Book Three
part one
As if impatiently, my ability’s exhausted itself again. Since I woke up this morning, I’ve been searching for Kira non-stop and I still haven’t found her. Not even so much as a footprint. If this goes on for much longer, I’ll probably faint—I’m a little lightheaded.
Adela tilts her head at me, staring. I feel her gaze on me and look up to meet it. The pause is too loud for comfort.
“So...” I bite the inside of my cheek, deciding to give the search a rest for now and stare back.
She sighs and finally speaks. “This morning was...”
I raise my eyebrows, finishing her sentence. “Awkward.”
“Y... Yes.”
“And reminiscent.”
“Very.”
“And awkward.”
“You already said that.”
“It's still true.”
She doesn't say anything else. No retort. She knows I'm right. This morning we showered together, my first shower in nineteen days, and what did we do except stand there for ten minutes before Carmen knocked on the door and asked if...? Oy... I look down at the cement. It sure wasn't reaching up for the shampoo bottles. It wasn't sex either, but I'm still not entirely clean.  I scratched my forearm this morning and got nothing but dead skin.  Ew.
“So...” Adela softly squeaks and stares at the wooden floor, motionless. “Have you found Kira yet?”
“Nope.”
“Do you even have an inkling?”
I shake my head, feeling my stomach churn like a cement truck's barrel. The content, viscous, acidic and too warm, threatens at the bottom of my esophagus to make a vicious leap up. “The only thing I can fathom is... she's been captured by Division. I wouldn't be surprised. That's the only reason I can think of. There's nobody to call to see if she'd been by; there's nowhere to search because she can hide in plain sight being a Pusher; there's no way to find her.”
“I guess she knows what she's doing then,” she murmurs. “She probably doesn't want anything to do with us anymore.”
I shoot her a black look. “Don't you dare say that. She's probably just hiding.”
“Hiding from us?” Adela glares back.
“She said she failed me and walked out. Did you really expect something different?”
Her glare softens and fades back into her depression, before she stares at the floor again.
I sigh. She's starting to bring me down with her. “Adela, dammit, do you know what Kira's potential is as a Pusher? She's smart—she'd get help from anyone she lays her eyes on. For all we know she could be in Kaito at—”
I pause. Wait a minute. I rush toward the phone, nearly knocking over a lightweight stand in the process, and dial the number to Renaldi's. The adrenaline runs throughout my system as it rings once... twice... thrice... four times... five... six... seven. And then the answering machine. “You've dialed Renaldi's. Unfortunately, nobody is available to take your call. Please call back later. Thank you!” Fuck. I slam the phone back down on the receiver, which clacks violently as the static from the other end comes to an abrupt cease. I huff, the adrenaline dissipating. “Well,” I seethe, “that was a waste of time.”
“Who did you call?” Adela blinks at me.
“Renaldi's.”
“Good idea.” She smiles for the first time since before we showered last night.
“Waste of time.”
I feel her aura recede a little. That hurt. “That wasn't a waste of time. Renaldi's is her favorite—she's bound to turn up there eventually.”
I don't reply. I just stare out the window as I've been doing for the past few hours. I've pulled a chair from the kitchen up to the window by the front door, and since then I've been just sitting here. I sat here as Adela Stitched Chloe; I sat here as they ate sandwiches for lunch—I wasn't hungry; and I sat here when Carmen and Chloe left for the mall. All I can think about is Dockmackie, seeing my uncle. I wonder how many miles I have to sit on a godforsaken train. I automatically and quickly go over the math in my head. Distance from Kaito to Dockmackie is about 1,700 miles; I quickly focus, but all I can feel is cold handcuffs around my wrists.
Adela sighs and goes to eat dinner with Carmen and Chloe as I stare at the blue afternoon sky. The smell of food makes my mouth water, reminding me I should eat soon too… I focus on a dead ant on the floor I stepped on earlier in boredom. Ten minutes later, staring at the shriveled-up thing on the wood, Chloe sits next to me. I feel her warmth, but I don’t move.
