Hostage Situation Pt 5 (Patreon)

The video was grainy and wobbled oddly, but I could still make out the face of the man on the screen. His features were hauntingly familiar, but I didn't know whether that was due to wishful thinking or actual memory. His eyes searched the air before him; they held an urgency, a need to reach me, that was echoed in his voice.

The conversation went by far too quickly. I watched his face, listened to his voice. This is my father, I told myself. This is my father.

Even if I hadn't been inclined to believe it before, I did now. He obviously cared more about me as a daughter than as a healer. Everyone else (even Vicky, on occasion) seemed to see me as a source of healing first and a person second. Marquis didn't ignore the existence of my power, but neither did he seem to want to take advantage of it for his own benefit; in fact, he was more interested in telling me how to take advantage of it.

Villain or no, he was quite literally the first person ever to have taken this sort of interest in my well-being. Despite the fact that I hadn't seen him in ten years, he managed to exhibit more paternal qualities in that one short conversation than Mark had in … well, ever.

“I hate to interrupt this,” Dragon told us, “but I'm going to have to shut down the feed. You have two seconds.”

“Talk to you later, Dad,” I said hastily. Without even meaning to, I added, “Love you.”

“Love you too, pum -” was as far as he got before the audio and video cut out. I was left staring at a blank screen.

Pumpkin. He was going to call me pumpkin. The silly little nickname brought tears to my eyes.

“I apologise for the abrupt cutoff.” Dragon's face appeared on the screen. “I became aware that someone was trying to hijack the feed for their own ends, so I had to initiate a hard shutdown.”

“Wow, really?” Vicky's eyes widened. “Someone out-hacked you?”

Dragon's face took on a pained expression. “It's been known to happen. I hope the conversation was to your liking?”

I blinked, realising that the question had been directed toward me. “Oh, uh, yes. Thank you. That was … that was amazing. He's my dad. He really wants to be my dad.” The feeling of wonder was still inside me.

“I got that impression as well.” Dragon smiled sadly. “I …” She paused. “I hope things work out for you.”

“Me too,” I said. “Uh, would you be able to ask the Chief Director when I can talk to him next?”

“It may not be for a little while,” Dragon replied. “As part of the shutdown, I had to destroy the nanobots, to ensure that nobody else could make use of them.”

“Well, when you find out who tried to hack in, let me know and I'll go pummel them a bit for you,” Vicky offered blithely. “And give them a wedgie. Behemoth style.”

“I'm not sure if I want to know,” Dragon replied hesitantly.

Vicky grinned. “It's where I take off straight up, holding on to their underwear.” Her grin widened as she paused for a beat. “Only their underwear.”

I winced. “That sounds painful.” And knowing Vicky, she'd do just that.

“It certainly does.” Dragon's mouth twitched, as if she was having trouble not laughing. “If and when I locate the trouble, I'll certainly think about having you deal with it. In the meantime, I have to make sure that the rest of my systems are clean, so goodbye for now.”

“Bye!” Vicky replied, waving cheerfully.

“Yeah, bye. And thanks.” I wasn't feeling nearly as happy as my sister sounded. Reality was starting to intrude once more.

“You're welcome.” Dragon's face winked out as the screen went dark.

“Well, that was kinda cool,” Vicky observed. “And your dad was fun to talk to.”

“Mmm.” I barely heard what she said. He's still in the Birdcage. And I'm out here.

“Hey, Ames. Earth Bet to Ames. You okay, sis?” Vicky put an arm around my shoulders; I let myself be drawn into the hug.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” I suppressed a sniffle. “It's just a bit overpowering, you know?”

There was a knock on the door of the conference room. We both looked around as the door opened, and the Director stumped into the room. Following her were Armsmaster, Lady Photon and Flashbang.

“Well, you've spoken with Marquis,” Director Piggot stated flatly. Armsmaster pulled out a chair for her; she lowered herself into it. “Are you still set on your course to have him released?”

I nodded tentatively. “I think so, yes. He wants to see me, to talk to me. He's interested in my well-being.”

“Uh, we're all interested in your well-being, Amy.” That was Mark, sounding a little hurt.

“Damn straight!” chimed in Vicky.

“You know what I meant,” I sighed. “He's been in the Birdcage for ten years, and he still wants what's best for me.”

Vicky seemed to consider that. “Well, I have to say, he didn't really come across as the ogre that Mom paints him as.”

