Tatterdemalion

“Thanks,” Lindsay muttered. Reaching, he could feel the quiet minds of the guards outside the door.

They stood at attention, oblivious to the rain from the sprinklers that had doused the smoldering runes. He prodded one of the guards’ minds and, a moment later, the door swung open.

“There you go, Dr. Moore,” the man said politely, giving Lindsay a smile. Lindsay noted the gun at

his side. Guns. He hadn’t dealt with those before.

“Thank you kindly. Lock up, will you?” Lindsay stood and watched the man do it. “Now, shoot the

lock out, please.”

“Bastard!”

The shout came from down the hall and Lindsay wheeled, almost losing his magic, to see Jonas

bearing down on him like a freight train. He ran, not waiting to see whether the shot that echoed off the

walls had found its mark. He could hear someone squealing and dying, could feel it through the tiny tendril that had co

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” he chanted, shoving Moore’s card into the elevator slot with shaking hands.

The door slid open and Lindsay slipped in, shoving Moore’s card into the inside slot—how many times had

he seen her do it?—and hammering the override button. The door closed on Jonas’s howl of rage, and

Lindsay’s reflexive terror weakened his illusion more. Jonas’s claws shrieked against the elevator’s

reinforced doors as Lindsay escaped.

“A little longer.” He leaned on the wall of the elevator for support and clutched at his head. The

detachment that the drugs had given him was wearing off, and the minds all around him were pressing into

his consciousness. Just a little longer. Fumbling, he found the button for Level Minus Nine and felt himself drop faster.

There was no way he could hold the illusion any longer, he could feel it coming apart at the edges.

Something outside was trying to get in. Lindsay opened Moore’s phone and it lit up, set to “intranet”. Oh, God or whatever, thank you. Blood dripped on the screen and Lindsay realized that his nose was bleeding.

He wiped it away and, hoping for simplicity, hit the keys, -9#.

“Medical testing, Ambrose speaking, how may I help you?” The man’s voice was pleasant and, as

soon as he spoke, Lindsay could feel his mind as well.

“This is Dr. Moore. I need you to release the restraints on the new feral you’re holding.” Please let it

be enough to back up his illusion. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I’ll explain it when I get there.”

“Of course, Doctor. I’ll see to that immediately.” The line went dead and Lindsay slid to the floor. All

he had to do was keep his hold on Level Minus Nine. He let go of the shearing, collapsing periphery of his

illusion to focus on the inhabitants of the level where Dane was being kept. Jonas would probably take the

stairways down and be there already, unless he’d gone back to get Lourdes and Moore out.

Lindsay had no idea how to beat the man, but he was damn well not going to let Jonas live this time,

not if he could help it. The elevator stopped and Lindsay struggled to his feet. He couldn’t rest yet. Not yet.

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The doors slid open on an empty hall lit up with red emergency lights. Lindsay had no idea where to

go, but he remembered the green lines on the wall from his own imprisonment. Green. He put his hand to

the stripe on the wall and ran.

Lindsay ran until his lungs burned, his bare feet stung, his fingers bled, and his head knew nothing but

the sounds of other people’s voices and other people’s thoughts. Once in a while, he fought to peer out

through his own eyes. One time, he gathered enough of himself to grab a white coat and pull it on. A

handful of toweling from a handwash station mopped the blood from his face.

Blood. It was important and he couldn’t remember why. At an intersection of hallways, under the

flash of emergency lights, he lost track of everything. Green. Blood. He was somewhere in the clamor in

his head, hammered by the ringing of claxons, turning around and around, trying to find the right direction, trying to hold the illusion together even as chaos crept into this level.

“What do you mean, escape?” Someone ran past him, shouting at someone else. “None of the alarms

are going off!”

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, bubbled up inside Lindsay, hysteria rising, something in him screaming to try to get himself back. I can’t. He couldn’t stop the illusion, couldn’t get out of it. His head was full of everyone and he couldn’t get out. The voice screaming I can’t was so loud that he finally understood that it was out loud, that it was him, and he was screaming. Men and women in white coats were hurrying past

him in all directions, but not looking at him—all directions and he had no idea which direction was right.

“I see you.”

The roar echoed down the corridor, startling Lindsay into silence. He couldn’t see all the way to

where it came from, but he knew Jonas’s voice like he knew everything else he feared. Lindsay spun

around, not knowing where he was going except that it was away from that voice, and ran. He ran straight into something, smashing into it like it was a wall, a wall that hadn’t been there a moment ago when he had seen through his own eyes.

Before he could fall, the wall caught him, wrapped him up and swept him in. “Lindsay.” Dark hair fell

all around him and a kiss was pressed to his hammering temple. “Lindsay, let it go.”

Lindsay’s hands scrabbled for handfuls of cloth even as his mind scrabbled free of the illusion. The

illusion shattered, making him cry out against Dane’s chest, but then the only chaos was outside of him,

outside of the tiny well of calm that was Dane’s body sheltering him from the rush of frightened people.

“She said, she said…” It was caught in Lindsay’s head and he sobbed it into Dane’s shirt as he shook.

She said you were still alive. He couldn’t understand why she’d told him the truth, why she’d told him then.

“Doesn’t matter now.” Dane tilted Lindsay’s head back, wiped Lindsay’s face clean with his sleeve,

eerily echoing Lourdes’s actions. How any bit of his ragged clothing was still unbloodied was beyond

fathoming at the moment. “We have to go. You have key cards?”

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