I, Panacea Pt 3 (Patreon)

As the car rolled down her street, Amy felt the presence within her mind stir a little. When he 'spoke', his voice was calm, measured. So what's on your mind?

She was a little surprised. Can't you hear my every thought? You are in my head, after all.

The mental impression of a head-shake. Not if it's not at the front of your mind. You're not hearing everything I'm thinking, you know.

Oh. It was something - no pun intended - to think about. I've been thinking about what you've told me.

Oh. Well, that's good. Do you have any questions?

How serious are you that I should contact the Undersiders?

Utterly. You can help them, and I think they can help you.

The car pulled into the driveway, and Mark Dallon set the park brake and turned off the engine. Then he turned and looked at her. "You've been really quiet, Amy girl," he observed. "Something on your mind?"

Jarred out of the silent conversation, Amy blinked. "I, uh, a lot of things to think about after that bank robbery, Dad," she temporised. "Just working stuff out for myself."

He nodded. "Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, you know I'm always here."

She smiled. "Thanks, Dad."

"How's your head?"

Gingerly, she touched the lump; it was still quite sore. "I'll live."

Smiling, he clasped her shoulder for a moment. "That's good." He opened his door and got out; after a moment, she followed suit.

Entering the house, she made her way to her room and closed the door firmly, before sitting on the bed.

Okay, she formulated the thought, you say that the Undersiders can help me. How would they do that? And more importantly, why? I nearly helped capture two of them.

He was silent for a moment. Can we just go with 'can help you' for the time being? I don't think your trust level for them is very high at the moment, so anything I told you would be coloured through that perspective.

She paused, thinking about that. He was right, of course. The Undersiders were villains. They had robbed a bank, right in front of her. And that wasn't even counting what the girl called Skitter had done to her and Vicky. Of course I don't trust them. Why should I?

I can't give you a reason that you can depend on, right now, he replied. All I can do is ask you to keep an open mind.

What if I said I don't trust you, either?

A sigh. Then we're doomed.

She was startled. What?

His voice was sombre. If you can't trust me, if you won't follow my advice, then we're going to follow the same path of miscommunication and mistrust. Vicky will end up under care in an asylum, and you'll have yourself voluntarily admitted to the Birdcage. Thousands, tens of thousands, of people will likely die.

She was shaken by the sadness, the sincerity in his tone. What? That's not possible. What happens to Vicky?

You do.

No. I don't believe you. You're lying.

Not sure that I can, not about important things. Not to you.

Important things? You mean, you've lied to me about unimportant things?

A tinge of something like embarrassment. My name. 'Michael Allen' isn't my real name. But I used it for so long, the last time I was here, that I kind of used it by reflex this time.

She wondered briefly what he meant by 'the last time I was here', but decided to shelve the matter for another time. So what's your real name?

He told her.

Really? But that's -

Yeah. Look, it's not important. Call me whatever you like. We need to sort out what's going to happen right now. I can't force you to trust me, and I can't prove something that's not gonna happen for months. But we need to work together on this.

Her tone was bitter. Can't you just force me to do it? Control my body so I go where you think I should go, do what you say I need to do? It's not like I'll have any real say in the matter, after all.

No.

She frowned, puzzled. What? But before, you -

His tone was patient. I could, easily. But I won't. I choose not to. If we're going to work together on this, it's not going to be a master-slave situation. Equal partners. And I want you to be able to know that I won't abuse that control.

Oh. She considered his words for a minute. Okay. Standing up from the bed, she went to the closet. Can I change back to street clothes now, or are you going to freak out again?

A sigh. Right. Thanks for the warning.

As she opened the closet and pulled clothing out, she felt him retreat a little. His voice started up, again, reciting another poem, with which she was also unfamiliar.

On the outer Barcoo, where churches are few, and men of religion are scanty ...

She listened to the recital curiously as she changed, a smile crossing her face at some of the humorous verses. When she had finished, she raised her mental 'voice' slightly. Done.

Oh, good. He stopped reciting.

Now I'm going to talk to Mom and Dad. Mark and Carol.

Wait, what? What about?

You'll see.

His tone was concerned. It's not about me, is it? Because I really don't think this is a great time -

She cut him off. It's not about you. Trust me.

After a long moment, he replied. Okay, I trust you.

She relaxed just a little at that. The last thing she needed was for him to be grabbing control at an inopportune moment.

Leaving her room, she headed down the corridor to the head of the stairs. For a moment, she debated getting Vicky out of her room. She deserves to know this, too.

