Shadow Rising

8. Body

The door opened, and Carrie walked in, an oddly shielded look on her face.
“What happened? Did they do anything?”
She shook her head. “Just…more tests. They keep asking me how strong I think it’s become.”
“The TK?”
“Yeah.” She joined him on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder. “They took blood tests too. Kept mumbling things about…about you too.”
“Me?” Tommy frowned.
“I don’t know…something about you and tests…”
“Tests…but I don’t have…”
“I know. But…I don’t know. Maybe…I mean, maybe you do, deep down. Maybe—god, Tommy, I don’t know! Who knows what they want from us?”
He stroked her shoulder, sighing. She let out a soft moan and moved closer, breathing softly, and the sudden ache between his legs made him shift a little. “Carrie…”
She said nothing, just continued to breathe in a way that made him almost shake. Unable to control it, he scooped her up and, as she laughed, fairly ran to the bedroom.

“How could he do that?” Raph muttered, pacing. “I mean, when did he decide to be a hero?”
“It’s not like we could stop him, anyway,” Don said. “You know how stubborn he can be sometimes.”
“But this is life and death,” Leo said. “I agree with Raph.”
Raphael stopped and looked at him. “You do?”
“Yeah.” Leo rose and unsheathed his katana, running a finger along the flat side of the blade. “Maybe it’s just that ‘older brother’ thing, or the need to keep us together. Who knows.”
“He’ll be okay,” Donatello said. “He’d let us know…”
Raphael glared at him. “Damn it Don, now’s not the time to be such a pacifist! You wouldn’t be saying that if he was de--”
“Raphael.” Splinter was in the doorway, watching.
Shoulders relaxing, Raph bit his lip. “Sorry Master, I--”
The rat cocked his head. “No. Listen.”
Leo frowned. “For what?”
“Just listen,” Splinter said, softly.
They listened, each pulling the thread closer, weaving…telepathy and mind, sound and body. It came slowly, but strongly.
“Rhythm,” Donatello breathed.
“Like a heartbeat?” Leonardo asked.
But it was Raph who realized it first. “Besides that,” he whispered. “Oh shit…”
In the distance—shouting. Gunshots. The crackle of fire. But it was all in the mind, all in their minds…
“Premonition?” Leo gasped. “Mike’s? Or Splinter’s?”
“I…don’t know.” Don looked at him, at Splinter. The rat just shook his head.
“Things will come full circle soon,” was all he said, and then turned away.

His eyelids fluttered slightly when he felt hands against his arm, fingers pushing. It was hard to wake up—they must have slipped something else into him…
He felt the needle tip, felt it pierce skin and muscle, but instead of something burning into him, it was something drawn out.
Blood…they’re drawing blood…no, can’t let…gotta wake up…got to…
But then something pressed against his face,
(oxygen mask)
and everything else went dim.

Tommy heard something odd filtered through gossamer dreams, but didn’t open his eyes. Draft against his skin, cold…behind closed eyelids he thought he could see figures hovering over the bed…touching Carrie. He tried to move, tried to stop them, but this was a dream, and you couldn’t really do much in dreams…
Then it faded and he slipped back into slumber.

It was still early when she woke up. Tommy was stroking her face gently, murmuring. She rolled over, straddled him and kissed him playfully, then sat up, naked, pulling him up and leading him toward bathroom and shower.
But when breakfast was done and they came back to take her for testing, she wasn’t surprised when they took Tommy down another hall. Scared, yes—worried. But overall, not very surprised.

“Well?” Morrison asked.
“What do you think?”
“I think he shows potential. Not as much as her, but…”
“So there might be something there…” Hatcher leaned back in the thoughtfully.
The doctor nodded. “An eighty-percent chance. Dr. Farris has the turtle’s blood samples…”
“Perfect. Tell her to go ahead with it.”
Morrison frowned. “Are you sure it will work…?”
“If we do it right, yes. Let’s just hope Michaelangelo doesn’t get too wise…”
“I can give him another dose…enough to block a little…”
“Do that. But just a little. We still have more tests to run.”