Aunt Sarah cleared her throat. “Your mother has a certain … fixation … on the man. It's what kept us going at him until we finally beat him.”

“And pushed you to break the unwritten rules to get it done,” I pointed out. “Also, to use the fact that he doesn't hurt women against him. Which is kind of a dick move, when you think about it.”

My aunt winced, but Mark nodded in agreement. “Yes. The unwritten rules held less weight then. And we weren't totally comfortable with using that against him, but it really was the only way we had of getting an edge over him.”

Director Piggot waved a hand impatiently, drawing all eyes to her. “This has all the makings of a circular argument. I'm calling a halt to it. Panacea, we've held up our end of the bargain. Are you ready to hold up yours?”

“Sure, for six more days,” I said. “After that, where do we go?”

“That's up to the Chief Director,” Piggot replied bluntly. “Marquis was a big name, back in the day. I never had to deal with him, but I've read the files. If we decide to release him, it's unlikely that the information will stay secret forever.”

“If?” I repeated. I didn't like the sound of that.

“Yes, if,” Armsmaster stated flatly. “We still have not decided beyond a doubt that this is what we're doing.” He paused, and I got the distinct impression that he was giving me a disapproving stare. “What you are proposing is well beyond reducing the sentence on someone who's been sent to an ordinary prison. It is quite literally without precedent.”

“Well, it's not like there's anyone else who can do what I'm doing,” I pointed out. Vicky opened her mouth and I went on hastily. “Without committing a crime, I mean.” She shut up.

“Put us under pressure, you mean,” Director Piggot said. “Blackmail us.”

“I didn't create the situation,” I pointed out. “And it's not blackmail. I just want my dad back. Is that so much to ask?”

“Amy, it's nowhere near as simple as that, and you know it,” Mark put in, trying to sound reasonable.

“What it sounds like is you guys trying to back out of the deal now that I've agreed to it,” I blurted. “Is that what's happening here?”

The Director shook her head. “No, but we are going to be going over every aspect of the situation, every nuance of that conversation, every potential outcome. And we are going to be working to determine whether releasing Marquis from the Birdcage will result in an overall positive or negative outcome for society.”

“If he promises me that he won't commit any crimes, and he sticks to that, how is that a negative?” I demanded. I looked at Armsmaster. “You can tell if he was telling the truth, can't you?”

He looked pained. “As far as I could ascertain, he was being sincere, yes. But that's not the only factor in play here.”

“People finding out,” Vicky guessed, about one second ahead of me. “That'll kick over a huge ant's nest.”

Director Piggot put her hands flat on the table. “It borders on an absolute certainty that once people find out that a supervillain was released from the Birdcage, there will be a backlash.”

“There's things we can do, right?” I looked from one face to another, trying not to sound as though I was pleading. “He can get plastic surgery. A new identity.” I nearly blurted out that I could provide the plastic surgery, but held back just in time.

“Until the first time he uses his powers,” Aunt Sarah pointed out gently. “Marquis is famous – or infamous – for being the osteokinetic. I've never heard of another one since. And you're assuming that he'll submit to letting his release be kept secret.”

“Well, we won't know that until I can talk to him again, right?” The room was suddenly stifling. I stood up, shoving my chair back. “Right now, I feel like I'm in a minority of one here, and I don't like it. I'm leaving now, okay?”

“Where are you going?” asked Mark.

“Away from here.” I headed for the door. Nobody spoke up, but everyone seemed to be staring. To my surprise, it didn't really bother me. I stopped with my hand on the door handle and turned back to face the adults. “I'll be in touch. Let me know when someone needs healing. I'll be holding up my end of the bargain. It's up to you to hold up yours.”

“Wait up,” Vicky called out as I turned the handle. “I'm coming with.” Her chair fell over as she vaulted into the air, clearing the table with ease. I stepped out through the open door; Vicky joined me a few seconds later.

“So where are you going?” she asked curiously as we headed along the corridor.

“Dunno,” I grunted, my hands in my pockets.

She either didn't pick up on the body language or didn't care. “So yeah, that was a pretty intense conversation. Your, uh, Marquis had some interesting views on how you should be using your powers. Though I'm still a bit dubious about the concept of you charging people for healing. I mean, that's gotta be illegal right? Child labour laws and all that?”

“I'm sixteen,” I pointed out. “We're sixteen.” Vicky was only two months older than me, but she'd never let me forget it. “I can legally charge for my services.”

