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One foot in front of the other. Someone had something about that once, hadn’t they? That the journey of a thousand miles began with a single step.
Pins and needles and daggers of pain into the soles of the feet. Toes tingling with the newly added weight and pressure. Hopefully that went away before mile ten.
Learning to walk again in the private spaces when they weren’t looking. Again, albeit differently now. Surely not this short? They were never this short, Richard was just a skyscraper. Why were the legs so? So wobbly? Richard wasn’t to blame for that. No one was to blame for that. At least, no one that could actually take the blame now.
A delicate dribble of raindrop-thought slipped off a hard edge and pitter pattered onto. On. The machine beeped judgmentally, but it beeped on. Heart rate was good. Steady and healthy and pounding away inside the chest, beneath muscle and sinew and bone and skin and the thin hospital gown. A strong, promising. The knees kept going out.
Trying to send everything crashing down. It would be easier with help, a hand to steady the trembling. But. Ambition waited for no one, though. Not even Sidestep. Richie, calling himself Mad Dog these days. Wavering and unsteady in all the ways he thought he wasn’t and so damn reliably dense in all the others.
Had to get a move on. Clock was ticking.
And it would be nice to give him a surprise.
-
The plastic crinkled. Fresh flowers, they’d picked them up on the way over, scent mingling hideously with the body fluid, bitter acrid cleaning solution. Plastic sheeting covered the world and left his vision of it stretched and distorted. Ice crystals formed rapidly in his freezing extremities and were shooting with lethal intention towards his. His.
The words were choked. Shivering. The panic was new. Searing. So cold it burned, the wind whipping through his head brought on by an unexpected storm, bolstered only by the high pressure heat of Daniel at his side, also whipping his thoughts to a flurry. Somewhere, in the great distance, a hand appeared between his shoulder blades. It was enough of a match to get a small bit of kindling to smoke. The next sentence actually made it all the way out of his throat, bolstered by the rising thermal.
“What do you mean, she checked herself out?” his words were too hollow to properly register, but it didn’t seem to faze the nurse. Nursing assistant. Her badge helpfully displayed her credentials. Marla CNA, with a little daisy sticker next to the name. She was busy typing in something to the humming computer.
“Sir, I’m afraid I can’t,”
“I’m her emergency contact,” this wasn’t happening. This was not. It. Like turning a key in a broken down jalopy. The cold had gotten to it. The engine just wouldn’t turn over and there was less and less of a chunking whine willing to make the effort. Frozen fingers. He had to place the flowers in that crinkle wrap plastic onto the counter so he could free up his left hand to dig for his wallet. “And her medical power,” Marla blinked up at him behind the plexiglass divider as he produced his fake ID and pressed it against the window.
A moment of squinting as she glanced between his face and the monitor and the ID and.
Sighed and then paused as her mind was delicately spread like the petals of a blooming chrysanthemum. There was hardly a lie to place there anyway, just the fakeness of the ID. As far as the hospital systems were concerned, he was her medical power of attorney. He was the one to be consulted before any medical decisions could be made. He was. They were supposed to. Why hadn’t anyone called?
Marla tapped something out on her monitor. “AMA,” faintly robotic but clearing up as Richard let her mind close back in on itself. A faint whisper of when did it start to get so easy to was jerked to one side, left to flounder on a patch of ice until it fell back onto its tailbone. “The nurses found her walking in her room and she left,” AMA. Against medical advice.
“Why didn’t anyone call us?” and oh, that was Daniel’s voice saying that. If this wasn’t a nightmare scenario, Richard’s brain may have snagged harder on the ‘us’ portion, but it was also shoved to one side. In the face of the question, Marla just shrugged. Even without telepathy everything about her mannerism said that it wasn’t her job to call anyone if patients decided to get up and leave. That was for the receptionists. “Did she say anything about where she was going?” sinking slightly, the weight of it pulling him back to the ground. At least the shift in his height got some attention; a strange sound of recognition as she realized one of the men on the other side of the glass was a Ranger.
“Um,” suddenly tapping a little bit faster at her keyboard. “I’m not really sure, I wasn’t here when she left?” Richard ignored how her thoughts turned soap operatic, wondering if she was going to be caught up in some thrilling heroics.
He had his own hysterics to focus on.
Mitzi didn’t have any belongings at the hospital. Just flowers that got replaced weekly and the little baggy that contained a nail care kit, because the nurses always did a half ass job at taking care of the nails, even in a place as well funded as this. Which meant she. She. Or whatever was in her was in a hospital gown. Most likely still had on the compression socks with the grippy soles. Nothing else. He had her cell phone, kept in on him just in case. He hadn’t renewed the lease on her apartment. Her keys were in the inner pocket of his coat now.
