Taylor dreamt of libraries opening. Of new floors and long hours diving into old manuscripts. There were petitioners and bickering among the other adepts, but books were an escape never more than an arm away. It was a quiet night, no screams or nightmares. No tossing or turning, filled with long stretches of work, reading and figuring out administrative snarls. A night spent tracking down misfiled documents, misspelled errors, buried in old scrolls and ancient databases.
Freed from long days spent training and vivid nightmares, she overslept. Taylor woke to an empty house and a plate of cold eggs and bacon on the dining table. She woke up feeling drowsy, but it quickly passed, leaving her well rested and ready for a new day.
Checking herself over after a shower showed no sign of any cuts or bruises. The last of her wounds had faded overnight. Nothing had scarred, either. It was as if she’d never been injured. And while Taylor rejoiced that nothing hurt anymore, she still had to wrap herself up in bandages. It was somewhat worrying, that if a doctor did examine her now, it could reveal her powers. Unsure what she could do about it, except avoid doctors, she took her pills and settled into the couch to plan a new day.
Her stomach rebelled, nausea rising. She spit out the cold eggs, trying to keep herself from spilling everything all over the floor. The nausea almost came out of nowhere, but faintly she could feel flecks of warmth all over her body flickering away, leaving a deep and foreboding cold to settle into her flesh.
Frightened, Taylor tried to call on that same feeling on the phone, trying to simply will the Sun into being. It didn’t work. Her nausea only got worse and she heaved, small bits coming back up into her mouth that she was quick to spit out. She flailed around blindly, trying to call the back the Sun.
Taylor wrapped herself up in blankets, feeling herself start to shiver, breaking out into sweat, but she managed not to fully vomit. Cold and heat played over her skin, as one moment she was freezing, a few minutes later she’d be overheating. Somewhere in all that, adjusting blankets, trying to keep down some fresh water, breakfast and the pills and failing to find a position that was comfortable, a slow trickle of warmth began to pour out of her chest.
It wasn’t the sudden explosion of warmth and knowledge from last time, but a slow march that spread from her middle, creeping up arms and legs until it had fully spread, down to each finger and toe. Then it suddenly turned to liquid fire. It burned.
Taylor grit her teeth and bore through it. “That answers the question if this power can fight disease.”
The nausea slowly faded as the warmth burned out, but the heat and cold waves remained. A stint with the thermometer confirmed, her fever had gotten worse. Maybe she should have called the hospital, but with her inexplicably healed wounds, Taylor decided not to risk it. Her powers were fighting it. She just needed more time to work on it.
In a similar vein, she was growing certain that while the Scholar had helped her and was useful for some tasks, he wasn’t much of a fighter. Or terribly hardy. So tomorrow, she’d try a different Card. She needed something better at defending herself.
Those were tomorrow’s issues. Taylor still had a whole day ahead of her. Yesterday had been productive, in some ways. She just hoped it worked.
Actually, after some thought on what she would do with herself in this state?
Rather than hoping it would work, she would check. Taylor pulled out the same number for her local station and dialed. The new voice was sleepy, yawning over the phone.
“Tailor Herbert. Tailor Herbert. There’s no such case.” The officer concluded before hanging up on her. She took a deep breath and redialed.
*click*
“Hmmm?” the man inquired, not even introducing himself. “It’s HeB-ert, one R.” She told him, as it dawned on her it would be best to be exact: “Taylor with a y.”
There was another long yawn on the other end, before he bit into something and started talking between chewing: “Right, right.” At least the noise faded as he put the receiver down. Taylor could hear the keyboard strikes. Whatever other problems he had, at least they were quick. The chewing stopped. “Huh.”
After a clatter, followed by a loud swallow, he said: “Out of our hands kid. PRT picked it up.”
*click*
Baffled, Taylor dialed again. The line was busy. She nearly threw the phone.
*
After several more attempts, and with increasingly unlikely scenarios starting to roll around her head she finally got through: “What do you mean the PRT picked it up? Why?” she nearly shouted.