“But …” Vicky grimaced. “It still feels wrong, you know? What if I decided to charge for being a superhero? Stop that robbery? That'll be five hundred in the hand, thanks. Save that kitten from that tree? Sorry, kid, but fifty cents just won't cut it.”

“Maybe if we did it that way, they'd appreciate us more,” I ventured. “At the very least, they wouldn't take us for granted.”

“But they don't take you for granted,” Vicky protested. “Everyone treats you with respect.”

I rolled my eyes. “Because I'm part of New Wave. But they still don't hesitate to ask me to heal this person and heal that person. And there's always the pressure, the expectation, to be a hero, to do the right thing. No matter what it costs me.”

Vicky stared at me. “What do you mean, cost? It doesn't cost you anything.”

“It costs me me.” I put my hand flat on my chest. “Up until I met Mr Jones, my life revolved around being the healer. I can't remember the last person I healed – before the Wards, of course. I certainly can't remember their injuries. It's all a blur. I wanted to stop, but I didn't know how.”

“But you heal everyone you can.” Vicky looked confused. “What do you mean, you wanted to stop?”

“I used to heal everyone I could, because I thought that if I didn't, it would make me a bad person. That's how I felt, anyway.” My voice was flat. “I'd lie awake, feeling guilty because there were people in the hospital that I could be healing right now, and I wasn't, so I was letting them down. So I'd go there, and heal them. And they all expected me to. Well, that's done. I'm over that.” We had reached the lift; I pressed the button to go down.

“Where are we going?” asked Vicky.

“I'm thinking I maybe want to go down to the Boardwalk. I need to walk and think.”

“I'll give you a lift,” she offered immediately.

I hesitated, then shook my head. “I think I need to be alone for this. And if you get me down there, you'll stay. You'll hover over me.”

“I do not hover over you!” protested Vicky.

“If not literally, then figuratively,” I pointed out. “You do. You really do. And I appreciate it. But … this time, I need to be on my own.”

“I don't get this.” Vicky shook her head. “You've changed. You're different. I don't like it.”

“Because I've decided not to be everyone's healing doormat?” Immediately I said that, I wished that I could unsay it, because it had come out far too snarky. Also, the phrase 'healing doormat' didn't sound nearly as good out loud as it had in my head.

“That's not it at all!” Vicky sounded hurt, but also just a little defensive. Yeah, it kinda is. “You're my sister. This whole bullshit thing is pushing us apart.”

And given the way I feel about you, that might not be a bad thing.

I grimaced, then took a deep breath. Don't say it. Don't say it. That's a can of worms I can never close up again. “I'm sorry you feel that way, Vicky. Of course we're still sisters. I've just got things I need to work out in my head. Alone. Okay?”

The lift arrived, the Tinkertech doors opening. She looked at me with puppy-dog eyes as I stepped in, but she didn't follow me. “Okay,” she said, sounding pretty subdued. “See you tonight?”

“See you tonight,” I agreed, as the doors closed once more.

The lift dropped like a rock, which was a fairly apt analogy for my emotional state at that time.

<><>

“So what's got you all worked up?”

Geoff didn't look around as Mags wandered up to peer over his shoulder. “Dragon had a line into the Birdcage,” he muttered. He typed a command, saving a file.

“Dragon runs the Birdcage,” Mags reminded him. “Pretty sure that's not earth-shattering news.” She sipped from her coffee. “So, to repeat, why the tizzy?”

He stopped and turned in his chair to look at her. “It wasn't one of the regular lines. There was a two-way voice link, with one-way video. One that Dragon destroyed when I tried to get control over it. I haven't actually decrypted the file yet so I don't know who was talking to whom. But -”

“Wait.” Mags sat down, her coffee forgotten. “Dragon let someone in the Birdcage have a private conversation with someone on the outside? Isn't that kind of against the law? I thought that one of its rules was that it couldn't break the law.”

His expression was something like a smile, except with more teeth. “That's something we're going to have to look into, once I've checked out the content of the conversation. It might be that it's beginning to slip its leash.”

“Ascalon,” she said. It wasn't quite a question.

“If I have to, yes,” he agreed. “Unchained, Dragon could be a danger to the whole world.”

“Not to mention us,” she pointed out. “After all, we've stolen enough Dragon tech over the last few years to outfit our own PRT base. AI or otherwise, I'm pretty sure that we're on its radar in a big way.”