Know what?

You'll see. In the end, she decided to leave her sister in peace. There's always later.

Heading down the stairs, she saw her father in the living room, reading the paper, or at least looking at it. "Dad?" she asked. "Where's Mom?"

"I'm in the kitchen," Carol Dallon called out, before Mark could answer. "What do you need, Amy?"

Amy got to the bottom of the stairs and went into the kitchen. "I need to talk to the both of you, please?"

Carol, apron-clad and with a smudge of flour on her nose, opened the oven and peered in. Cooking smells wafted over Amy. "That smells nice," she told her mother. "What are you making?"

"A batch of cookies, to cheer your sister up," Carol informed her. "Can it wait?"

"Not really, but it shouldn't take long," Amy informed her. If I wait too long, I won't be able to go through with it.

With what?

You'll see.

Hm. Okay. He fell silent again.

Carol huffed a sigh of impatience. "Well, okay. What's it about?"

"I need to talk to both of you," Amy stressed. "Dad, too."

For a moment, she thought Carol was going to refuse, but she sighed again and twisted a clockwork egg-shaped timer to three minutes, and put it on the bench. "I can't leave these go for too long," she pointed out, then took off the apron.

Yeah, Amy thought dryly. And I notice you didn't make any to cheer me up.

The voice inside her head declined to comment, in a very pointed manner.

When they came out into the living room, Mark was still looking at the paper; as far as Amy could tell, he had not even turned the page.

"Mark," Carol began, “Amy's got something she needs to talk to us about.”

Mark looked up mildly and folded the paper. “Okay, Amy girl,” he invited. “What's up?”

Amy moved to where she could look both her foster parents in the face. “I want to know my father's name.”

There was a long, long silence. Amy fancied she could hear dust motes touching down on the table.

Well, holy shit. I am impressed.

She was irrationally pleased. Didn't expect that, did you?

No. No, I did not.

Was it the wrong thing to say?

On balance, I don't think so. But this is gonna be interesting.

Carol found her voice first. “Why do you ask that, Amy?”

Amy frowned. “Isn't it obvious? I want to know.”

You want to know if they'll actually come clean, after hiding it all this time.

Well, duh. Now shut up, I don't want to be distracted.

Mark glanced at Carol. “Would it be such a bad thing to tell her?” he asked. “After all, she is sixteen. Nearly an adult.”

Carol shook her head convulsively. “No.” She looked Amy directly in the eye. “It's better that you do not know, Amy. Better that the world doesn't know.”

“Why?” challenged Amy. “Because he's a supervillain? Because he's in the Birdcage? What possible reason could there be for keeping that from me?”

Carol went several shades whiter, until her face almost matched the dab of flour on her nose. “Who told you?” she whispered. “How did you know?”

Amy shook her head. “It doesn't matter. It really, really doesn't. What I want to know is, why won't you tell me?”

Mark opened his mouth. “Amy girl -” He stopped when Carol made a sharp gesture.

“Amy.” Carol's voice was low and controlled. “Yes, your father is a supervillain. We made the decision years ago not to tell you, when you were showing signs of forgetting who he actually was, so that you could live a normal life, without that burden hanging over you. So that you wouldn't have the doubt in your mind, am I like him?”

Amy shook her head again. “No, Carol,” she snapped. Carol's lips tightened, at Amy's tone. “You did it so that you wouldn't have to worry about me turning out like him.” She paused, deliberately. “Like Marquis.” She looked from Carol to Mark and back again. “Only you never forgot it, did you? You never stopped wondering if I was going to turn out like him anyway. So you treated me like I was going to.”

“Amy girl.” That was Mark. “I didn't … we didn't ...”

Amy gave him a sad smile. “No, you didn't. But you're only half the partnership here.” She turned back toward Carol. “You never, ever said that you loved me. You never hugged me. You've always pushed me to do better, to work harder, to try to please you, so that I would earn the same praise that Vicky always earned just by being Vicky.”

Carol found her voice. “I never made you -”

“No, you didn't,” Amy overrode her. “I loved you. Don't you understand? You were my mother figure. I wanted you to love me back, to approve of me, to hold me. I always thought that if I did a bit better, did exactly what I was told every single day, you might give me just a little of what Vicky got every single day of her life.”

The egg timer went off in the kitchen. Everyone jumped.

Amy took a deep breath. “Well, time's up,” she announced bitterly. “I'm going out.”