“Hey, are you hungry—yes or no?” She nudges me. I feel my breath shorten in anxiety, so I take a deep breath to supplement it, still staring. “We do need to focus on what you came here for, but you’ve been searching for Kira all day and it’s time you rested.”
“At least I’ve been searching instead of sitting on my ass all day,” I mumble. Although… rest… might be good for me. Rest and food.
“You still need to stop for a while before you kill yourself,” she insists, pulling me up and to the dinner table. She’s set up food for me. I nod as my stomach growls. I just don’t know how I’ll survive without her. “Sit. Eat.”
I bite my tongue and do as I’m told. The ravioli in the small, black bowl looks good. The sauce looks creamy and thick, and the ravioli are plump and juicy-looking. I inch forward on the seat toward the table, giving a yawn as I pick up the silver fork to the right of the bowl. “Ravioli, huh?” I mutter. Some lunch. Ugh, I’m exhausted…
“You like don’t like ravioli?”
“No, I do,” I sigh, stabbing one of them and aiming them to my mouth. I pause before it touches my tongue and retract the fork. The ravioli, still impaled on its prongs, is steaming way too much. I blow on it to cool it down, then place the little Italian pillow on my tongue. The pasta sauce is crisp and filled with flavor as I chew it, the sugars dissolving there. Not bad.
I finish the bowl in a few minutes; and as I put the last one in my mouth and swallow it, Chloe and Carmen suddenly hover over me. Their auras mesh and melt together as their conglomerated heat assaults me. I swallow and clear my throat as Chloe wraps her arms around my neck, her warm breasts against my shoulderblades. Um.
“What... are you doing?” I blink up at her.
“Just hugging you. I know you need it.” She squeezes me as Carmen takes my bowl to the kitchen and starts washing it out. Well then.
Carmen returns to the couch after a few seconds, while Chloe continues this awkward embrace, and in the most uncomfortable yet casual approach I can generate, I get up from the table, shoving it noisily forward a couple inches. “We should get ready to go to Dockmackie.”
“Dockmackie...” Carmen sighs from the couch. “I guess we should...”
She sounds depressed at the thought. Her sister chimes in. “What's wrong with Dockmackie?”
“Oh, nothing,” Carmen murmurs. “I just don't like the fact that it gets us one step closer to Division. The closer we get, the more risky it becomes.”
“That's true,” I say, “but if we don't do it, who will?”
“Someone eventually,” Carmen snorts, flipping through channels on the TV.
“You guys don't sound very motivated,” I sneer. “Are you at least somewhat packed?” I start heading for the front door; Chloe follows.
“What are we going to bring again?” she asks.
“A backpack, something of a dark color. Purple, black, navy blue, that sort of color. Nothing with white in it, nothing flashy—no whites, yellows, reds, pinks, et cetera.”
“Crap,” Chloe snorts. “I'll have to go shopping then. I only have  white and pink.”
Kira hates pink. I derisively snort at what she'd say about that.
Chloe turns off the water and clears her throat as she passes me with a wink and heads upstairs. I blink, flustered, and feel my cheeks color. Moving on... I sit on the couch as Carmen continues channel-surfing.
She runs across a football game and quickly turns past it in disgust to a game show. She stares tiredly at the screen, barely moving a muscle.
“Did you sleep okay last night, Carmen?”
“Not really. The squeals from the bathroom kept me up.”
“Squeals?” I half-glare and blush a little as I stare at her.
“I'm kidding,” she drones. “Lighten up—I know you and Adela aren't like that. It was a long morning.”
“Bitch,” I murmur emphatically under my breath I turn toward the TV and bite my lip. That was...awkward. Not even funny. Just awkward.
Adela shifts uncomfortably in the recliner in the corner, almost in the background, pushing her bowl aside and laying her head on her arms. “What time is it?” she slowly drawls.
Carmen looks at the clock above the TV. “Almost 9:45.”
Adela drones deliberately. “I... am... so... tired.”
“Me too,” Carmen yawns, prompting Adela and myself to follow suit. Yawns are too contagious.