“All in a good cause, my dear Mags,” he reminded her. “Okay, this may take a while, but let's see if we can't find out what we've got here.” Selecting the file, he began running the first decryption program past it.

<><>

There weren't many people around as I meandered along the Boardwalk. The breeze had not yet shifted from onshore to offshore, so the smell of salt air and rotting seaweed was strong in my nostrils. Even though I was out of costume, my face wasn't quite the Internet icon that Vicky's was, so the most I got was the occasional do I know you? look from passers-by. I figured this was partly because I didn't get involved in cape battles – the bank robbery excepted, of course – and partly because my costume usually covered all but the top half of my face.

Actually, wait a moment, the oddball side of my brain interjected. When exactly did I make the choice to wear a burqa? Or was it chosen for me?

That was a line of thought I could pursue later. My choices from now on were going to be my choices, not 'we know what's best for you, dear' choices. Even if I made crappy decisions, I decided that I'd be happier knowing that I'd made that decision.

And right now, I didn't want to be Panacea. In fact, I could do without being Panacea for as long as I could manage. Panacea wanted to heal everyone, and couldn't. Being Panacea was endless exhaustion, and worse.

Choice number one. I'm not Panacea, right now. I'm not Amy Dallon, either. I'm Amelia Lavere.

Leaning my elbows on the rail, I stared out to where moonlight reflected on the small waves. The conversation with Marquis, with my father, had rattled me harder than I'd thought it would. A month ago, I would have rejected the idea out of hand. I'd been a superhero, and proud of the fact. Good was good and evil was evil, and I knew which side of the fence I was on. In fact, I had been almost obsessed with the idea, given my doubts about my mental state.

The trouble was, if a hero begins to think that she is edging toward evil, to whom does she turn? Other heroes? Villains? I hadn't known of anyone that I could trust to unburden myself to.

That is, until Fred Jones appeared on my horizon. That one wizened old man had turned my worldview upside down and inside out, all without quite intending to do so. In doing so, he had listened to my own doubts, and had addressed them in his own inimitable style.

Heroes couldn't have helped me. Villains probably wouldn't have bothered to try. Fred, an unrepentant ex-henchman with an amazing repertoire of anecdotes from the Bad Old Days, had done more for me than anyone else could have, I suspected. Without his assistance and advice, I doubted that I would have gotten through the bank robbery as well as I had. Or that I would have had the courage to face Director Piggot and make my demands.

Of course, I'd never expected to be able to talk to my father. Having the PRT make that concession was just a hint at how badly they wanted me – or rather, my healing – to be freely available once more. Though I was pretty sure that they hadn't known how the conversation was going to go.

I couldn't help smiling. Dad – Marquis – had seen right through me, for all that I was the one with the video link. And, like a typical dad, he'd done his best to give me helpful advice. The amazing thing was that, despite coming from an incarcerated villain to a self-doubting hero, the advice was actually good. I didn't have to heal for free. I didn't have to heal at all if I didn't want to. Of course, becoming a rogue and charging for my services would almost certainly cause a major upheaval, both within New Wave and in the public perception of Panacea -

“My purse! Stop! Help!”

<><>

“Dragon.”

“Chief Director.”

“I presume this call has to do with the hack attempt on the video link.”

“It does.”

“Do you know who?”

“I have a short list. I'll let you know when I have more data.”

“Do you think whoever it is got any part of that conversation?”

“I'll know that when I locate the hacker.”

“Keep me posted.”

“I will. And if I spot any part of that conversation online, that'll give me a good point to backtrace.”

Rebecca's lips tightened. “Do you think they'd post it? What's on there could be incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“It was encrypted. And even if they do decrypt and post it, it will be child's play to create several more clips that showcase other ridiculous ideas. It will be just one of many.”

“All it requires is for one idiot to believe it.”

“Which is why I'm doing my best to follow the electronic trail.”

“Any luck?”

“Not so far. I keep running into dead ends.”

“I can supply you with Thinkers to assist, if you wish.”

“No, I think I can handle it. But I appreciate the offer.”

“Not a problem. Keep me posted.”

“Of course. Good luck.”

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

<><>

I barely had time to turn around. There was a woman with a stroller, about thirty yards away. She was pointing at the teenage kid who was sprinting toward me, a bright yellow handbag under his arm. I had just enough time to register that he was about my age and had a shaved head. He may have been wearing Empire Eighty-Eight colours, but I wasn't looking for that.