The leather straps were starting to chafe his wrists. He felt the flame (cold fire) start to surface, muted by the drugs but still there; and for a fraction of a second held it quivering, ready. But Morrison had stopped by earlier and warned him that if he tried to do anything outside of the tests, the kids would be killed. Air pumped into his lungs and he breathed it in and out, letting them test his vitals, his reflexes, his mind. The power surged again, shuddered against the walls. He let it fall back and lay there, silently planning, when the chill touched the back of his neck.

Leo’s eyes open wide and he sits up as muted screams fill his ears. Without even looking around he bolts off the couch, knowing Raph is out prowling and Don and Splinter are at April’s…
The infirmary door is ajar and he pushes it open roughly, running in, free from the spiderwebs of sleep…
“Mikey…it’s okay, I’m here. It’s Leo…you’re okay…”
He puts his arms around his shaking brother and sits down, feeling the bed itself tremble. “Relax, it’s okay. Just a nightmare. You’re okay, Mike.”
Mike has stopped screaming and his breaths come in sobs now, muffled as though he were hiding them. Leo waits until the shaking calms down and backs away. Michaelangelo doesn’t look at him, staring at the far wall. He has a strange, shuttered look, and Leo reaches out and tilts Mike’s chin up toward him. Mike’s eyes are huge and bright, staring straight at him with such fear that Leo feels something painful snap loose inside him, wanting nothing more than to take whatever pain it is away, to make his brother smile…
“What is it, Mike?” he asks. “You can tell me, it’s okay.”
Mike opens his mouth, drawing in deep breaths. Unconsciously his hand rubs his left shoulder. “I…just…just dreaming about the cyborgs…it still hurts…”
Leo sighs, stroking the back of Mike’s head reassuringly. “It’s over, Mikey. Don’t worry.”
Mike just looks at him. “The shooting, or the dreams?”
Leo bites his lip. “The…the shooting. It’s been a month.”
“It’s not going away, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I know…I’m sorry…” Leo swallows painfully, not knowing what else to say. His little brother lying unconscious for three weeks…it’s been two since he woke up, and the nightmares haven’t stopped…and being confined here, weak from the fever that refuses to break, with his leg…
“Well,” he says, trying to be somewhat cheerful, “at least you weren’t having bad premonitions this time.”
Mike doesn’t look at him, but shrugs lightly and half a smile flickers across his mouth.Leo’s stomach turns cold. “Did you?”
Mike doesn’t answer.
“Mike--” Leo grips his shoulder as gently as he can without disturbing the scars. “Did you see anything?”
Michaelangelo looks at him again, the eyes childlike and innocent, touched with streaks of pain and remembrance of shadows…
“I don’t remember,” he whispers. “I’m…tired, Leo.”
Nodding, Leo watches as he lays back down and pulls the covers almost over his head. For some reason, it feels disturbing. Leo can tell Mike has retracted his head partially into his shell. He doesn’t like it…it’s almost like a regression. Trying to hide from the world and the monsters it breeds.
But even when Michaelangelo’s breathing deepens, even when Leo hears the lair door creak open, he stays, pulling a chair up to the bed, keeping vigil until a silent shadow appears in the doorway and he turns to meet Splinter’s eyes.

The woman doctor pulled the electrodes off, scribbled on a clipboard, turned away. He stood up and looked at the open door. His heart jumped in his throat and then he ran.

