Michaelangelo was asleep when they walked in, and Morrison stood by nervously, syringe in hand. “I really don’t this is a good idea, John…we don’t know what we’re dealing with; this is a mutated system, for Christ’s sake! And to top it off--”
“I know,” Hatcher said quietly, watching the slow rise and fall of the plastron under the sheet. “But the project’s already underway. We’re not stopping now.”
“The embryos aren’t even stabilized. We’ve got the blood, but we can’t predict an outcome until--”
“Until what? Until he escapes before we’re done? We need to keep him here, Sam.” Hatcher walked over to the bed and eased the sheet down so the upper bicep was exposed. He gestured toward Morrison, who placed the syringe in his hand.
Just as the needle tip touched the thick skin, Michaelangelo jerked, still asleep-- they could see his eyes moving under the lids--but somehow aware…Hatcher pulled the needle back and watched…
And then the turtle cried out in pain, right arm jerking as if burned, back arching. But it wasn’t a reaction to the needle, not even to something here…
Hatcher waited. And then whatever it was stopped, and Mike fell still, easing back into sleep. Carefully, Hatcher leaned over and lifted one eyelid. The dark brown eye was rolled back and up, pupil dilated…he’d seen that before…
“What happened?” Morrison asked.
“He’s in communication with someone,” Hatcher said, straightening. “Or at least linked. Someone’s been hurt, and it’s affecting him.”
Slowly, he walked around to the other side of the bed, pulled the sheet down a little, and looked at the right arm. For an instant, flickering…just for an instant, it was there…
“My god,” he whispered.
“What?” Morrison repeated.
Hatcher shook his head and looked again. The blood was gone, the tear of the bullet wound vanished…illusion, just an illusion…
Incredible, he thought.
Prepping the syringe again, he injected and waited for the chemical to take effect.
“He’s what?”
“Calm down, Leonardo, I think he will be all right--”
“Dammit, why does this always happen to us…”
“Leo--” Don reached out a hand, stopped, looked at Splinter. The rat shook his head and Don watched as Leo sprinted out of the dojo and toward the front door. Seconds later it creaked open and Raph stumbled in, trailing blood and looking decidedly pale.
“Raph--” Quickly Leo was at his side, arms around him. “What happened? Who shot you?”
“I wish I knew…” Raph drew in a shaky breath. “Shit, this hurts…where’s a painkiller when ya need one…”
Don and Splinter were already at the door to the infirmary. Don helped him onto the bed and took a look at the wound. “It’s lodged just in front of the bone,” he said. “He’s lost a lot of blood already.”
Leo caught the catch in his voice and glanced up. “But?”
“But…” and here Don offered a lopsided smile, “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that much.”
“Mike?” Leo asked.
“Y’mean you couldn’t figure that out from the beginning?” Raph’s voice was faint, threaded with shallow breathing, and Splinter lay a hand on his head.
“Relax, my son. Agitation won’t help your condition.”
Raph’s fists were almost white. He sighed and closed his eyes. “’Least he managed to stop the bleeding…but he still won’t tell me where he is…”
Bending down, Leo looked into his brother’s flushed face. “What happened?”
Drawing in another labored breath, Raph looked at him. “I was just walking. Then this black car comes out of nowhere, gun points out the window, and the next thing I know my arm is on fire, the car speeds away, and I hear Mike’s voice yelling in my head.”
“Yeah, he’s always been sensitive to you,” Leo nodded. “Did he say if he was all right?”
Raph nodded, barely. “Yeah…but he closed off. Damn it…aaaggh!”
His back arched, and Leo grabbed his hand, holding tight.
“Leo…” Donatello said. “Get the forceps…sterilize ‘em…get some water and bandages….more towels…”
Leonardo was already moving before the second word was out. He could already see Don’s hands stained with blood, the cloths pressed against the wound turning red…Raphael coughed and turned his head to Leo. “He said…not to worry…”
Gee, that’s easy enough to do, Leo thought, and handed Don the equipment. “I know, Raph. You’ll be fine.”