Almost, I went to step back. In all my time with New Wave, it had been impressed into me that Panacea was a healer. She didn't go into combat. I was to let the others – all of whom had both defensive and offensive powers, which I thought was totally unfair – handle the rough stuff, while I cleaned up afterward.

But here I was, a crime was being committed, and there were no heroes around. Except for me.

I could step back. Nobody would blame me. I'm not a fighter. I'm not even in costume.

But something ignited within me. It was a familiar sensation; I'd felt it the day before, when I picked up a fire extinguisher to attack the bug controller. Maybe it was something that Fred Jones had inspired in me, or maybe I was just sick of being pushed around all the time.

Panacea would step back. But I'm not Panacea right now. I'm Amelia Lavere. I'm Marquis' daughter. And Marquis never stepped back for anyone.

Before I had quite realised what I was going to do, I had moved into his path. The kid was grinning; he had weight and height on me. One on one, he'd win a physical contest. Of course, that required me to give him one. I wasn't feeling that accommodating.

He was moving too fast to swerve around me, so he put out his arm to shove me aside or to push me over; I wasn't sure which. This let me grab his arm.

Normally, I took my time in getting an impression of someone's body, so I could be sure of getting all the information I needed. With this kid, I didn't bother. The instant that I connected with his biology, I made one tiny change. That was all that I had time for, before the heel of his hand collided with my breastbone. I went over backward, recalling belatedly to protect my head; it was still sore from yesterday.

The impact knocked the wind out of me; landing on my back did a more thorough job of it. I lay there, wheezing like an asthmatic, watching fuzzily as the purse-snatcher ran off down the Boardwalk.

“Oh my god! Are you all right?” It was the woman with the stroller. She knelt down beside me. “Did he hurt you?”

“'m fine.” I concentrated on breathing, wondering why I seemed to be intent on collecting a whole set of new bruises. “Jus' winded.”

“You were so brave, trying to stop him.” She looked at me, concern in her face. “Are you sure you're all right?”

“Uh huh,” I grunted. “Help me up. Let's go get your bag back.”

She grimaced. “No such luck. He's long gone.”

“Maybe not. Help me up, please.”

With her assistance, and using the rail to pull me up, I managed to get to my feet. Once I got upright, I realised we were about the same height. She had mousy brown hair and a worried look on her face. There was also something else that I noticed, but filed away for later attention. “Maybe you should sit down for a bit.”

“I'll be fine,” I assured her. Shading my eyes, I peered down the Boardwalk. “Isn't that him there?”

“What? Where?” She stared in the same direction.

“The guy there. Lying down.” I started down the Boardwalk. “Come on, before someone else decides to pick up your purse.”

“How did that happen?” she asked as she followed; I slowed down a little to allow for the stroller. “Did he trip or something?”

As we got closer, her confusion became more evident. It wasn't surprising; he was just lying there, as if he had just chosen to lie down and go to sleep.

“It's possible, I guess,” I agreed, working to keep a straight face. “Is that your purse?”

“It is!” Swooping in, she snatched it up. Unzipping it, she checked through it, delight showing on her face. “Everything's here.”

“Good.” I knelt down beside the purse-snatcher and checked his pulse. It was steady and strong, although he wasn't waking up any time soon. Nor would he, until I chose otherwise. “Want to call the cops on this guy?”

She looked doubtful. “He's just a kid …”

“This wasn't his first bag-snatch,” I pointed out. “He's been doing this for a while. And he'll keep on doing it, if someone doesn't give him a wake-up call. Pretty soon he'll be mugging people, and then someone might get hurt. With luck, it'll be him, but probably not.”

“Hmm, true.” Pulling a phone from her purse, she made the call. In the meantime, I took the opportunity to sit down on a nearby bench. Truth be told, I was still a little wobbly from the hard landing on the Boardwalk, and the hit I had taken the day before hadn't helped at all.

“ … where Smith Street joins the Boardwalk,” the lady with the stroller said, the phone held to one ear while she rolled the stroller back and forth reflexively with the other. “He's fallen and knocked himself out, I think. Yes, I'll wait here. Thank you.”

She put the phone away and moved over to the bench; I made room for her. Not sure what to say next, I looked down at her child. “She's very cute,” I offered, deciding that pink fittings and jumpsuit equalled baby girl.

“She's my world,” she replied with a fond smile, directed mainly at the infant, before she became serious once more. “I want to thank you for trying to stop him. I'm just sorry you got hurt.”