I sniffle and head upstairs to the room, getting another Gremlin out of my backpack. Adela probably threw away the one I hadn't finished before I was hospitalized. Without even thinking, I head back downstairs and pull open the front door. A just of fresh air kisses my skin, sending it aflame in goosebumps, and the lee sunset seems to have exploded in seven shades of red, most of them majenta. The cloudless sky, so bright and peaceful, will soon be dark and blank. Above a city like this, there are no stars. Like when Kira left. I sigh and pop the cap, which makes a tinny sound as it opens. The carbonation hisses and smokes as I put the can to my lips and take a few gulps. This one's grape.
I cap it as Carmen appears behind me. “Are you going out, yes or no?”
I step aside to let her pass. She pulls a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and takes one out, putting the butt in between her dark lips, and pulls a lighter. She covers the end and lights up, taking a short drag and removing the thing. I raise an eyebrow. I've never smoked cigarettes before, except once with my mother when she was alive, but that was ages ago, and it wasn't a cigarette. It was weed. She called it something weird—the term escapes me.
Carmen takes a breath and lets it out just as quickly. The white-gray smoke raises and floats away. “Oh my God,” she sighs, “my first cigarette in a week. I've been nearly dying.” I blink at her. She stares back for a moment, then gestures her cigarette to me. “Here,” she orders, “take a drag.”
“Pass.”
“Just one.”
I grip my left snakebite's bearings with my teeth, watching the smoke rise from the cherry. And against my better judgment, I take the thing in between two fingers how I've seen it done and put the butt between my lips. The raising smoke makes my eyes dry and water up. I blink a few times as inhale. The second the smoke hits my esophagus, I start hacking and coughing! I nearly drop the cigarette and quickly hand it back as I keel over, holding in burning coughs that come out stifled. And I am never doing that again.
I clear my throat and burp, and a bit of smoke comes out. My mother called this “ghosting.”
Carmen laughs. “A puff means take a drag. A short portion of an inhale with smoke, the rest without. Not the other way around—it's brown, not green.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I groan as my head starts to become foggy and dizzy. She rolls her eyes at me. Hm... this is actually kind of nice. I'm still never smoking a cigarette ever again. But the effect is...interesting. “Not doing that again,” I mumble. I think I'm slurring...
I move and my muscles follow a second too late. Whoa. Carmen snickers and giggles at me as I head over the threshold, which makes an attempt on my life, and toward the stairs, when suddenly and yet gradually, the high is gone. I shake my head, sober again...I think. I look back at Carmen, who is taking another—what the crap did she call it?—drag. She exhales the smoke and winks at me, and in response I just blink, confused.
“That...was...”
“It's a short high, but that's the purpose of cigarettes anyway.”
I think I prefer my mom's cannabis. “Cigarettes... Gross.”
Carmen giggles and takes another drag. Her aura relaxes a little, colorless. “I bet you didn't know that smoking actually helps you advance generations.”
“Yeah—bud, maybe,” I retort. “That's the only proven inhalant that does that. I'm almost positive a cigarette doesn't contain terpenoids.” Terpenoids are chemicals in herbs and plants that contribute to the scent of eucalyptus, the flavors of cinnamon, cloves, and ginger, the yellow color in sunflowers, and the red color in tomatoes.
“Actually, menthol is a terpenoid.”
I blink at her. “It is?”
“Have you never taken botany?”
“Nope.”
“Well maybe you should have.” She takes another drag.
My dad... “My dad was a scientist. He studied botany among another things—biology, chemistry, anatomy, things like that.”
She giggles through her nose, taking another drag. “May he rest in peace,” she exhales.
