting any younger.” Taylor finally pinned it down as female, if like a chain smoker. It was hard to tell past all the gravel.
She swallowed before rolling the dice: “I heard police aren’t just for crimes. That you can also help with stuff, when we really need it. I know you are busy.” Taylor hurried to add.
“We do. We are.” came the clipped response.
“Well, I was attacked, assaulted? Recently. And the doctor gave me a bunch of pills for the wounds, for blood poison and pre-preofal, pre-exposure pri- something to help with HIV exposure,” Taylor stumbled through her explanation. “I’m supposed to be resting, and I will, but no one came or called and I have all these documents and evidence and the school has more. Stuff, complaints I submitted which makes them mine, so they have to give them to me, but I know they won’t. So could someone maybe come and help me get them?”
She winced. That was far, far too close to rambling, but it was hard to act on the sudden flood of knowledge mid conversation.
On the other end of the line there was the sound of a chair scrapping, and the click of a pen.
“Ok, kid. Take it from the top. Slowly.”
In the next fifteen minutes the cop walked her through it and organized to have a squad car come pick her up, as well as her proof. The only issue was time, but Taylor wasn’t doing anything much today, so she told them she wasn’t in any hurry, not today.
“I’ve pretty much dedicated today to this and healing. Maybe some light reading. I can wait.”
That seemed to help a lot.
***
Left alone, and not knowing how long it would take for the car to show up, Taylor was unsure what next. She wanted to further work on her powers, but the idea she had to try and figure out her healing would look terrible if interrupted. After all, how could she check healing without injury? In the end, she decided against it, merely adding the last batch of bandages to the evidence pile, and applying new ones. She did one by one, since without the wounds, Taylor didn’t want to make a mistake with the placement. Most of her injuries were gone.
That alone was a great power, as the doctor had told her recovery would take up to four weeks and it seemed like she’d be done in less than four days. She still had a couple of scratches and one deep cut on her ribs, but that was all.
“Now if only it works on diseases as well.”
Having taken care of the medical stuff, Taylor grabbed some other books from the boxes beneath her bed and settled in to wait, reading.
After a couple of hours, she’d given up on it. Reading the books wasn’t the problem. It was that just reading them didn’t seem to do anything, except read the book. While that was a decent way to pass the time, it wasn’t really helpful. Yes, she knew more about the topic than she should. From analysis, to character, to word choice. But that was it. It wasn’t progress. Taylor decided that if you was going to do this, she needed to get back to the attic and get more than just the books Mom used in her classes.
Besides, her head was hurting from all the stuff being pumped into it and the doctor had ordered her to rest.
Sleep was difficult but lazing about and watching mindless shows was a nice break.
***
It was 1PM by the time the squad car showed. But it did show up.
Taylor caught herself smile in the window reflection as it parked.
They loaded everything up, wrote her a receipt she left at home and still managed to fit her in the back. They’d introduced themselves as officers Grier and Stanton. Grier was young, tall and thin. He was always smiling, to the point Taylor worried he might be on something. Stanton just looked like he wanted this to be over and made sure everyone knew it. This being: this call, this day, this job, this life and so on. He was as tall as Grier, but much rounder, to the point Taylor wasn’t sure how he was supposed to chase criminals.
It wasn’t a perfect start, but at least they were here.
***
As they walked down the halls of Winslow, Taylor thought that:
“Showing up to school with police was maybe not the best idea.”
There were a lot of glares coming their way, most for Officer Stanton who walked by completely unbothered, but some of the gang kids were checking Taylor out. Marking and remembering her. And not in a friendly way. At least not until they came to the bandages on her cheek. Then murmurs would start. Taylor wasn’t sure if that was any better, that once she started overhearing whispers and talk of “Locker Girl” the gangs lost interest. Well, most of them. A couple of the older kids with shaved heads instead got this gleam in their eyes she really didn’t like.
Still, the escort got her to the offices without incident, except for some spitting on floors and calls for little piggy’s to go home.
The secretary was almost unrecognizable. She went from bored to on alert the moment her escort came into view behind her. She ran her fingers through her hair and straightened up, brushing down her jacket.
“What seems to be the problem, officer?” she asked.
“Which one?” Stanton snorted. “Being underpaid, overworked, the gangs, my knee acting up? I can go on.”
The woman didn’t react, keeping a polite and empty smile on her face. After a moment Stanton’s hand waved in her general direction. “We’re going to need any complaints this one has submitted. Got anything in the last six months?”
The school secretary visibly considered the question. “No. Nothing like that has been filed in Miss Hebert’s file in that period.”
Stanton glanced at her, his eyes dull.
“She’s lying.” Taylor responded.
His eyes went back to the school official, like some kind of ball bouncing between them.
“Miss Hebert is a known troublemaker.” the secretary rebutted, still with that polite smile. Taylor was sick of it, but she kept quiet.
“So what happens when a known troublemaker submits a report?” the cop asked laconically.
“The principal has directed that unsubstantiated accusation from known troublemakers are to be dismissed without corroborating accounts or evidence.” the secretary promptly replied. “It’s standard policy.” she added.
Taylor had expected anger, but all she felt was dull disappointment. Because neither of the two adults was really talking about her anymore. It was like they were actors on a stage, going through the motions.
“Was she a known troublemaker when she came to Winslow?” the officer asked.
A small frown appeared on the secretary. “No” she slowly replied.
Stanton clapped: “So give us anything you got before Hebert fell under the troublemaker policy.”
There was a moment of hesitation. “I’ll have to talk to the principal.” she said, reluctantly getting up from her desk.
“You don’t need to do that.” Stanton cut in suddenly, his voice sharper. “You talk to the principal, I have to talk to my sergeant, warrants and judges get involved. This whole matter spirals into a thing, and we have to seize all the records and close down the offices. No one wants that.”
The school secretary hesitated in place, considering. “Just her early complaints?”
The officer nodded and that was that. Taylor wasn’t happy, but at least it was something. As official papers for handover were signed by the officer she had an idea. “What about a written copy of the troublemaker policy?” she asked. She’d tried for neutral, rational, but it came out wrong.
Before the secretary could protest the cop interrupted with a shrug. “Sure. It’s a standard school policy. No reason not to.”
The secretary was getting irritated with the addition, but they did walk out of there with a copy of the policy. In the end, Taylor wasn’t sure how to feel. None of the trio had shown up and while they didn’t get what she wanted, the police did walk away with more evidence. That was good, right?
“So why does it feel like this whole thing was pointless?”
***
Taylor was dropped back off at her house and went back to resting, getting up only to make herself some lunch and make dinner. It was a hazy, boring winter’s day. The fever got worse in the afternoon, leaving her sweaty and tired, before it broke in the evening. Danny came home, but spoke little, apart from checking she’d been resting. Taylor had. She also neglected to mention what else she done today. It was simpler that way. She’d tell him when the police had enough evidence, since he clearly didn’t believe her.
They both went to bed. Taylor tossed and turned, frustrated. She’d done something today, but it wasn’t enough. Laying down all day was a relief from school, but it was quickly becoming boring, even if it was recommended. Her powers called out to her, to figure out, to use them to make a difference. Taylor couldn’t rush it, but how would she ever get anywhere if she didn’t even try?
She wished her powers would just end the damn diseases, but even if they did, how would she know? The fever would break and go away for blood poisoning, but HIV? Taylor had no clue.
Sleep didn’t come easily, but eventually dreams took her. In them, the first dream left an impression a whole new world had opened up.