Through a blurry haze, Raph could see his brother’s face, swimming back and forth above him. Pain was a slow burning, but he found that he could ignore it if he didn’t think about it…getting darker…ah, shit…
“Leo…” he whispered, and blackness took over.
Donatello was barely aware of the conversation as he braced the arm and raised it slightly. He could see the chunk of lead embedded firmly in red sinew of muscle, red fluid pooling around the tear and leaking out from the flesh. He clamped more cloth to the wound. “Leo, how’s he doing?”
“Out cold, but breathing,” Leonardo reported.
“Probably a good thing, too,” Don muttered. “I doubt he’d want to witness my wonderful skills as a surgeon.”
Splinter lay a hand on his shoulder. “You are doing fine, Donatello. I’m sure Raphael will be grateful.”
“He’d better be, this is the only choice he’s got right now…”
Mike couldn’t feel his limbs when consciousness returned, and panicked for a good two minutes before he realized.
Oh. More drugs. Yippee.
He figured the chemicals flowing through his bloodstream would have at least induced a trip or something-- but his system was influenced by something extraterrestrial and unknown. Who knew what type of reactions drugs produced-- or didn’t.
So is this why they keep making me a living pincushion? So they can test their classified drugs and hope I don’t die? That makes me feel so much better…
And what about Carrie and Tommy? Come to think of it, where was Tommy? Mike hadn’t been able to contact Carrie since Raph’s shooting, and Tommy was nothing but a cold emptiness. Maybe they had drugged him too.
Mike sighed. He wasn’t so powerful; he couldn’t see everything. He knew that-- but wondered if Hatcher and the others did. If they knew how much they could analyze and hold him prisoner before everything went to hell. Even he didn’t know.
Great. My one chance to really explore my own mind and it’s being tinkered with by Dr. Cyclops.
Maybe the drugs were having a typical effect-- he felt apathetic, loose, peaceful. Sillier than usual. Damn brain. It was somewhat disturbing. He decided that, when he got out of here, he’d never take any type of drug. Ever. Then he remembered Raphael and the bullet wound-- and his own encounters with death.
Well…okay…maybe painkillers…
He wondered how Raph was doing.
He decided Raph was fine and began to think about sheep.
Sheep? What?!?!
Helps to combat stress, a voice said. It sounded like Donatello’s. Now he really was tripping. Don never suggested sheep when he was stressed.
First time for everything, the parody of Leo’s voice added.
Michaelangelo groaned and went back to sleep.
Taking a deep breath, Don slowly inched the heated forceps into the wound. He could feel Splinter’s and Leo’s eyes on him, steadying his hand. Then he felt the metal grip lead, and pulled the bullet out slowly, thinking absurdly of the time Leo had gotten a sliver of wood stuck in his hand, and Don had used the tweezers…
But this isn’t the same thing, of course it’s not, this is Raph’s life…
But of course nothing was going to happen. Raph would be fine. He’d just stitch the wound, make sure infection didn’t set in, let Raph get some rest…
Splinter lay a hand on his arm. “Relax, my son. Your muscles are too tense…you must relax.”
Nodding, Don worked neck and shoulders until the ache in them faded. He placed the blood-streaked bullet on the cloth that Leo provided, staunched the wound, and picked up the needle and thread.
“Umm…Splinter? Maybe you should be doing this…”
With a lopsided smile, the rat sensei gently took the instruments and crouched in front of the wound.
She huddled on the bed, rocking back and forth, fists almost cut from the grip of her teeth. The image of the blue room still haunted her. They didn’t…they couldn’t have…
But they had. She was expendable now. Tommy was expendable. God knew what they would do to Michaelangelo.
And she was afraid. She was very, very afraid.
He breathed in deep, felt shadows and nothingness surrounded him-- the ether again; he hadn’t been there in a while. Not since…
He gritted his teeth and pushed away the memory of the guns.
Slowly it wrapped around him and he detached, body relaxing and mind and senses swirling. He’d forgotten how good it felt to be back in the astral plane. He stayed there for a minute, taking in the mental darkness, pondering where he wanted to go, and decided away from here. And promptly was.