Mark stumbled to his feet. “Wait, Amy girl,” he told her. “I'll drive you -”

She shook her head. “Sorry. This is a 'me time' thing. I'll bus it.” Again, she gave him a sad smile. “Thanks for the talk.”

Grabbing her jacket, she turned and headed for the door. It banged shut behind her.

<><>

Amy sat at the bus stop, waiting for the next bus to come.

Well, holy shit.

You said that before.

That was surprise. This time it was deep admiration.

What – really? I thought that went terribly.

There was a chuckle. There was no real way for that to go well, kiddo. But you didn't shout or scream, you got your message across, and you left before they could think up an appropriate rebuttal.

I was terrified. I think I nearly threw up.

Well, you didn't. So you did good.

Thanks. I think. Have I just alienated them?

Hmm, let me think. Have you just alienated the two people who spent the last ten years of your life hiding an important fact from you? Possibly. Did they deserve what you just said to them? Almost definitely. Will they treat you any differently? Well, it would be hard for them to treat you worse.

She blinked at that. I … I guess you're right.

How do you feel, now that you've gotten that off your chest?

Weird. I mean, I'm terrified of what's going to happen when I go home -

Eh. Walk in, pretend everything's normal. You'd be amazed how often that works.

And if they don't pretend everything's normal?

There was amusement in his tone. I don't think they'll be wanting to raise that particular topic again in a hurry, will they?

She thought about it. No, I don't suppose so. She paused. So, where are we going?

There was a pause. Uh, I don't know. You're driving, remember?

You said that I needed to reach out to the Undersiders. I'm reaching out.

What, really?

Yes. Really. Unless you were lying to me.

No, no, god no. I'm just a little surprised at your go-getter attitude all of a sudden. And pleased. Very pleased.

She hid a smile. I'm a bit surprised, too. It's amazing what a little revelation about one's origins will do. So, which bus?

Um, crap, I never actually memorised the bus schedule. She felt him take control of her head, and her eyes scanned the laminated sheet posted up on the bus stop wall. Unbidden, her finger rose to point. I think that one there will get us to the north ferry terminal, right?

You do know that the ferry's been shut down for the last sixteen years or so, right?

I know that. We're walking from there. It's about twenty minutes or so. Maybe half an hour.

That's not a good part of town.

So we'll walk fast.

I'm beginning to think this was a bad idea.

We can go back, if you want.

She set her jaw. No. We go on.

A mental impression of a smile. That's my girl.

<><>

Lisa raised her head. “Someone's -”

Rachel's dogs burst into furious barking. Claws scrabbled on hardwood flooring as they bounded to their feet and ran toward the spiral staircase. It wasn't something they could negotiate in a hurry, but they kept barking as they descended the stairs.

“- out at the front,” she concluded.

Taylor turned her head slightly. “Yeah. Not an adult. A teenager, I think.” She paused. “They're alone. No-one within fifty yards. A hundred.”

“Banging on the door with a rock,” Lisa added. “She really wants to get in.”

“'She'?” asked Brian. “Really?”

“And she's right-handed, about five-four, and … sixteen years old,” Lisa retorted with an impudent grin, one that curled the corners of her mouth up.

Brian came to his feet; Lisa followed. Alec looked up as Brian put the game controller down. “Oh, man,” he complained. “We just got to the end of level boss, too!”

“Do we let her in?” asked Lisa. “She knows we're here.”

Brian's lips tightened. “Rachel, come on,” he snapped. “Let's get downstairs and see what this girl wants.”

“Should we mask up?” asked Taylor, a little nervously. “Does this sort of thing happen much?”

Lisa snorted. “Hardly ever.” She nodded to Taylor. “Go ahead, mask up.” She plucked the domino mask from where it was resting on the chair arm and put it on her face. “Alec, you too.”

“Aw, man,” complained Alec again, but he grabbed his mask and put it on. As he was still dressed in the majority of his costume, it fitted with the rest of his outfit. Taylor, however, had changed out of her costume into street clothes, so her Skitter mask just made her look extra creepy.

“They'll be bringing her upstairs so we can find out what the hell's going on,” Lisa confided as the sound of barking dropped away dramatically. Moments later, Grue's darkness billowed up the stairs, filling the room.

When it cleared, the newcomer was standing in the middle of the living area, held in a light arm lock by Brian. The hood of her jacket had been pulled up over her head, and down so that she couldn't see.

Taylor stared; she looked awfully familiar -

“Holy shit,” blurted Tattletale. “That's fucking Panacea.” 

Part 4