I nod and stare at the door. I remember him. He smiled at me and told me he'd be in to read from the Torah, like we did every night before bed. But he never did. So I watched the red and blue lights flash against the bumpy, white walls as I laid in my soft bed. After a couple minutes of laying under the blanket he gave me, I heard two gunshots, and my heart leaped into my throat. I ran to the window and looked out. “What a waste,” Goddard said. I saw their corpses flung by the momentum lying on the blacktop, half a second before they disappeared under a Shade. I, of course, panicked as Goddard and three other Division agents got into cars with the flashing lights, and after an hour of crying my eyes out, I ended up crying myself to sleep. Kira found me the next morning. It took me six months before I could speak again. I ate very little; in fact, I used to be anorexic.
I sigh and shove open the door.
“Going to bed?” Carmen calls.
“Yeah...” I sigh.
“Goodnight then.”
I nod and start heading up the stairs which creak with every slow footstep. I turn right and head into the room at the end of the hallway with the circular four-pane window and lay on the bed against the wall at left. The dark room is dark with the faint glow of the city. I stare out the wall as a police siren wails in the distance and eye the clock as I sit on the bed against the left wall, my own resting place. I reseal and set the Gremlin next to it.
Something orange glistens in my peripheral vision, earning my attention. An orange phone, an old one.
I wonder if my uncle would be up at this time at night…
I look over to it.  An old telephone, one that used to be the modern ones since last millennium.  This one apparently is a collectible.  It's sitting on a light metal nightstand clearly recently polished, as is its receiver.  The metal is crimped in snooty, circular shapes.  This is also an antique.  The stand is also standing to the right of a one-person, jade polyester couch.  It looks comfy.  I sigh dismissively and have a seat.  Dust instantly rises, causing me to flinch and hold my breath.  Apparently, nobody's sat in this chair for very long time.  I hope this isn't a sacred place.
The pick up the phone and press the call button.  The medium-sized screen lights off orange, and blocky, black text reads on the screen.  It displays the time, 2:20pm, and below it at left is a blinking underscore.  I remember and dial the number.
(12) 9894 0607.  It rings once.  Oh my.  Twice.  What if he says we can't come?  Three times.  And then a half of a fourth, before a rough voice answers.  “Plate.”
“U-uncle Charlie?” I squeak tentatively.
“Nephew,” he sighs, voice softening like the purring engine of a hotrod. “Afternoon.”
I breathe and think for a second before I reply. “I need to come see you.”
“Something wrong?”
I hesitate. “Yes.” I can't tell him until I'm there...
“I see. Well, alright. When should I expect you?”
“In a few days. Morning probably.”
“Sounds good, Gabe.”
“Bye.” I hum.
“Alright.” The line disconnects.
I sigh and replace it on its receiver. I turn back toward my... bed for the night. The moon in the blank sky reverberates off the bright white walls, illuminating the tarnished blue riffles at the bottom. This is... familiar.
Suddenly, I feel like someone punched me right in the heart, and I gasp as I feel the pressure that killed them. It takes my breath away; and suddenly, I'm across the bed, splayed out as if tossed like a ragdoll. Paralyzed there. I hear Goddard's voice resound in my head, echoing: “You're a meddlesome idiot, and because of your stupidity, you're going to die.” Suddenly I'm not me. I'm my father, and Goddard's having Division agents, or soldiers rather, hold me at gunpoint, AK-47s aimed in my face. And suddenly, I lose my hearing and everything goes blurry and dark; I gasp for air that isn't there, my pulse slowing;  and I struggle to grasp at the quilt, my hands not willing to move under my urgent command. And suddenly, it stops.
My bed. From the night of when my parents were killed.
I gasp and breathe for a bit... Holy shit. Uncomfortable under the harsh angle at my right shoulder blade and neck, I quickly scurry to the center of the soft, turquoise and red quilt covering the bed. Ow...
I lay my head down and sniffle at the iron smell of blood. And then there's something wet under my nose. I wipe there and sniffle. My finger's red. That's...curious. That's never happened before.
I sigh as a tear strolls down my cheek to the pillow, then shake my head before giving a yawn—it's probably nothing. I'm too exhausted to care right now. Ugh... I quickly disrobe, tossing the constrictive clothing onto the floor. Screw them. I turn in toward the wall as a cool draft kisses my bare skin, and soon reality fades.