"Wait!" I yelped, suffocating in overheated darkness. "Maddie!"

　　My heart gunned, trapped inside Spandle`s dissolving bulk, unable to breathe. Until I realized that the smothering warmth was a blanket.

　　And the darkness wasn`t so dark after I opened my eyes.

　　I was lying on a bed in a hotel suite, with heavy curtains and reading chairs and a kitchen nook. I was splayed on top of hte blanket, my forehead damp with nightmare sweat. Memory murmured to me, just below the threshhold of consciousness, but I didn`t listen.

　　Instead, I reached for the water glass on the bedside table ... and the sound that must`ve woken me. Someone was swiping a keycard at the door.

　　I touched the orbs to reassure myself--then realized that my chest was bare. I wasn`t wearing anything except my boxer briefs.

　　The door opened before my brain fully woke, and the woman named Rachel stepped inside, talking low into her cell phone. "--should knock on Boone`s front door, that`s what." She paused, listening. "Well, get me an address. And deal with the hospital." She swiped the phone and glanced at me. "How`s the head?"

　　I didn`t know what else to say, so I told the truth. "Not bad."

　　"You heal fast," she said.

　　That was true. I healed remarkably quickly. But not like Wolverine quickly. So when I touched my bruised cheek, the pain in my arm flared. "Not that fast."

　　"Watch that it doesn`t get infected." She nodded at the bandage wrapping my bicep. "I`m not much of a nurse."

　　"You bandaged me?"

　　"Yeah, we don`t want you in the system yet. Nobody even knows you`re here."

　　For a second, my confusion stopped me. What the hell was going on? So I pieced together the scraps of memory. That construction site. PJ, Spandle. Rachel trapped on that scaffolding. Then I seized on the last thing she`d said. "What about that tac team with the gas masks? They saw me. They know I`m here, right?"

　　"That wasn`t a tac team. Those were ordinary cops, they must`ve heard the gunfire."

　　"You said they had flamethrowers."

　　"I lied."

　　"But that guy--PJ. He said he`s monitoring 911."

　　"Someone called the cops, just not me."

　　I shook my head, barely following the conversation. "Okay. Okay. You said you work for Homeland Security?"

　　"Oddly enough, I kind of do." She leaned against the kitchen counter. "Your friend told me you can cook."

　　Hope flared in my chest. "Maddie?"

　　"I didn`t get her name. Long hair. Gray eyes. Acute undifferentiated schizophrenia."

　　"Oh. Shandra." The hope turned to anxiety. "Where is she?"

　　"In a psych ward."

　　"Oh, God, no. I need to--" I half-stood. "You`re Rachel?"

　　"Rachel Kravitz."

　　"Okay. Rachel. Where are my clothes?"

　　She pointed to the dresser. "The hotel starched your socks."

　　I pulled the blanket around my waist. "Do you mind? I`ve got to get out of here."

　　She didn`t look away. "Stick around for a few, we need to talk."

　　"I can`t leave Shandra in the hospital."

　　"By the time you get there, she`ll be gone. Umlaut`s cutting her loose."

　　"Cutting her loose? Like out on the street? What`s Umlaut?"The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

　　"A man with a gift for bureaucracy. My co-worker. My, uh, liaison. He`s bringing her somewhere ... less horrible."

　　"She`s needs somewhere private." I exhaled, and tried to shake a single worthwhile thought free from my brain. "Uh, tell him he needs to buy a hammock for her, and--"

　　"Wait, what?"

　　"A hammock."

　　"A hammock, like you swing in?"

　　"Yeah, brand new. She`s & she finds the motion comforting."

　　"Uh-huh. What else?"

　　"Hang the hammock somewhere private, without any human contact. Then just & stay out of her face."

　　Rachel`s dark eyes gleamed. "Because she likes the motion."

　　For some reason, I had a hard time lying to her. "Yeah?"

　　"That`s fine," she said. "There`s more to her than meets the eye, I already know that. Just like you. You`re what? Two hundred pounds heavier than you look?"

　　"Something like that."

　　"Because of those things on your chest?"

　　"Plus I eat a lot of carbs," I said, not knowing what else to say. I`d never talked about the orbs with an outsider.

　　"I saw them in action, you don`t have to pretend. I`m not going to ship you to a zoo." She sent a text on her phone. "You saved my butt."

　　"You saved mine first."

　　"I saved yours twice," she said, quirking a grin.

　　For some reason, the grin sparked a memory. Her name clicked into place, and I recognized her.

　　I pulled my pants on. "Rachel Kravitz. You`re the girl from Califorya?"

　　"Yep."