“How long ago did she leave?” Daniel again, because Richard’s mind wasn’t cooperating, still focusing endlessly on.
Mitzi didn’t have a thought process. There wasn’t a pattern because there wasn’t a mind. Not. Faint, shifting memories that stayed with the body even when the mind evaporated. But those couldn’t be counted on. There wasn’t something he could search for or try to focus on. And he’d have to wait until they were outside before he could try to. Something began beating beneath the floorboards. A sickly, steady pulse.
What if it was.
No. No, no, don’t. Grind that seed into paste before it could so much as think of taking root. Heartbreak, whatever had been left lurking inside of his mind, was trapped in the rotting corpse they’d left back at the farm. Except that it likely wasn’t because they’d left her there and ah, beans. He could only hope they wouldn’t think something was riding along inside of her. But. Who knew what those grim faced devils got up to. Maybe they’d already dissected the former director and pulled out anything useful. Recycled. Regardless. It wasn’t here. She was not here. Wasn’t in Mitzi.
Which was cold comfort in the face of the fact that someone else was a hand on his shoulder, the good one, gripping and tugging him back. “Let’s go,” Richard followed Daniel’s motion like a meteor caught by Earth’s gravity. Burning up the ice clogging up his thoughts and revealing sharp daggers of rock as it went. “She couldn’t have gotten far,” stern but serious, looking from side to side as the automatic doors parted under Richard’s weight. Not his. Back to floating. “I’ll see if I can spot anything. Be right back,” a squeeze and then a downward gust of air that sent several passerby’s coats and skirts flapping wildly.
Richard watched him ascend; thoughts temporarily broken by the sight of it, head tilting up to watch his fiancé rise high enough to get a good vantage point of the street in either direction.
They came crashing back quickly enough.
Not Heartbreak. What other psychics did he know of that could be powerful enough to take over a body like that? Locus wasn’t really an option—not even remotely her forte and he still couldn’t be certain she was even alive anymore.
Less than an hour ago. Which was a long time, for someone with means and access. Mitzi, or whatever was inside of her, had neither. Hospital gowns would stand out. She didn’t have any money and.
The thoughts stopped cold in his head, congealing like so much cooling blood. Turning to thick sludge and gumming up the machinery. Neither had he. Not at first, not when he’d gotten out. There had been nothing except dumb luck and the kindness of strangers. Was whatever inside her now as resourceful as he had been? Would they get as lucky as he had? There was the nerve light sensation, registering movement as he reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. Nothing. No missed calls, no texts, the only email was spam. It was slid back in, and a second phone appeared in his hand from the depths of his coat’s inner lining.
Two missed texts. “Southern and Market, right?” followed quickly by: “Sorry, forgot you said you lost this,” both from Boris.
Which opened quite a few windows in Richard’s mind, cold drafts being let in rather than let them break the windows entirely with their force. Whoever it was. They knew about Boris. Enough to send him a message and arrange for a pick-up. Which meant they knew who he was. Which. Something twisted tight in the space between his lungs and began screaming, throwing itself against the bars of his ribcage. Base. They would be going to the base, even if they tried to get to her apartment, she didn’t have the keys and neither did Bo and oh, god, what if they tried to go to Mortum?
Base first. Base first, he couldn’t reach out to Mortum, he still couldn’t be sure what her thoughts were on him and.
Part of him saw Daniel coming back to Earth and that part of his brain urged Richard forward to step in close, putting the second cell phone away and automatically reaching to wrap his good arm around Daniel’s shoulders.
The split second hesitation was just that, a sudden dip of the wing and then back to baseline. Daniel wrapped his arms around him, arms solid and steady. “You know where she’s at?” not waiting for the answer before taking off again, snapping off his connections to the rotation of the Earth. It meant Richard had to speak up over the wind.
“My base,” it also meant it was a little safer to announce. “I think she might be headed there,” words whipping out of his mouth as Daniel began in that direction. A small warning light from the center of Richard’s chest was doing its best to get his attention—it was joined by the pebble of pain in his right shoulder that was threatening to become a boulder very quickly if it was kept in the tight lock of Daniel’s arms for much longer.
Both of them were acknowledged and then promptly ignored. They’d have their chance, all good things to those who.
“What’s going on?” not a full accusation, but there was a mild note of anger rising above the rest of his thoughts. Richard had always said that Mitzi was an empty shell. Now here she was, making phone calls and traipsing her way through the streets of Los Diablos. Daniel’s eyes were pinned ahead of them, focused on where he was flying for the moment. Focused on trying not to assume Richard was lying to him. Again.
