Clooney rushed at him, starting to explain something about being the ranking employee and the call from Security bouncing to him because Manny had been unavailable. Manny seemed to endure Clooney without really listening, giving most of his attention to the doctor and the security guards. He turned briefly to look at Dinshaw, frowning when he saw Gabe standing beside her.
"You're probably going to get it for being on the scene again," Dinshaw said in a low voice. "How is it you always find your way up here when someone's going to jump?"
"Just lucky, I guess," Gabe said, feeling awkward. A guard came over to him with Valjean's cape and thrust it at him.
"Here. She's your friend, you give it to her."
Gabe didn't want to touch it. He balled it up quickly, making sure the connections that had been in Valjean's skull were well buried in the folds of material.
Dinshaw drew away a step, looking at it with distaste. "That's a real inspired piece of technology."
"Isn't it."
Clooney stalked past them looking miffed as the largest security guard eased Valjean's limp form over his shoulder and followed the doctor to the elevators.
"You weren't hurt, were you?" Manny asked Dinshaw. He was squinting at her strangely, as if he were trying to decide whether she was somehow at fault for all this.
Dinshaw shook her head.
"Good. That's good." He looked a bit puzzled as he went back inside. Gabe and Dinshaw stared after him.
"What's wrong with this picture?" Dinshaw said, rubbing her neck where Valjean had been gripping her.
"I don't know," Gabe said. He looked down at the cape. A last bit of residual energy sent a soft wave of grey through the white material, like an animal letting out a final breath.
White Lightning in a mason jar. If it worked once, it would work again. Except it didn't.
The level in the jar went down steadily, little by little, and it wouldn't come for her. It burned the way it was supposed to, but tonight she was fireproof.
Here it comes.
She tried to block the thought with another swig from the jar. Yah, and here this comes, now leave me alone.
Take a little walk-
– and here it comes-
Here this comes. Shut up, motherfucker. Too hard, it was too fucking hard to think about.
– a little walk with me-
– into the context-
Context this. The jar was half-gone now, and she felt nothing, nothing, nothing. The kid with the heelprint on his forehead was jumping again tonight. Christ, didn't he have someplace else to go, something else to do?
"We do"-dit, dit, dit-"what we do. We do it"-dit, dit, dit-"because we can."
Gina put her hand down on the sticks, capturing them. Flavia waited a moment and then slid them out again to play the edge of the table.
"Know what you're looking for. Know it." Flavia pushed the mason jar aside. "Know you through the wire, know you for always."
Gina pulled the mason jar back in front of her and held onto it. "I don't think you're fucking ready to know me tonight."
That sharp-enough-to-cut grin. "Toxed enough yet?"
She shook her head slowly. "Not toxed at all. Should've known it would happen someday. I passed the saturation point, can't put a load on anymore. The only thing to do is get myself Purged and start over quick. Before the odometer hits six zeroes."
"Sure." Flavia whacked her on the cheek with one of the sticks. "Feel that?"
Gina gave a short, surprised laugh. "No."
"Toxed enough." Flavia beckoned to someone behind her. "Ready. A little traveling music, please."
Don't do it, she told them as they took her out. Don't fucking do it, crushed in the back of the rental with Claudio and his magic fingers. We do what we do, we do it because we can, don't do it, she said as they took her down into the cellar. Don't do it, Claudio laying her down on the mattress, arranging her comfortably, pausing to kiss her on the mouth. Struck by White Lightning, hope you like your barbecue extra-crispy. Don't do it. The connections were ready in Flavia's practiced hands. Don't do it, she said. Last time: don't do it.
Then they did it.
The brain feels no pain, Good God, y'all, can you believe with me?
They said they could. Claudio's magic fingers, the Fender in Dorcas's grip, Tom holding on to the phantom train, and Flavia beating, beating, beating.
Well, you got it, it's totally painless, but they never mentioned it would feel like painlessly driving eight nails through your head going in and painlessly ripping your arms and legs off coming out again. And they only mentioned what you'd gain, they never mentioned what you'd lose, they never got to that, and what the fuck, even you can't tell sometimes. Right. Because we do what we do, we do it because we can… but do you know what you can do?
You can do this-
– take a little walk with me-
A little way, a long way, invaded, visited, and then left; walk all night, and then run and run and run until you forget. Were you running from something or to it?
Struck by White Lightning. Hope you like your barbecue extra-crispy. (She thought she heard someone yell in pain, but that was ridiculous, that couldn't have been. The brain felt no pain.)
You be the ass to risk. Ever done that? It goes something like this-
But Flavia was already tearing at her, whacking her across the face with the sticks to bring her out of it even as Claudio's magic fingers plucked the wires from her head and threw them down. Flavia yanked her to a sitting position.
"Hey, you. Get her out."
Deja-voodoo. "How the fuck did you find me?" she said.
"Why didn't you wait for me?" Ludovic's face was pained. "Why didn't you come to me?"
"You ask a lot of questions for someone with holes in his head. Hotwire."
He carried her out.
– -
Fez's smile was tired. He was sitting alone in the work island Rosa had set up with Percy directly in front of the screens, which were all dark now. It was some indecent hour of the morning, four maybe, and the inn was dead quiet, except for the faint sound of some hard-core party animals, probably Rude Boys, carrying from somewhere farther up the Mimosa.
"What are you doing here?" she said.
He yawned. "Research. I just wanted a little privacy."
"Oh. Sorry. I'll get out of your face." She turned to go back to her squat.
"No, it's all right. I think I've found out everything I need to know." He jerked his head at her. "Come here. You'll be interested in this."
She sat down on the floor next to him, yawning and wiping her watering eyes. "I don't vouch for my ability to know anything at this hour, but whack it anyway."
He gave her a look. "Going native?"
"Fuck, no." She blinked at the screen of the laptop on the crate in front of him. "Sixteen perfect screens, and you're using Rosa's laptop?"
"I didn't want to put this up where everyone could see it."
She studied the screen for several seconds until she realized it was something from MedLine. "God, I can't read this. It's got words like oedema and homonymous hemianopia in it." She paused as the words sank in, and suddenly she was wide awake. "Hemianopia. That's a visual deficit usually caused by a stroke. You don't see stuff on the left side or the right, depending on which hemisphere of the brain is involved." She looked at Fez. "Oedema is the antiquated spelling of edema-"