--XXVIII--

Was it because I was sleepless, or was it because I didn't catch whoever was responsible?

I remember trying not to think of Marie. I remember trying not to think about bloodkill.

Nightingale in general was always going to be there. What was in front of me was not a new story in the Overwoods. I didn't claim to be strong; only that I did what I could to protect the good, in any and all its forms.

I wondered, with Liquid Nitrogen's blood on the soles of my inexpensive sneakers, If Avyeena had lived, would she have just killed herself? It was my best attempt at introducing a new thought into my own mind. How would Kayles have felt, had she been the sole survivor?

I should have answered wrong.

"You're starving."

I looked up, from the green sheets with red notebooks on them where I wrote everything.

"Just one bite. It's still hot."

If I said that when people were kind to me or cared, I always believed it, that would be a lie. If I said I always thought that kindness, if directed toward me, was heartfelt and not a manipulation tool to eventually use me and completely contriturate my psyche because there is evil out there, that would be something else; "lie" could not be strong enough.

At that particular moment it was as though I wasn't hearing Malcolm's voice. I just heard some sort of deep, disembodied grumble as my thoughts again turned to Crayon and Skittles.

I had to be polite, kind, because karma.

I smiled.

"I'm not hungry," I said.

Malcolm crossed the room and replaced a fifth plate of whatever-it-was on my only clear surface: a small plastic table I won in third grade for something I wrote. I had to fly in and out of the Lowdown at 2AM to retrieve it and one of my stuffed animals, Penguinowo. Malcolm stood still after putting it down and taking the last plate.

I was older. But I still froze, still stayed hypervigilant, still breathed a little less whenever anyone even slightly larger than I was alone in the same room as me. Especially if there was a bed.

"I ain't a telepath from the Suburbs," Malcolm growled, "but even I know you're lying." I heard his significantly louder sigh of why-do-I-bother and even felt it on my face. "I haven't seen you go anywhere, eat anything. I thought I was worth more than 'I'm not hungry.'"

Part of me wanted to say something, but I didn't.

Right before the door shut, he said, "I guess not."

--

I flipped open the new keypad-type phone I was using temporarily, one Kaylee gave me when I wasn't sure I was cognitively able to handle anyone else.

"BELINDA IS GOING IN FOR INTERROGATION."

I was still wiping my eyes when I read her new message.

"6AM TOMORROW."

Interrogate Belinda Klein? Call me what you would. Wyatt had little to no chance of going that deep. Some telepaths were a bit easier to read- exempli gratia myself, most of the time anyway- and some were more like Belinda. Awkwardly, and with my left hand virtually convulsing, I typed in my reply.

"CAN WYATT EVEN CRACK HER CODE?" I said.

"I'M SURE HE'LL DO FINE."

"ARE YOU?"

"HOW MANY INTERROGATIONS WENT THE OTHER WAY FOR HIM BEFORE?"

I had to take a moment.

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"FOUR."

To the best of my knowledge, at least.

I shifted from my half-curled-up position facing the wall to flat on my back to stare at the photographs I stuck on to the ceiling. On the left, suspects I'd apprehended and stopped. On the right, those we either needed to investigate further, or otherwise just arrest entirely.

Often the people I still had locate and arrest looked a certain way. They looked like murderers.

"Four," I repeated to Kayles, letting down my telepathic barrier for the moment. "That I know of. Only, really, because I was asked to speak to the suspects after he failed."

Kaylee's telepathic voice responded. I closed my eyes.

"He's interrogated lots of people, Chris."

"Yeah," I replied. "Me included."

"What?"

"Nothing," I said. "Let's move on."

Caleb was able to track Belinda Klein's location not by use of any fanciful electronics or gadgets she owned, but because, apparently, Caleb had already placed a tracking device on one of her pairs of glasses- one small enough to go unnoticed. She'd boarded a U.S. flight to the mainland before Sam intercepted. Now Sam's just as injured as Elyza.