The newspaper, of course, was the first to go. Then the woodchips. The edges of the metal tray had begun to twist, warp, dent inward and outward under the bask of heat. He sucked in a breath through his nose. Force spiraled out and curled around the large blocks and cylinders of wood standing around. The crackle of flames was like paper rustling.He kept his hands at his sides, breathing quickly, feeling it leap up in a rush.
Down…down…like scolding a animal…eager to jump from the cage…stay down, stay back…don’t wanna scare ‘em off just yet…
It felt fun, in a way. He wanted to laugh but knew that would have somehow been dangerous. Still…
Wouldn’t they like to know.
He looked at the wall of cinderblock, thinking about Splinter. His muscles tightened a little. Okay, time to play now…
He pushed out with the same precision as Raph hurling a sai. The blocks didn’t start to burn—they literally exploded. In the back of his mind, he could feel everyone in the observation room flinch. Even Hatcher. He grinned.
How’s that? Good enough? Keep watching, it’ll get better.
His thoughts felt like poison. He turned from the blaze, wiped the sweat off his neck, and waited for them to open the door.

Hatcher whirled, teeth bared. “What? When? How long?”
“I don’t know, maybe fifteen minutes…” Jensen’s jaw was clenched.
“Son of a—and no one saw him go?”
“Maybe he hid from the cameras? John, I don’t know--”
“Well get him back, dammit! Go!”
Morrison was at his side, frowning. “Why do we even need him now? He’s expendable…”
“I know,” Hatcher muttered. “But he’s our anchor for Caroline. And she’s the anchor for the turtle. And we need to keep him, at least until we get results…”
Jensen was already turning, talking into a cell phone. Hatcher watched him go, then turned back to the window and looked down at the turtle, standing there staring at his fiery little mess. Ouch, he thought. Imagine what he could do to an enemy.
Slowly, Michaelangelo looked up, and it seemed he could see right through, right into Hatcher’s eyes. Maybe he could. But that wasn’t a concern at the moment.
If we can just get a few more diagnoses…a few more tests, we can have the formula. But the final thing, cooperation…
Morisson had told him it wouldn’t work. The blood chemistry wasn’t even human, let alone normal. But he figured with the right tampering…Besides, if this mutant had been altered by an extraterrestrial force, his system might be adaptable--or capable of adapting others…
Science fiction, maybe. But so were Ikashi Sumoto’s cyborg experiments. And those had worked.
We’ll see what happens, Hatcher thought. “Open the door,” he said. “Someone take him back to the lab. I’m going after Thomas.”
Morrison glanced at him. “I’ll take the mutant.”

But it wasn't backing down; that was the problem. He clamped hard, pulled back, felt something struggle…no you don't…no…
The water.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a small porcelain tub in a corner of the room, filled to the brim. Clenching his teeth, he spiraled it out and watched a ripple tear across the tub, water boiling, steaming. Porcelain cracking. He thought about April's bathtub.
Back--
It fell apart. The door slid open. He turned. Morrison was standing there, staring at the tub with raised eyebrows.
"Time to go already?" Mike asked.
Morrison just looked at him. "If you're…done here."
"I'm done."
"All right then."
He followed the doctor out, noticing the way the shoulders were tensed. Afraid? Maybe. A brief smile flickered on his face. You have no idea…

She hugged the pillow, trying to stretch her thoughts; like Mike had shown her. She wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but somehow Tommy had gotten free. And now she knew she had to find him. Not much for telepathy or remote viewing, but worth a shot. Tommy, she thought. Tommy, Tommy.
Nothing came. A small sound fled the back of her throat and she stood up, pacing the room. Walked into the bedroom and looked around. So empty. She decided to take care of the garbage, at least. Leave the bag by the door; somebody would come pick it up.She reached down to grasp the plastic rim and paused. The trash looked as though someone had rooted through it. But why would someone want to look through her garbage, especially the one in the bedroom?
Carefully, she turned the bin over and shook it over the floor. Not much fell out, but she picked through it anyway. And then she noticed the thing that had been bothering her. Or rather, she didn’t notice.
The condom was gone. She frowned, wondering why it was such a big worry that someone had stolen a used condom. But the memory of that suddenly triggered something else—a sudden realization, almost pain.
A dim, foggy memory sprang at her. Figures in the dark, gently rolling her away from Tommy’s grip; she’d been asleep but still aware. A woman’s voice, hands on her legs and—
Oh my god.
It felt as if something had prodded. Searched. Extracted. The ghost of the memory shivered between her legs. Extracted. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening and the color draining from her face.
Oh…my…god.
And then, finally, she knew why they had kept Tommy and her together.
The strength fled from Carrie’s legs. She sat frozen, stupefied, horror and repulsion quivering inside her. The sight of small mound of trash, mostly paper and tissues, suddenly sickened her. Staggering to her feet, she rushed into the bathroom and, coughing, sank to her knees by the toilet.

