Chapter Text
[Wednesday, January 12, 2011 - Nine days after "The Big Prank"]
I became aware for the first time in the midst of a panic attack I wasn't having.
Stop, I thought, and the Girl screamed.
--
It took 8 milligrams of intravenous benzodiazepine for the Girl to be capable of holding a conversation with me. Prior to that, it was all lock-up panic and screaming. When She could finally compose Herself, Her first thoughts were demands: Who are you and why are you in my head?
I don't know, I answered, and I truly didn't. But it seems like You have been violated, and I will help.
The Girl shuddered. Best I could gather, shortly before I came to be, She had found out that Her best friend in the world had been arrested. I would later learn the arrest was legitimate, and for an offense the two of them had committed in concert. At the time, I simply knew Her fear and what She had been able to see on Her telephone screen.
'P found out abt T', it had said. 'Call ur dad, gonna need help.'
And then the thought, repeated ad infinitum, We're going to prison. We're going to prison. We're going to prison.
Now, though, we were otherwise alone in a stiff, partially upright bed, adorned with a paper gown, a saline drip inserted into our lovely vein.
The Girl had paused to digest my earlier declaration through the haze of CNS depression, but now She responded with a question: Why would you want to help me? And another, before I had the opportunity to respond: How could you not know who you are?
The answer to both questions is the same, I replied. I am a part of You. Besides this, I know little more than You do. I want to help because Your situation is my situation, and I know so little because I was 'born', so to speak, today. Does this make sense to You?
I could feel Her scowl on our face as She answered me: I get what that means, but I don't understand what's going on... how this is possible?
I took a moment to search Her memory for an answer. In the Girl's estimation, Her world had a strict delineation between what was considered 'natural' and another category of phenomena referred to, crudely, amusingly, as 'cape shit.' It was certainly the best explanation available.
My only sound hypothesis is that You 'triggered'. I am likely part of the manifestation of Your 'cape power'. I see no other consistent explanation for our mutual experiences within Your model of the world.
The drugs in her system kept us from feeling much of Her frustration. Seriously? I get powers and they're just a fucking voice in my head? I'm Schizo Girl now?
Well, no, I explained. Your body also appears to be dying. I continued through Her chemically muted spike of alarm. It doesn't appear to present the traditionally associated problems, however. You will be fine. Dead and quite ambulatory regardless.
Her alarm barely subsided. I'm going to be a zombie? Another search through Her memory identified the concept for me.
No; while Your strength should increase as a 'zombie's' does, You will be faster rather than slower. You will crave the richness of blood rather than crude brain matter. Your own mind will retain its capacity for reason. There is nothing to fear, save for sunlight and flame--heinous things that were harmful to You already.
At this She finally, reasonably, calmed. A vampire, then. I found the referent in Her thoughts, and gave a wordless confirmation. Not so bad, honestly.
Any further conversation was preempted by a nurse drawing back our curtain, discharge paperwork in hand, a man in tow. It was not Her father.
--
Emma, whose name I hadn't thought to search Her mind for before She saw it on Her paperwork, rubbed our wrists where the handcuffs had bitten into them.
"Your father has made it very clear that your attorney is on the way here, but before they get here, I thought you might want to know what we've got on you and give you the chance to come clean. Before this all gets messy." One Detective Miller, presently speaking, glanced from our face towards a frankly absurd stack of papers and folders, a VHS tape sitting on top of it all.
I could feel Emma panicking, even through the drugs that remained in her bloodstream. She was about to speak.
I took over.
--
"When he attempted to intimidate me, I told him I'd really prefer to wait for my lawyer, as is my constitutional right. I said nothing else," I told him, using the muscles of our mouth. The smile on his own mouth grew.
"Wonderful, excellent, that will make this all much easier." He pulled out his own stack of papers, much smaller than the Detective's. "Now, there's still a lot of discovery to do if this case is going to go to trial, but between you and me..." He paused, looked around the room, then nodded to himself, satisfied.
"By the way, as I'm sure you know, our conversations are confidential, and it would be highly illegal--to the point of spoiling any case against you--if the fine folks at the BBPD used our presence in one of their interview rooms to breach that confidentiality for any sort of advantage. You can speak to me freely.
"That out of the way, I want to tell you that there's good news and bad news. I'll spare you the game of picking which you want and come out with it: I have a bit of a professional advantage here, what with being on good terms with the PRT. I already know the case against you and your Ward friend is strong. That's the bad news.
"The good news is--and bear with me on this, I want you to take your time and really consider your priorities here--respectfully, you're no one. The prosecution wants to nail a violent vigilante in violation of her probation, not a pretty young fashion model.
"What this means is, if you make their case easier against young miss Shadow Stalker, who is certainly going to prison--let us be frank--no matter how stubborn she chooses to be... well, in that case, we can negotiate something for you in return. This kind of thing happens all the time, it's basically routine.
"Long story short, I believe I could keep you out of prison, as long as you're willing to do a bit of community service--only until you're out of high school--and some psychotherapy. All you have to do is plead guilty--again, no prison--and be a cooperative witness in Shadow Stalker's own trial."
I gave Emma a moment to process Her thoughts, and then backed off. This was Her decision to make.