“I'll heal,” I told her with a halfway grin at my own phrasing. “I think maybe I distracted him and he wasn't watching where he was going.”

By the time I finished speaking, I realised that something had given me away. She was staring at me with a growing surmise in her eyes. “I know you, don't I?”

I didn't know whether to confirm or deny it. “I, uh -”

“You're with New Wave. The healer. Panacea.” Her voice was certain.

“Well, yes and no,” I said without much conviction in my voice.

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, that clears things up nicely.”

“I, uh, that's me, but I'm kind of taking a break from being Panacea at the moment,” I confessed. “I want to be me before I can be Panacea again, but right now I don't know who me is, so I'm trying to find out.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Believe it or not, I understand how you feel. In a roundabout way.” After a pause, her eyes widened and she looked over at the recumbent bag-snatcher. “Did you … do something to him? Is that why he isn't waking up?”

I felt something akin to panic. My power was 'heal anything except the brain'; that was the public perception, anyway. It pigeon-holed me in their eyes, but at the same time shielded me from awkward questions and requests.

People accepted that, especially after it was made public that I could cure cancer. And HIV for that matter, but cancer got all the publicity. I didn't see why; either way, it was just a matter of dealing with biology. Whatever the reason, it seemed that 'cures cancer' was a bigger deal than 'cures HIV', which seemed weird to me. It wasn't as though cancer was contagious.

But now I'd been caught out doing something that just didn't fit into the 'healer' model that the public understood. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. “I, uh, maybe?”

She looked back at me, taking in my expression in a moment. “You did do something,” she murmured. “Did you turn his brain off or something?”

“No – no!” I exclaimed. “I, uh, I can't do brains.”

Which was a flat-out lie, but one that I held closely to. The only other person who knew that I could do brains but didn't was Vicky. She didn't really understand why I wanted it kept quiet, so I kind of hinted that it was complicated and I was scared of messing things up.

That was also a lie, of course. I knew exactly how to modify the brain to get the effect that I wanted. Worse, I knew that it would be easy. The reason I didn't want to start messing with brains was that I was scared I would never want to stop. We all wish that people would act the way we want them to; I could make that happen. And it scared the hell out of me.

“Well, he doesn't seem to be waking up, and you don't seem to be worried that he will,” she observed. “What did you do?”

“I, uh, repurposed his adrenal glands,” I confessed. “They don't produce epinephrine any more. Now they produce ketamine.”

This wasn't exactly something that many people knew I could do. Nor was it something I advertised. Healing, yes. Remodelling no. But now it seemed that an impulsive act was going to let the cat out of the bag.

The expression on her face, however, wasn't accusatory or even judgemental. She seemed to be … approving. “I like it,” she decided. “Very neat. He's excited, so his adrenals are pumping out at full capacity. The more excited he is, the faster the ketamine hits him.”

I blinked. This was not what I had expected. “I, uh, I don't do this sort of thing very often. Or at all,” I confessed.

One eyebrow hitched upward. “You picked a good time to start. From my point of view, anyway.”

“Yeah, well.” I nodded awkwardly. “I seem to be doing a lot of things recently that I normally wouldn't do.”

She gave me a sympathetic look. “Want to talk about it?”

It struck me as incongruous that a total stranger on the Boardwalk would be the first person to actually ask me that question, and want to hear the answer. I considered telling her about Fred, but decided that she might not get it, not if I left anything out. And I really wasn't sure about telling her about Marquis. So I decided to cut to the chase.

“Okay. Long story short, my life got turned upside down. I met someone who … let's just say, I learned some really crucial information about who I am. And other stuff. So now, I feel the same as before, but everything else looks different. So it's really me that must have changed. People want me to be the same as I was before, but I don't want to be that person any more. I want to be more. I want to find out who me is, and be that person. Am I making sense? Because if I'm not, feel free to tell me.” I stopped talking, hoping that my babbling hadn't scared her off.

She was staring at me, eyes just a little wider than normal. “Oh, you're making sense all right,” she said. “I know exactly how you feel. I had my own life-changing experience a while ago. And I've been trying to figure out where I fit in. Because I certainly don't fit in where I was.”

“You … you have?” I asked. “Can I ask -”

“What my experience was?” She smiled. “Can't you tell?” Leaning down to the stroller, she caressed the sleeping baby's cheek. “Having Aster changed my life utterly.” 

Part 6