“Sorry kid, no talking to the press or civilians on an active case.”
Before the infuriating man could leave her hanging again she was quick to point out: “But it’s my case!”
There was a short pause, followed by “You’re Taylor?”
“That’s what I said.” Taylor replied, exasperated.
“Please hold.” And then she was on hold. There wasn’t even any music for it. After several minutes he came back and gave her a number for the PRT. The lady who answered there told her “There was no such case”, and that “prank calling the PRT was not a joke.”
Now, at this point, a large part of Taylor was ready to give it up as just one more example of adults not caring. But some new part of her was more resigned than disappointed. Like this was normal. As she thought about it, more than a dozen scenarios just bloomed before her, how anything from misspelling a wrong thing, to a minor glitch in one of the cogitators could have disappeared the report. It wouldn’t be the first or the millionth time. It would be just her luck.
So Taylor didn’t give up, or get angry. She did the one thing no contact phone, or bureaucrat wanted. She found every contact number for the PRT, for everything, and started dialing.
The first phone call almost made her give up. It started fine, and was for the PRT accounting department. Once she got into her story, she was treated to an incredible diatribe on how life wasn’t fair and she should just suck it up and not waste other’s time. For over twenty minutes, the man from accounting kept yelling at her how she was wasting his time, occupying an important line, how she’d be reported to the police and an absolute plethora of other threats, complaints, and disparaging comments that could all be summed up by “get over it” or “grow up”.
Taylor would have hung up the phone, but every time she tried to disengage he kept threatening to report her to the police. After several rushed apologies, she finally managed to disconnect. The next call wasn’t much better. Oh they listened. They even told others that they were on an important phone call while talking to her. But in the end, when she’d explained what was going on the woman from marketing on the other end finished with a brisk, uninterested: “Not my department.” and hung up on her.
It only occurred later to Taylor that she’d probably been using the call to avoid work. The third number had enough decency to interrupt her and apologize for not being able to help, and recommend to her she try the regular number.
The man from public records got angry she’d insinuate something could just disappear from his library and told her in no uncertain terms such a thing couldn’t happen on his watch. And if it had, heads would roll.
Technical support was trying to pawn her off to the regular line, telling her how if she wasn’t calling about the website, she really should call the other line when she mentioned having to take HIV drugs, for exposure. Then the man on the other end suddenly grew silent and seriously told her “I’ll look into it.” His voice was way too intense, and Taylor had a feeling she’d steeped into something personal.
The final two numbers were a bust, but at least someone had listened. Which was why she decided that since at least someone at the PRT was doing something, she didn’t need to call in the real final number: the Youth Guard. Even if they were supposed to care for parahuman Wards, the attack happened in school. The Wards were supposedly going to Arcadia, but if some of them were in Winslow, it might work.
Taylor left it for now, hoping to hear back from someone later. A couple of hours later the tech called back to tell her it was fixed. There’d been some kind of bug in the police’s old computer system.
“But why is the PRT looking into it?” Taylor had dared to ask.
“It’s probably nothing for you to worry about, Miss Hebert. Trace amounts of a tinkertech drug were found on a broken syringe.” The tech had confided in her. But it did worry her. If the PRT was chasing some drug charge, what about her case?
***
“Stanton!” the desk sergeant yelled access the station. “Would you mind explaining to me why I have a complaint from the PRT tech department that you mixed up the drug cover story and testimony fields, mislabeled the report, filled the evidence under miscellaneous and left it riddled with spelling errors?”
“Well if the bucketheads want everything in digital triplicate, they can file the damn reports themselves!” he replied, cursing under his breath. “I’m a cop, not some office drone.”
The sergeant marched up to his desk, unamused: “This is why you have a partner Stanton. Grier!” he barked, waking the younger officer from his daydreams. “You’re filing the PRT report. Stanton will be watching. You know he struggles with computers, so why didn’t you step in?” the desk sergeant asked.
Grier had nearly jumped from his chair on being addressed, and now looked back with clueless eyes. “What PRT report?”