My eyes flew open at the memory of seeing bloodkill; the memory of realizing exactly what pain Elyza Cobb was put through, when I saw her, when I understood what chemical was forced into her blood. For Elyza's sake, I hope she doesn't remember the pain; I hope all she remembers is how I took the horrible monster from her body. The one that makes you cry, and beg. This way, only Kaylee and I will know the nightmares.

Who gave Belinda the Zapryekavil?

"Do you have any idea why she did it?" I said.

"We don't know she did it," replied Kaylee.

"You think there's anyone else in the Overwoods with Belinda Klein's abilities?"

"Experimentations still happen, Chris. New powers could come up at any time." Kaylee paused. "Well, I guess a lot more dead bodies than actual new powers but, we don't know."

"Midnight," intruded Sam.

I quickly skimmed over the photographs, facial composites; settled on Torres. Did he know anything?

"Yes, Sam. Hi."

"Hi!" squealed Kaylee.

"Tell that bitch we need a rematch," Sam hissed. "And this time, I'm throwing her off the plane."

"Unless her prison's going to be on a moving airplane," I said, "that's not going to happen."

"Fine, tell her she's going to get private conjugal visits." Sam popped her telepathic bubble gum. "From me, up close."

"I'll tell her you wanna get high with her," I said. "How's that?"

"Deal."

Sam vamoosed from the connection. Even in telepathy, she dropped half her R's. The other half turned into Y's. To me her voice was almost always very entertaining.

"You're in trouble with James," said Kaylee.

"He can suck a jellyfish," I said. "The poisonous type."

"Naw," said Kaylee. "You don't mean that!"

"Man has no idea what he's doing." I focused on the butterfly on Torres's face. "Neither do I, frankly. But sometimes I don't know why I take orders from that dude."

Kaylee laughed.

"You called him 'dude.'"

"I don't want to be respectful right now."

"That's not disrespectful."

"If the Overwoods blows up, again, like it did thousands of years ago, it's his fault."

Kaylee paused.

"He cares about you," she said. "You know. In his own way."

"It's a twisted way."

"Would you rather he didn't care at all?"

The butterfly's right wing was slightly smaller than the left. It might have just been my mental state, but I felt like I had almost seen Reynaldo Torres somewhere before...

"No," I replied. "I appreciate it. I just... wish things were easier."

There was a knock on the door. I immediately dropped the connection.

"I'll eat, Malcolm!" I yelled. "We're good!"

I struggled to get up to some sort of sitting position, knocking two of my notebooks off the side of the bed. I was just happy to be seeing the color red on their covers again. The door swung open before I could pick them up.

"You have a visitor."

I folded the notebooks shut, after flipping through a few pages. I pressed my fingertips to my eyebrows for a minute.

"Are you gonna say anything?" Malcolm pressed.

I bit my tongue.

Am I permitted to not say anything?

I fumbled with the edges of the light cotton bandage I still kept wrapped around my left hand. Tested it, slowly moving one finger at a time, from the shortest one to the longest.

I inhaled, very slowly, and took twice as long for the exhale that followed it.

"I told Caleb not to visit me."

Malcolm put down an oatmeal bar- in blue wrapping- on the floor next to Penguinowo, who was sitting by the door.

Good. Penguinowo was hungry.

Pain clutched at my stomach. It was probably just the poison spray from the canister, and all of the injections from the senseless human experimentation and torture they forced onto us, from when-

"Eat something," said a familiar voice as it broke through my thoughts like a battering ram, "or I will tie you to a tree and make you smell mutant gardenia-citrus-corpse flower hybrids."

I pinched my lips together. Kaylee's telepathic voice, but a slightly softer version of it. It reminded me of me. My mouth remained shut as I looked at Malcolm. I spoke again, but this time via telepathy.

"The blue ones or the pink ones?" I said.

"The orange ones," said Kaylee.

"OH MY GOD," retorted Sam with very palpable, unmistakable revulsion in her only slightly less Four-accented telepathic voice. "Those are SO REVOLTING-"

I put my telepathic barrier back up.

I took another very slow breath, wiped off any water that might still be on my cheeks because sometimes I cry, and moved my fingers around just as Malcolm spoke again.

"It's not your boyfriend," he said. "It's your boss."