Everything was quiet; enough so that he could hear his own breathing. He stood there, unmoving, knees barely bent, hands flexing. Slowly, he began to move, fluid, strong, focusing only on his body and the way it flowed with the rhythm; feeling energy build up and release, build and release. Splinter had taught them all forms of tai chi, naturally, but he liked the yang style best. He spread out like a craned and swooped in, breathing out. So silent. Like a cold emptiness. The soft whirr-hum of the heater was the only sound.
He worked slowly, finished the short form, and turned to the desk and the book he’d been reading, when the emptiness surged and struck him; when the cold gripped him like an iron hand and a shock barreled through his limbs. He staggered, gaping, trying to make sense of it, trying to grasp…
Something’s wrong, he thought.
What else was new?
No…something is wrong, something’s happened…can’t get a fix on it…
And that was what frustrated him. He had limits, of course—but he had never really explored them, considered…and this simple premonition—no, not future…now—eluded him like wind. He knew something bad had happened, but he didn’t know what. And the emptiness was filling him, cold and strange; so strange and foreign that he stumbled to the bed and fell on it, trying to fill the void somehow—white noise, half-remembered music, anything. There was no pain, no sharp feeling. There was a nothingness, emptiness. He wondered what they had done now, and abruptly decided to close his mind.

“I hate this.”
“What else is new?”
“You know what I mean.” He stood up, stared at the sai at his hand, and flung it at the wall. “And I hate him, too.”
Don blinked and sat up. “Why?”
“Because he’s full of shit, Donny. He nearly died once—twice—and he thinks he can just walk up to the fire and not get burned. Doesn’t he know you can’t do that by now?”
“Raph--” Don stood up, touched his arm, and looked at the dagger imbedded in the far wall. “Maybe you need some fresh air.”
“You trying to tell me something?” Raph asked with a rakish grin.
Don just raised an eyeridge. Trying not to get into a Leo-type argument. You don’t need that now. Leo doesn’t need it. “Trying to get you to go for a walk.”
Raph stalked to the wall and pulled out the sai.
“And no sneaking away on rescue missions,” Don added.
Turning to look at him, Raph showed his teeth again. “Who’s the mind reader here, anyway?”
“I’m serious, Raph. I don’t think Mike would like it.”
“Yeah, well Mike can go--”
Someone cleared his throat.
“Oh,” Raph grinned. “Hey Leo.”
“Better get going if you don’t want to head into traffic,” Leo said.
Raphael grinned again, looking from one to the other. “Nobody loves me anymore, huh?”
Leo rolled his eyes. Don just smiled. Raph turned left, giving the door a hearty bang as he shut it.

Mike waited for the cold to pass before he moved again. His limbs still felt disconnected, and his head was swimming. Slowly, it began to fade, like a bad aftertaste. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Thought about his promise to himself—to Carrie—that they’d get out.
And we will. We’ll get out.
The ceiling almost danced before his eyes.