“I’m not sure,” which didn’t earn him any points in the honesty category, even if it was the truth. “I…the person who Mitzi was, is dead. I can guarantee that,” a flutter, a ruffle of feathers that said it wanted more of an explanation than that. Before settling again, hinting at a deeper cooing murmur that stroked its own back and whispered. Whispered all the things Daniel had picked up on over time. That Richard wasn’t fond of using the puppet and, after Daniel had put his foot down and said enough, that he had stopped using her entirely. “Her mind was empty, every time I went into it,” like moving into a new apartment. There were dead batteries in some drawers, tiny screws that rattled when others were pulled open. Push pin holes in the paint. Signs of a former occupant, but no one living in the walls.
“So what’s in her body now?” trepidatious confusion there now. Tip toeing around. Oh? Oh. The question of whether or not he’d learned a terrifying new trick.
Startling enough of a thought to make Richard pause. Daniel thought that maybe one day he could? Not outside the realm of possibility, perhaps, but. Richard’s skin crawled as he gingerly picked up that thought and did his best to shuffle it outside where it belonged. He didn’t even want to entertain that idea.
“Not me. And I don’t know,” bracing as Daniel curved midair to avoid a building and downshifted, dipping lower as they left downtown and began heading for the warehouse district. “Whoever it is either has been in there long enough to know about my driver or they’ve been watching me long enough from outside to know about him,” hopefully they wouldn’t try anything against Bo. The idea that perhaps the memories of his time as Mitzi, his actions and his own thoughts, had somehow lingered in the shell were yawning. Stretching their legs.
There were things, flashes and sensations, sometimes, when he was in Mitzi. Hints of life from before. He’d done his best to ignore them but.
Daniel dipped again, this time low enough along the walls that they could be reasonably obscured, getting closer and closer to Mad Dog’s base. Around the corner from the front door, barely ten feet away from it, Richard spotted Boris, leaning up against his car and nervously fidgeting with something. Ah. His phone. Which he dropped about two seconds after Daniel dropped to the ground in front of him.
“Jesus, shit,” flinching back hard, hand going to his pocket to reach for a weapon before his eyes registered Richard. Registered Richard’s face. A quick two step shuffle of oh, shit, right that’s his boss, followed by oh shit, that’s his boss. And back with the Ranger. Again. He didn’t get paid enough for this.
Richard winced in latent sympathy as gravity took hold of him again, greedy hands wrenching at his bad shoulder. And making his chest go tight enough to force a few sharp coughs out before he could start to speak.
“Uh. Hey,” Bo offered up, taking a minute step backwards from Herald while also trying to keep his attention pinned on the wheezing, hacking, villain. Daniel crossed his arms but stayed silent, waiting for Richard to talk to his. Aha, his employee.
“Hey,” strained, but the word made it out before Richard could stop the spasming in his chest. “Did she go inside?”
At least Bo had the courtesy not to try and hide it. Didn’t even know he was supposed to. He’d been told that Mitzi and Mad Dog had parted amicably, and that she was trying to get out of the business, and that no, she wasn’t in danger and didn’t need help and. “Yeah, about twenty minutes ago. I had to let her in,” A faint uprising. A little rebellion that only saw two of its members standing after the confrontation with his own fear. “She was in a hospital gown?” the unspoken question hiding about as much as the aforementioned backless gown. What happened to her? Was she hurt?
Was it Mad Dog’s fault?
There was trust cultivated there, but it had been tested recently and Boris wasn’t entirely certain he was happy with how things were coming back graded.
Richard gave him a nod at least, “I know. She checked herself out, I don’t know how badly hurt she is,” which was all true. Technically. Even if he could feel the heat of Daniel’s stare on the side of his face. Staying quiet though. For now. Seeing what all Richard was going to say. Bo’s attention had dipped down to his boss’s right arm, dangling limply at his side. “I’ll. We’ll be right back,” taking a step towards the door, including Daniel in the ‘we’. Which was. A burst of warmth that settled temptingly along his nerves.
But that was for later.
Behind him Boris hesitated. “I’ll uh. She asked me to wait out here?” again, not a full question.
“That’ll be fine, yeah,” and almost immediately the fear starting to build up in Bo’s chest lost momentum. At least he wasn’t being told to fuck off and leave Mitzi to. To. He didn’t think Mad Dog would kill her. That, small though it was, was reassuring. “We shouldn’t be long,” and there it went again, because now the Ranger was going in and were they going to arrest her? Were they going to arrest him? He’d already. What with Charge and the whole…putting his boss’s body into his villain armor had been new.
Bo hadn’t seen anything, there had been a skin suit in the way but.
Richard cut off his train of thoughts by sliding his key into the lock and opening the metal door loudly. No reason to hide that he was here, after all. Whoever or whatever was inside that body must have known they’d be tracked. They must have. There was no way they could assume he wouldn’t immediately come after them. They had probably bet on it, even set up a trap that they were walking straight into. Which there was nothing to be done about now, not now that Richard had taken a few steps into his home away from home.