　　"And all this &" I gestured vaguely. "It`s related? I mean, what ... whatever happened with you? You know PJ, and you`re with Homeland Security now?"

　　She nodded. "Sort of under the radar."

　　"They didn`t mention any of that on TV." I buttoned my pants. "I mean, when you were in the news. Anything about people like PJ and Spandle."

　　"People like you," she said. "Make us breakfast and I`ll tell you all about it." She nodded toward a shopping bag on the counter. "How about an omelet? I stopped at the store."

　　"You want me to cook an omelet?"

　　"Two, if you`re hungry."

　　I shook my head. I needed to find Dewitt. "I`ve got to get out of here."

　　"Think it through." She tossed me my shirt. "You don`t even know where you`re going. Once you leave the hotel, which direction are you going turn?"

　　I said, "Um."

　　"Yeah," she said. "And my boss isn`t comfortable with setting you loose in public until we know what you are. You help me, and I`ll help you."

　　So I pulled my shirt over my head. "You don`t know what I am?"

　　"You`ve got three &" She gestured at my chest. "Disks?"

　　"Orbs."

　　"Orbs. You seem like an okay guy, and I appreciate your saving my life and all, but you know what? I`ve been wrong before. Your fingerprints aren`t on file."

　　I squeezed into the kitchenette and peered into the grocery bag. "My life`s pretty quiet."

　　"I`m fairly sure that`s about to change. No prints, no ID, no cellphone--"

　　"No butter," I said.

　　"Damn!" She looked a little abashed. "I`ve never actually shopped before."

　　"What?"

　　"Well, I went with my mom sometimes. But I`ve been incarcerated since I was seventeen."

　　"Oh. Right. That must`ve sucked."

　　"Yeah, boo hoo."

　　 I eyed her. "Not much on self-pity?"

　　"It doesn`t seem to help."

　　"Huh. For me, it`s a hobby, like stamp collecting."

　　She almost smiled. "Well, you can feel bad about the butter, then."

　　"Nah, that`s okay." I rummaged around in the bag. "I specialize in improvisation."

　　She watched me rinse a pepper. "You work with your hands?"

　　"How do you figure?"

　　"The way you move reminds me of guys I knew. You`re a carpenter?"

　　"Handyman." I smiled at an onion. "Apprentice handyman."

　　"What`s your name?"

　　I cleaned the mushrooms with a damp paper towel. Did I want Rachel to know my name? She probably couldn`t trace me to the Rock even if I told her. Larson` was my sister`s married name--which I`d taken after I`d learned our folks hadn`t attended her funeral--not my legal name at all. Still, Rachel struck me as tenacious. So maybe I`d keep that to myself.

　　I set the mushrooms aside. "I thought we were going to talk about you."

　　"If you followed the news, you know all about me."

　　"I`m not much on current events," I said, grabbing a nonstick pan from the cabinet.

　　She waited until I stepped away from the sink, then took my place with the tea kettle. "Boone worked for the Department of Defense, on a contract basis."

　　"Who`s Boone?"

　　"My father."

　　"You call him Boone?"

　　She gave me a look. "You`re quick."

　　"Oh."

　　"His company mostly did research and intel. Then he started looking into the Seventeen Seconds, it became his obsession. Because it changed people. He said it weaponized them. At least a handful. Less than one percent of one percent changed a little, but a fraction of them changed a lot."

　　"People like PJ?" I asked.

　　"No," she said. "People like Boone. My father was an active. A longshot."

　　"An `active`?" I said, remembering that Shandra said that`s what PJ called people like us. "He was changed?"

　　"Yeah, my father`s power was, he could take someone like me, someone without powers--someone inert--and make them active. At least sometimes. It was still a one-in-a-hundred shot. But he activated PJ."

　　"He created him? Like Frankenstein?"

　　"He never knows what power one of his & subjects will end up with. They usually just end up dead. The power of decomposition. He tried to activate me &"

　　"What can you do?"

　　"Nothing," she said. "Sometimes we stay normal. I`m one of his failures. But Boone, he--"

　　She stopped again. What I know now is that she didn`t want to tell me that he`d changed her mother until nothing remained. She didn`t want to tell me that he`d started messing with her sister--and that`s why she`d shot him.

　　"He crossed a line," she said.

　　I looked at the cutting board. "And you killed him."

　　"I tried," she told me. "He`s still alive."

　　"Oh," I said again.

　　"Yeah." For a second, she watched water flow into the kettle. "And now this senator pulled me from prison to clean up this mess. His mess. Because I know PJ, I know Boone. Because another active told her I`m the one she needs."

　　"Because you`re his daughter?" I asked.

　　She didn`t answer.

　　Silence fell, broken only by the sound of me chopping veggies.