She finally got up and washed her face, going back to the couch and curling up. Her head hurt. Closing her eyes, she began to feel herself slip into sleep, and then it came. Images, rushing past like scenery. A small blue-washed room. Canisters on shelves lining a wall. Two of them. Tiny things floating in translucent fluid. Vials of blood resting on a rack on a corner table. But nothing looks right…the blood doesn’t look right…and the things floating, they look like—oh god, they look like—
She was jolted by the sound of an alarm. Fire alarm. It sounded exactly like the ones at school—not a ringing, but a blaring klaxon. The images faded and she sat up, gasping. Fire drill or not, they would let her out, right? They wouldn’t leave her…
And then she remembered that in most buildings, a fire alarm going off triggered automatic locks on doors to be released…
Jumping off the couch, Carrie went to the door and rattled the knob, then turned it. The door pulled open, and she slowly moved out into the hall.

He murmurs out of shaky dreams and opens his eyes, blinking against the red light of the alarm clock. Early enough. But he’s awake now.
Sitting up, rolling his tongue around his teeth, he looks over and sees the two lumps under their covers. Still sleeping—he should be so lucky right now.
Stretching the kinks out of his neck, he gets up, stretches until his toes are almost off the floor and his fingers might brush the ceiling, and yawns. Then he goes out into the kitchen, gulps down cold orange juice from the carton, gently slams the refrigerator door, and looks around.
The kitchen is dark, yet bathed with soft light coming from the lamps left on overnight. With ninja steps, he makes his way to the infirmary door. Ajar as usual. Just to be on the safe side.He stands there, listening to the soft breathing from within. They unhooked the machines a couple of days ago, but Splinter still restricted Mike to bed rest here, just in case. Raph turns to walk away.
Even before it happens, he catches the shift in breath, the jerk and rustle of sheets, and then the cries, more like soft moans of pain, jagged. More rustling as sheets are shoved aside…Raph whirls and pushes open the door, eyes wide and glinting…
Michaelangelo is struggling to get out of bed, one hand gripping his head, the other clutching the mattress edge. His face is tensed with pain—like a migraine attack. Raph makes an inaudible strangled noise and rushes forward.
“No—Mike, don’t, you’re not strong enough…”
He catches him quickly, hands gripping the shoulders as Mike jerks back in alarm. “It’s okay, it’s just me. What is it? What hurts?”
Mike shakes his head, breathing in hard, struggling gasps. As if he can’t seem to draw in air, or isn’t concentrating on breathing…
“Mike…” Raph puts his hand on the side of Mike’s head. “Talk to me. What hurts?”
“Everything,” Mike whispers. “My head…it wasn’t a dream, and then the pain started…”
Vision, Raph thinks. Remote viewing? “Hey, lay back down…won’t do you any good to move around now…”
“N-no…” Mike struggles against him, briefly. “Don’t wanna go back to sleep…I don’t want to see it again…”
“Nobody’s sayin’ anything about sleeping,” Raph says gently. “Want me to get a cold compress or something? That’ll help.”
“I can get it—” Pushing with slow strength, Mike is out of his grasp and clinging to the mattress. “I need to move…” He takes a step; the injured left leg starts to shake and almost gives…and Raph can see the different kind of pain in his brother’s eyes. Oh shit, he thinks. This is really hurting him…
A low, almost inaudible sob chokes out of Mike’s throat, but Raph can hear it. He watches solemnly as Mike stands up straight, teeth clenched; trying to put more weight on that gauze-wrapped leg…
And then his face slams shut as if struck, the leg gives out, he goes down with a muted cry. His eyes, already brimming, shut tightly as if it could block out emotion, the pain inside he doesn’t want to admit. Raphael drops down, reaching out to pull his brother to him, almost protectively. He feels like an older brother who knows the monsters in the shadows are real, who wishes desperately he could do something about it…
“It’s okay,” he says, and tries not to feel the tears in the back of his throat. “I’ll help you, okay? You just have to tell me.” He’s whispering, as if afraid of his own voice, and all the while hugging Mikey tighter, letting his brother cry silently.
“It’s okay, buddy,” he says again. “We’ll get through this. Don’t worry; it’ll be over soon.”
He stands up, slowly, and Mike follows. Helping him back on the bed, Raph hurries out to get a compress from the fridge, comes back and presses it above Mike’s eyes. Migraine not, he’d need it.
By the time Raph pulls the chair up, Mike is asleep, his face lined with the sort of tense pain a child wears when caught in a bad dream. Raph lets out a forlorn sigh, and wearily rests his head on his hand.

