Jay Posey - Morningside Fall

Was this what North had planned? Get them out of the city, and then assume power for himself? Or had he merely taken advantage of the opportunity? The safest thing is for you to leave Morningside, he’d told them. It just didn’t make sense. None of it did.

“I can’t believe it…” Cass said.

“Believe it or not, it’s what is,” Swoop growled.

“No, I mean I simply cannot believe North would betray us.”

“Sister, at this point it doesn’t matter,” Mouse said. He was calm, his tone of voice controlled, disarming. “However you slice it, our timetable’s changed. Right now, we need to focus on our next steps.”

“Next steps is I go back and burn him down,” Swoop said.

“Sure,” Mouse said. “We could do that, Swoop. And you know I’d be right there with you, dying in a hail of gunfire, if I thought it was the right thing to do. But I don’t think this problem is one we can shoot to fix.”

Swoop took a deep breath. “I didn’t say it’d fix anything,” he said as he sat down. “It’d just make me feel a whole lot better.”

We still need to find a place to set up for a while, Able signed.

“Agreed,” Gamble said. “Let’s talk options.”

The group fell into a frank discussion of what lay ahead, and how best to tackle the immediate problem of finding a place to stay, possibly for a more extended period of time than they’d originally planned. They were a team, and as the conversation continued, Cass found herself slipping gradually out of the exchange. This time, however, she didn’t bristle at how little they asked her opinion.

They were in operational planning mode, and she was content to sit back and observe the unique capabilities that Gamble’s team possessed in action. Everyone had their specialties, and that always colored their approach to problem-solving, but even when tension seemed to be running high, the process never slowed down. Cass had never really seen this side of the team before, and she couldn’t help but be impressed. She let them carry on planning, trusting them in their element.

Wren sat on the bed with his back against the wall, resting an arm resting on Painter’s pack next to him. Across from him, Painter was lying on the other bed on his back, with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, his electric eyes casting the room in a faint and soft blue glow. Wren yawned so wide it made one of his eyes water. He shifted his position, sitting up straighter and crossing his legs in front of himself in an effort to keep from falling asleep.

They’d had a brief conversation after Mama had first left, but it hadn’t been about anything important and it’d felt strained. After that, they’d just been sitting quietly together. Wren kept wanting to ask Painter if he was OK, or about what had happened earlier at the compound, but he just couldn’t seem to find the right words. Or the courage. So they just sat together in silence, while Wren tried to figure out what was keeping him from just getting up and leaving.

“What are we d-d-doing, Wren?” Painter asked. His voice wasn’t loud, but it startled Wren anyway.

“How do you mean?” Wren said.

“Out here. On the rrrr, on the run. With these people. Any of it.”

“I’m sorry I got you into this, Painter. I really am. I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t think. I didn’t think about what might happen…”

“No, it’s not that,” Painter said. “I mean… it’s juh, just strange. Like the wrong people had to leave.”

“It wasn’t safe for us to stay.”

“Yeah, but it shhhh, it should’ve been. We’re the good guys, right?” he asked.

Wren thought about that for a moment, wondering what Painter was getting at. “I think so. I try to be.”

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Painter said. “I just… I’m OK nnnn-now. I kind of fruh… freaked out.”

“It’s alright,” Wren said. “You’ve been through a lot lately.”

“So have you. And I’m ssss-still sorry,” Painter said. He pulled a hand out from behind his head and ran it over his face, briefly bathing the room in darkness. He returned to his original position. “Are you g-g-glad you got to ssss-see these people again?”

“Yes,” Wren said, though something pricked his heart. It had been a terrible shock, of course, to see the destruction and to find out about Chapel. But death and loss was nothing new to him, and he had already become numbed, somewhat. The grief seemed distant and faded. There was something else though, sharper, harder to understand. Disappointment. “I guess.”

“Not what you were exp… expecting.”

“Not at all.”

“I know what that’s like. To hope for ssss-ssss…” Painter paused, then took a breath. “To hope for something for so long. And then to fff-find out it’s gone forever.”

Wren nodded. “And… it’s different than I thought it’d be. I thought…” he paused too, searching for the words. What had he thought? The memories he’d had of Chapel’s village, and the way people had treated him then. The feeling that Wren had been part of their community. That he belonged, even if just for a little while. That was gone, too. “I guess it was stupid of me to think it could ever be like it had been before.”

“It’s not sss-stupid, Wren,” Painter said. “It’s human.”

Wren wished that made him feel better. Instead, he kept thinking about Lil sitting with that little girl, Thani. He wasn’t jealous, not really. But it bothered Wren for some reason, just the same. Like he’d been replaced. Like maybe all the memories he had of that time had been a lie.

“I just wanted th-th-things to be like before too. You know?” Painter said after a few moments. “I kept thinking maybe if I juh, just did nnn-normal things. Maybe normal things would mmm-make me feel normal again. And maybe… people would treat me like I was nnn-normal.”

He said people but Wren picked up what he’d left unsaid. His sister, Snow.

“But then… when I c-c-came in that room, and I th-thought they were hurting you… I got angry. And…” He paused. And then, “…I felt alive. Alive, Wren.” Painter turned and looked over at Wren then. “That’s tuh, tuh… that’s terrible, isn’t it?”

A sharp electric chill raced down Wren’s spine, and he shivered once, but violently. “No, it’s not terrible,” he said, but even as he said it, Wren felt that maybe it might be something very terrible indeed. Painter continued to look at him for a long moment. Wren sat very still. Then Painter finally returned his gaze to the ceiling.

“Before…” Painter said. “You know, when I was sssss-still a… you know. I only remember bits and puh, pieces. Little shattered memories. But one thing I remember, I had a p-p-p…” he stopped and shook his head, “a purpose .”

Wren got the feeling that Painter was building up to something. Or rather was trying to confess something, without actually having to say it.

“It’s not like I… don’t… I’m not ssss-saying I want to go back or anything. But, you know, sometimes… parts of it… I miss having a purpose.”

Wren didn’t say anything. But he felt something at work in his mind. Something just behind his conscious thought was nagging at him, threatening to find some kind of hidden connection between Painter’s words that Wren couldn’t identify — but even so, he knew he didn’t want to make.

“It’s unbearable, to have no purpose…” Painter said quietly. “And no hope.”

Against his will, something in Wren’s subconscious put the pieces together, and a sudden black thought erupted to the front of his mind.