***
All the phone calls, talks, shouting and anxiety that at some point, one of the agents would randomly jump on her and accuse her of being a parahuman had taken its toll on Taylor. It wasn’t even noon, but between the fever and effort she’d made, her mind felt like it was stuffed with wool.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Fortunately, she’d planned on resting today, so she lay down and to her own surprise, managed to nap for almost an hour.
Taylor felt better, if still feverish, but couldn’t sleep anymore. So she went to her couch blanket fort and settled in to laze about. Hunger and the bathroom made her get up a couple of time, but she mostly relaxed. For a few hours. Then she was hopelessly bored. As usual, the TV had dozens of channels, and nothing interesting on it.
She knew there was more to the warmth and her powers than just bits of knowledge suddenly dropping into her head, and today she was going to experiment with one of them. The very same, that had tried to do something against the diseases.
***
Taylor would do her best to repress the following hour or two. They were embarrassing. Filled with random mantras, clenching different muscles and more than a few pratfalls as she tried different poses and movements. Nothing worked.
But she kept that mindset of looking out for some kind of response, and trying to make it work as she went to make lunch. Danny didn’t usually come back in time for it, but it was possible. Possible that this was the meal they’d be having before Taylor gave her father a piece of her mind. It was important, the presentation, the taste. Or at least, it could be.
Taylor caught it then, the slight flicker of something. A shiver, a wave in the sparks of warmth and light that imbued and covered her like a blanket. It wasn’t the words, or the motions. It was her. How much she cared. And when she committed to making the best damn lunch she could, the warmth flowed. Her hands were just a bit steadier, her cuts precise.
It wasn’t the Sun, or a sudden twist of flames within her. But it was there, and it worked. There was a pool, not in the Card, but around it. Like a sphere, slowly shrinking as it flowed out of her. Taylor tried to cut it off, but it only shuddered, causing her to gasp at the sudden pain in her chest. The stream of warmth didn’t stop, couldn’t be redirected. It was committed.
By then end, she had lunch. It was good. Not the greatest, not some fancy restaurant food, but somewhat better then what she usually did. Thinking on it, she wasn’t sure what she’d done to make the patties that soft. They hadn’t burned at all, instead coming out almost like caramel.
The sphere had always been there, but after the stream, after she’d directed it, Taylor could feel it like a separate thing. A separate pool of power she could spend, in layers. There were two more.
She kept experimenting. Now that she knew what to use, all that was left was how.
It was the juggling that did it. Without being able to feel the streams, direct them, without knowing that it was her commitment to the importance of something, her last attempt had done nothing. This time Taylor didn’t juggle marbles or toys. She juggled knives and cleavers. Her hands were all scratched up, when one of bigger blades went wide and she stumbled after it, only to have another strike her access her face.
The line of pain was just starting to hurt when the streams of warmth she’d spread through her body reacted. Like a suddenly thrown open door, the option was just there. She twisted the solidifying streams into strands, turning like mad. They were consumed into nothingness as they grew tighter and smaller and it was suddenly like a dream, a memory.
Taylor dreamt she’d fumbled the throw and catch. Stumbled into another blade. She didn’t. Fading like a nightmare in the morning sun, it was gone but for a faint memory. An impression of cold steel on her skin. Blades in hand, with unmarred face, Taylor smiled. The only sign something had happened was another missing layer from her pool.
“This? This has potential.”
She wasn’t about to empty the pool when she might need it. Now to see how long it took to refill.
***
It was a good thing she’d decided to rest today as well, as the layers, the pools of warmth filled in at a trickle. It took hours to restore a single one, so Taylor couldn’t count on more than three uses in any given situation. It did mean that she could probably use them every day, but that was a decision for later.
With the day having firmly passed into the afternoon, a quick look through the old phonebook gave her three Vader households. The second of which was answered by a woman who did have a son named Greg who went to Winslow. She was happy to give a girl his phone number, saying “It is so nice to hear Greg has been making friends.” Taylor hid a grimace at that, but let it go. Greg, for all his faults, was no liar. He was much, but not a great liar. It was part of the reason why she’d picked him.