“It’s getting worse, you know,” a voice says softly, and Leo turns to find Raphael watching his morning kata.
“What is?” Leo asks, still moving.
Raph comes forward, frowning a little. “Mike,” he says. “He’s pretty bad.”
“You mean today, earlier?”
Raph nods. “I went to check on him ‘bout six, and he was trying to get up, he had some sort of migraine attack, I don’t know…but he still…”
He takes a deep breath, and Leo actually puts his swords down, turning to face him fully. Worry is already etched into his face.
“He still can’t walk, Leo,” Raph goes on. “That leg—it’s still pretty bad. And he still has the fever…and the nightmares…he doesn’t want to sleep anymore.”
Leo closed his eyes, nodding. “I don’t think he’s eating much, either.”
“Shit,” Raph murmurs. “What are we supposed to do? I mean, he’s been like this for two weeks now…and with his leg all screwed up there’s no way to exercise…if he doesn’t eat he’ll just--”
He stops, and Leo realizes that it’s because he’s struggling to control some deep emotion he doesn’t want to face. Frowning, Leo steps forward and grips his shoulder. “It’s okay, Raph. This is Mikey we’re talking about. Mikey. The optimist.”
“I know, but--” With a half-sigh, half-sob, Raph sits abruptly down on the dojo floor. Leonardo suddenly sees how tired he is, how weary, and sits beside him with an arm around his shoulders. Funny, he thinks, how a tragedy like this can bring people like the two of them closer together. Raph would never go for this under normal circumstances…The thought loosens something heavy inside him. He swallows.
“I’m just really worried, Leo. I think he’s not even trying to heal. If he wanted to, it could’ve all been over a week ago.”
Leo nods. “I think you’re right. I think we’ve got to help him do it, make him want to heal…you know how sensitive he is, with or without--”
“Yeah.” Raph gives him a shaky smile. “Want me to tell Donny?”
“I’ll tell him,” Leo smiles back. “You start convincing Kreskin to get better or he’ll be in for some serious head-whacking with Splinter’s stick.”
Raph grins, and it seems to reach his eyes, too. He stands, helps Leo to his feet, and holds onto the hand clasp, as something unspoken passes between them.

Raphael kicked at dirt as he walked the side-roads. No motorcycle this time—stretching his legs would be enough. Besides, he needed to get the frustration out, needed to get his mind off…
Mike…why won’t you listen?
He knew Mike meant well, but he was also deemed the “youngest,” and that was meant personality-wise as well. Raph hardly gave a rat’s ass that ESP had made Mike more mature or stronger—he was still a kid, still inclined…
He shook his head. That would change in a couple years, anyway…but still. It was hard not to think about it that way.
Just get ready for a big “I told you so” when you come home, kiddo. ‘Cause I’m gonna kick your ass if you don’t make it back in one piece.
Head down, he shuffled along, thinking of all the things he would do and say once he made sure Michaelangelo was safe again. When the long black car came moving toward him and the window rolled down, he barely had time to glance up before the black cylinder leaned out and the shot went off.

In the flickering glow of candles, the rat opened his eyes and shuddered.

Don’s hands suddenly shook over the keyboard; an unexplainable cold shivered over his skin. He felt shaky somehow, like during those chi energy exercises when he’d get hit…
Getting up, he made his way toward the training room. Leo was sitting on a narrow bench, breathing slow and hard as if suddenly attacked somehow.
“Leo—” Don started.
“Yeah,” Leo said, looking up. “I know.”
“What is it?”
Leo didn’t answer, the whites of his eyes flickering. “Raph.”