05. move
Charlotte Landon doesn’t cry. She gets angry, and she screams. And sometimes the people around her suffer from terrible headaches, or simply die. But they never see her cry.
Hook Waters knows better.
He found her sobbing in the corner after the raid on the warehouse in Delhi, when they found the children in the cages. He remembers holding her silently, trying to steady her shaking body as she gripped his forearm tightly enough to leave an ugly purple bruise. It took twenty minutes for her sobs to die down, for her limbs to stop trembling-it took two weeks for the bruise on his arm to fade.
He remembers the night they demolished the medical facility where they found Milo Peterson strapped to an operating table, plugged into several IVs and a heart monitor, with a variety of nasty-looking surgical tools laid out on the gurney beside him. Whatever procedure they had prevented would no doubt have been an unpleasant one, but Milo was far from the most pitiful or horrifying sight they found that night. No, that would have been the giant walk-in freezer, where they found over a dozen dismembered bodies, most showing obvious signs of having been attacked by Bleeders, Movers, Stitches. The so-called doctors at the facility had been forcing their test subjects to practice on each other, all in the pursuit of the perfect soldier. Several of those “perfect soldiers” were practically comatose now, trapped inside their own heads with the memories of what they’d done.
That night, she was collected and methodical, and showed several of the Division’s agents just how effective a weapon a Bleeder could be. She helped evacuate the last of the living, and stood silently between Hook and Cassie as they watched Nick bring the emptied building to the ground. But several hours later, when Hook went to her room with a tray of food, he found her sitting on her bed, back pressed against the wall and knees pulled up to her chest, the tears streaming steadily down her cheeks. He’d sat with her until the sun began to set again, listening as she vented everything festering inside of her. She had such rage burning in her heart, and her heart was raw and bloody. How could the world be this terrible; how could people like Division hide their atrocities; how was it the entire world didn’t scream out against these injustices?
He had no answers for her then-he has no answers now. He doubts there will ever be answers large enough to encompass the pain in those questions.
It was twilight. Emily shuffled the deck of cards. The repetitive movement was almost hypnotizing-the dimmed lights in the room glinted off the slick leather of her gloves, off the laminated backs of the cards. Hook threw back the last shot of whiskey in his glass before pushing back his chair with a squeak against the worn linoleum.
“Think I’ll call it a night,” he said, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
“It’s barely dark,” Emily pointed out, gesturing to the window.
“But I was following disreputable men in sunglasses the past three nights,” he countered. “And then there was the meeting with Mobius.”
“Ah, yes,” Emily nodded. “That’s more than enough to exhaust anyone. Here, if you’re off to bed you might as well take some water in to Charlotte.”
There was a sharp twist in his chest. “How’s she doing?”
“She never confides in me,” Emily sighed. “Five years, and I doubt she really trusts me. But now that you’re back, she’ll be better. She always is, when you’re around.”
He knocked gently at her door. A short pause, and then: “Come in, Hook.”
“How’d you know?” he asked with a grin as he shut the door softly behind him. The room was darkened, the curtains drawn against the window, only the single bedside lamp on. She slipped a bookmark into a fat paperback with dogeared edges, a smirk on her lips that most would take for cruel humor-but he knows better. Charlotte can be harsh, and ruthless, but she’s not cruel.
“You have a very distinctive knock.”
He looked at her for a moment, her face vague and indistinct in the gloom. He couldn’t be sure, but she looked paler than usual; and yet in spots the skin was reddened and splotchy, as if she’d scrubbed it too hard.
“What are you reading?” he asked with interest, setting the glass of water down on her table and picking up the paperback. “Watership Down. Isn’t this about rabbits?”
“On the surface, yet. But it’s also about finding a home, and fighting to keep it. It was my favorite book as a child; my father would read me a chapter before bed every night.”
“Never read it,” he said. “Perhaps you’ll let me borrow it when you’re finished?”
“Of course. Now sit down, tell me how things went.”
“I made contact with the Boardrats-the group of Bleeders and Movers Cassie saw. On the surface, they’re a bunch of idiot slackers, surfer dudes suffering from peroxide poisoning. But their leader, Josie, she’s got quite a head on her shoulders. She sees the bigger picture and, better yet, she’s heard of us. She agreed to join almost immediately. And that informant in San Diego was right: fell in with Bobby Segal late last night at one of the bars downtown. Seems he’s still smarting from his brother’s death, and he’s more than happy to lend a few crates of guns to the cause.”
“It confounds me how stupid Division can be,” Charlotte said. “Fucking with a crime boss? Does no one in that organization have an ounce of common sense?”
“Their follies are our pots of gold,” Hook said. “They’ve suffered under the delusion that they’re untouchable.”
“We’ve proven that wrong, haven’t we?” she said. “We’ve made them rethink their strategies.”
“We sure have. They have to think on their feet now-and we’ve had more practice at that than they have. We’re getting the upper hand finally. The clock’s already ticking.”
“Can’t wait to hear the death toll,” Charlotte said, her face tightening.
“Cassie should be calling tomorrow,” he went on after a pause. “Touch base, see where we’re standing in terms of D-Day. Shouldn’t be much longer now. A few days, weeks.”
“Go on and spit it out, Hook. I know when you’re hemming.”
“Alright, fine,” he said, meeting her eyes steadily. “Are you okay?”
“Course I am,” she said without hesitation.
“See, I don’t quite believe that. A question like that, after everything that’s happened-a person should have to think for a moment.”
“I’m fine. Really. Everything’s good. As good as it can be, anyway.”