If he did come as part of some further prank, she’d be able to tell.
“Well, if Greg himself was aware of it. He can be really dense sometimes.”
After a couple of rings, Vader picked up, to the noise of traffic and a lot of background talking?
“Hello? Hi? Hello! This is Greg!” He chitchatted over the noise.
“Hi-“ “I can’t hear you! You’ll have to speak up. The bus is full and noisy!” Greg interrupted her.
She raised her voice: “Hi, this is Taylor. From class.”
“Oh my God Taylor!” he shouted, to several groans in the background. Taylor had to pull the phone back a bit, it was that loud.
“Are you ok? Stupid question. Of course you’re not ok. Taylor I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. When you didn’t show up, I thought you just left, took a day or, or, or… something! Nobody tells me anything!” Taylor could feel the cold steel, the cramped edges cutting into her side as she tried to pull herself out.
“I can’t believe they did that. That’s so messed up! But you’re better now? Right? Right!? Taylor!”
“I’m ok. Kind off.” She murmured the second one as Greg just kept going. It was a problem with him.
“Oh that’s great! Great! I’m so happy you’re ok! But you haven’t been coming to school. Are they going to do something? Are you doing something!? Taylor please don’t quit school, you’re like one of the only girls who’ll talk to me! At least some of the time.” Taylor could almost feel her patience slowly eroding. Greg was a lot, and she wasn’t one for much socializing these days.
“Look Greg” Taylor said, trying for firm:” I need some notes and the homework from this week if I want to keep up. Think –“ was as far as she got as he exploded.
“Of course! I’ll be right over. I can bring you the stuff from today, then tomorrow, when the week is done, I’ll bring everything else. I’d love to!” Before she could say a word in edgewise she could hear him moving. “Don’t worry about a thing Taylor, I’ll be right over!”
That stopped her cold. “How do you know where I live?” she asked, trying to keep an even tone.
“Oh I was bored one night this summer. So I made it a project. I wrote everyone up from my classes, and then, then, I had to go and dig up one of the older projects, so I knew which bus everyone got on. “ The bus doors opened, in the background noise.
“So then, I got a phonebook and compared that with family names and to add to it, I also went online and compared the numbers with local stuff, like pizza and burger places. It was a real fun project, and I think I know roughly where everyone lives now, if I ever need to come over!”
Taylor gaped. “Who does that?”
“But I only know the area sort off. You know your neighborhood is kind of run down and there isn’t a lot of shops so I just started dialing nearby numbers! Most were rude, or just hung up, but one of your neighbors was really helpful and told me the address, so I wrote it down and…” Greg trailed off.
The phone was silent, except for the passing of cars and the sound of wind.
“Taylor?” Greg asked, a quiver in his voice.
“Yes Greg?” Taylor responded, unsure what was about to come out of that boy’s mouth and if she was ready for it.
“Can you tell me your address and which bus goes there? All that stuff’s at home.” Greg admitted, voice subdued.
Taylor shook her head. “Sure Greg. I can do that. But you don’t have to come over right away, you can..:”
She tried to dissuade him, she really did. But it was Greg. So he came over.
Greg never made it much past the door. He handed off some assignments and told her about homework. His writing wasn’t great.
It was difficult, but between the subject, and her ease with copying stuff, Taylor got through it in record time. Greg was disappointed and happy, which was odd to see at the same time. One moment he was praising her for finding his writing so easy :“ I know it’s not the best”, the next his mood would swing, and he’d tell himself, still loud enough for her to overhear: “But I wanted to read to her. That would be better, right? That’s raises better flags.”
Taylor wasn’t sure what he was talking about, and didn’t know if she wanted to know. She shooed him out as soon as they were done, not wanting him around when Danny came home. She plead fever which led to the worst part of the visit.
One moment she’d admitted that they were giving her some pretty heavy medicine and she was running a fever and the next moment Greg was in her face with his hand on her forehead telling her how horrible it must be.