“Emily told me you haven’t been out of this room since I left. That you sleep all day.”
“I’m a night owl-you know that.”
“Charlotte.” He reached for her hand and gripped it tightly, his thumb pressing against the back of her wrist. “It’s fine if you’re not. Okay, I mean. We don’t expect you to get over it in a few days, to just take it in stride. And you know you can talk to me.”
She opened her mouth quickly, then shut it almost as abruptly. She looked away, over at the curtained window, and drew her bottom lip between her teeth. He knew what that meant; he’d seen that nervous tic before.
Charlotte was a Bleeder. Her power was inherently destructive and deadly. A Mover could pull out bars to set someone free, could move fallen rubble to save a trapped child. A Pusher could help someone coping with a terrible tragedy, could convince them the horrible things they’d seen were nothing but a nightmare. A Watcher could prevent a death; a Stitch could heal the wounded. But a Bleeder? A Bleeder could only kill, maim, destroy. There were no upsides, no positives. And when Charlotte felt especially disgusted with herself, when she was struggling with self-loathing and guilt, it would manifest in a variety of ways. She’d bite her tongue. She’d cover her mouth with a firm hand. She’d press her lips together until they were white. All subconscious signals that she was afraid of what she’d do if she only opened her mouth.
“I’ve been having nightmares every night,” she finally said, in a subdued voice. “I’ve been… Duct taping my mouth shut.”
That would explain the red skin, the freshly scrubbed flush. He lifted his other hand to brush her cheek gently, and she pulled away quickly.
“Why are you doing that?” he asked, eyes dark with concern.
“I don’t want to hurt Emily,” she said weakly. “The nightmares are so bad, I’m afraid I’ll wake up screaming.”
“What are the nightmares about?”
“Everything, really. But mostly… The boy. The one in Ohio.”
He nodded in understanding and rubbed the back of her hand in a bracing, warming way. Of all of the dark spots in Charlotte’s life, the Cincinnati incident was easily one of the darkest, not to mention the freshest-it had been barely three weeks. It had been a terrifyingly near brush for them. Three operatives had cornered them at a theatre. In the ensuing scuffle, Emily had shot one and Charlotte had taken care of the other two.
And a young boy, too. A completely innocent bystander who had made the mistake of hiding under his seat when the firing first broke out. Charlotte hadn’t even known he was there until he rolled down the aisle, blood streaming from his ears and eyes. She’d stared down at him in the flickering light of the projector, eyes wide and mouth gaping in horrified shock. Hook had been forced to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out in the end, she was that catatonic.
“Do you want me to get ahold of some sleeping pills? The ones from Dr. Tetsuba ?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t want to chance it.”
“Tetsuba swears that-”
“I don’t care what he swears,” she said angrily. “I don’t care. I don’t want to risk being out of it if we get attacked. I can live with the nightmares-I couldn’t live with that.”
“Alright, alright. …Charlotte, it was an accident. You know this. You know that you’d never willingly harm someone who wasn’t a threat.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that I did it. How old do you think he was? I can’t stop thinking about that. Was he twelve? Thirteen? Fourteen? Was he at least old enough to have gotten his first kiss? Did he get good grades in school, or did he skip class all the time? What do you think he dreamed about doing when he grew up? Did he want to be a salesman, like his father, or did he want to be something bigger and better? A doctor maybe? A lawyer? Maybe he wanted to go out into the world and make a difference, fight for the helpless, heal the sick, or maybe he just wanted to find a nice girl and get married and have four kids and name his first son after his grandfather-”
The breathless outpouring stopped in a strangled sob. She twisted away from him, her dark red hair falling across her face. He didn’t hesitate, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer, smoothing back her hair as she struggled to catch her breath.
“This is a war,” he said quietly, hand moving in soothing circles across her back. “There are casualties on both sides, and there’s collateral damage. We can’t avoid this. And we can’t stop until they’re gone. If we stop, there will just be more killing and pain. It’s a horrible truth, but it won’t change. If you give up or lose hope, Charlotte, that boy would have died for nothing. You have to hold onto that when the nightmares suffocate you.”
Slowly, her breathing steadied. She began to relax in his arms, the hands fisted around his shirt loosening.
“Thank you, Hook,” she whispered against his shoulder, sniffing loudly.
“Emily worries about you, too, you know,” he said.
“I know. It’s just… She doesn’t quite understand. Not the way you do.”
“But maybe you should try talking to her? When I can’t be here? I think it would be good for both of you.” He shifted a little, so the light illuminated her tear-streaked face. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”
“Please,” she said, swallowing thickly.
“Okay. I can do that.”
He kicked his shoes off, tossed his tie onto the chair. She pushed back the comforter and they stretched out, fitting comfortably together like puzzle pieces. She drew his arm over her waist and sighed softly, the remaining tension draining from her. Within moments, she had slipped into an easy sleep.
Hook studied the waves of her hair in the semi-darkness, the pale curve of her ear, until the full weight of his weariness crashed upon him and he, too, sank into the black of unconsciousness.
Emily looked in on them the next morning, smiled, and quietly closed the door. The apartment felt right again; the thrumming tension had dissipated. Things were easier when Hook was around-hard to believe given the man he had been when they’d known each other in Hong Kong. Such a playboy, cardsharp, devil-may-care rogue. But Charlotte had changed him in a way no one else had, not even Cassie. She’d softened his sharp edges, and coaxed out the feeling heart that had been buried beneath the surface glamour.
It was funny, Emily Hu mused: how broken people could make each other whole.