Greg was a lot, and not great at boundaries. Taylor just hoped he didn’t get any ideas. It had slipped out, somewhere during a long river of words that Greg used in place of conversation that she was a bit bored with sleeping and resting all day, and Greg’s face had lit up like a light bulb. He’d promised he’d be back with the rest of the homework, notes and something to help her pass the time. He’d barely been out of the house for five minutes, and Taylor was already starting to regret letting word of her boredom slip.
Her mood shattered, the preparations for her father’s return were set aside while she recovered from Greg. Taylor didn’t really have much time to recover, before his key slipped into the house’s outer door and Danny came home. She’d been so occupied with Greg, she’d forgotten to make some warm dinner.
***
Setting the table and putting something simple together allowed Taylor to get her head clear. She was not putting this conversation off any longer. The meal was the usual. Her father asking about her health, if she was resting, taking her pills, the usual. (She was fine, if still feverish, yes and yes).
The trouble was the same issue that kept her from complaining about school. He was already bone tired from work and fading fast. Taylor could feel her determination wavering. Her hands went to the healed yet still bandaged ribs.
She’d been attacked. Seriously, police getting involved seriously. Working around her father was manageable, she‘d proven that. But it would be so much easier if she could work with him.
“Food good?” Taylor asked, trying to start.
Danny glanced at her, before his dull eyes fell back to the table. “They’re fine, Taylor,” he replied, slowly eating his cold cuts. She’d mixed a few, not that they had a lot.
“So are we ever going to talk about this?” Taylor asked, running her hand over her bandages. The lumps were visible under her shirt.
Danny exhaled, blinking several time, before visibly drawing himself up.
“Taylor, I’m not sure what to believe anymore. You’ve never said anything. What happened?”
“Oh, now you’re asking. Now you want to know. Didn’t the school already give you the full story?” Taylor spat. Or she tried to. She really wanted to be angry with him. But simply looking at him, the credit bills fresh in her head, it was hard. Instead of a verbal barrage, it came out petulant. She wasn’t that.
“Taylor.” He had the gall to chide her. “I can’t know what you don’t tell me.”
“You’d know if you’d asked.” And ok, that one had some bite to it.
He didn’t even blink, simply ploughing on doggedly: “I’ve asked. Every day.”
Now she was getting annoyed. “No you don’t. You ask the some non-question with the same non-answers. All you want is reassurance, to help you. To make you feel better. If you’d actually cared, you would have changed, done something by now.” Taylor accused him.
“Taylor. That’s not- People don’t work that way. I asked. Why would you hide something this big from me?” Danny implored. Like this was her fault.
“You’re not here. You’re not back. You’re the ghost of my father barely holding on, and failing even at that. I’ve seen the bills, the credit cards, when I went looking for evidence to give the cops.”
It should have been a shout. An explosion of rage. It wasn’t. It was quiet, resigned. Taylor was just tired of it all. Tired of pretending.
“Because you couldn’t be my dad, you were struggling to be you. I couldn’t put that, more on you.” Taylor admitted.
Danny looked at her, tired, worn down, just a bit guilty. Growing agitated. “Those are my problems Taylor. I’m your dad, I’ll deal with them. You’re fifteen, you’re-“
Taylor cut him off. “So I should just trust you to deal with them? I did.” She leaned forward.
“But now I don’t know if I tell you, if you’ll end up at the bottom of a bottle again.”
And that hurt him, she could see that, feel it, because it hurt her to say it too. It was meant to.
She stood up from the table as he was still reeling. “I’ve given some of our credit statements to the cops as evidence. We went to Winslow to collect my complaints as well. The cops took me.”
Taylor stood there, for another moment, some guilt twisting in her. It felt wrong, to take advantage of this. But she needed it and it was a perfect excuse, no matter what she decided. “I’m going to clear some of the basement. Go through Mom’s stuff. And I’m getting a part-time job. You don’t have to worry so much. I can help.”
“Even if said job might be cape work.”
Taylor left. Going back to her room. It was late, and today, for all the time spend sleeping and lazing around, had been a long day.