He looked at the dirt road, the trees surrounding the house, and realized this was not Manhattan, not by a long shot. Probably not even New York…
He moved further, space and time blurring, and was back in the city, overlooking familiar streets, alive with light and noise. He moved into the spot near the alleyway where, so many months ago, he had lain dying. He wondered if the blood still stained the concrete and went for a closer look. A rush of air behind him grabbed his attention and he turned slowly. “Oh,” he said. “Hi.”
“Old haunts?”
“Yeah…I guess. Couldn’t stay in body for long, could you?”
“I…” Raph looked down at himself, then back up. “I don’t even know where I am. This is the astral plane, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
“So what are you doing here?”
“Visiting.”
“I see…” Raph looked down at the exact spot Mike had been after the helicopter incident.
“How’s your arm?” Mike asked.
“Still hurts, but I think it’s better. I don’t remember much after I passed out on that makeshift operating table.”
Mike nodded. “Just glad you’re still here.”
“Even though you’re not?”
“I’ll get out soon, Raph. Trust me.”
“I’d love to, Mike. Why don’t you just tell me where the fuck you are?”
Michaelangelo sighed, closed his eyes-- and was gone. Raphael let out a growl, and promptly felt his astral self lurch forward and dissipate…and then he was looking at a large white building nestled between trees on a dirt road…
Mike?
Shit, he thought. This can’t be what it looks like…
Where are you?
“Sorry,” Mike said from behind him. “I got pulled. So…this is it. And no, you’re not crashing it. These people are dangerous.”
“Mikey…” He whirled with teeth bared, grabbing onto Mike’s surprisingly solid arm.
Mike didn’t flinch. “I’ll let you know.”
“What?”
“I’m…I’m gonna need you guys, just…not now. I’ll-- oh, shit, I gotta go. They’re about to wake me up. Look Raph, just…I’ll let you know.”
He was gone before Raph could blink, and just as quickly, Raph himself was surrounded by blackness. He felt the weight of his limbs, the rush of blood, the beat of heart. Slowly, he opened his eyes and found Donatello looking down at him.
“Welcome back,” Don said.
Raph gave a tired, frustrated smile. “Did I go anywhere?”
He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the dominos without much success. Morrison was watching him expectantly, watching the dominos, but he couldn’t...he couldn’t...
Feel like a fish in a bowl...being stared at...staring back at nothing...
The dominos were set up on a wheeled table, and Morrison gripped the table’s edges as if holding it there, back straight, still watching. Mike glanced up at him; somehow found it a little easier to look him in the face than he could Hatcher. He took a deep breath, pushed fingers against his temples, forced it, tried to make something come...
The first domino wobbled slightly, and a low growl escaped his throat. The black rectangle hadn’t tipped. With another growl, he bared his teeth and clenched his hands.
Morrison looked up, frowning, and looked back at the dominoes, misinterpreting.
“I thought you said you'd cooperate here.”
“Well, I can't exactly cooperate when you keep pumping me full of drugs, you asshole! You think I like hallucinating about fluffy talking sheep?”
“Pardon?”
“Forget it. Let's just get this over with.”
“Then tip them over.”
Mike pressed his hands to his eyes, breathed in deep, felt the anger and resentment surface. And then it, the familiarity of it, barreling up like a shot from a cannon deep inside, spiraling up and out until he looked at the dominos and they all fell, rippling like a black tide. His head hurt. He didn’t look at Morrison.
“I got a headache. I don’t think I want to do anymore right now.”
The doctor was already scribbling on a clipboard. “I’ll let Mr. Hatcher know.”
I bet you will.
Mike’s eyes followed him out.
The smell of french toast drifts in as he wakes up. He wonders who’ll bring the breakfast-in-bed this time. He wishes he could walk so he could make it himself...
The door creaks open and April looks in, her hair in a ponytail and her eyes bright. That makes one of us, at least…
“Morning.”
“It is?”
She grins, carefully balancing the tray. “Well, breakfast is usually an indication…”
Coming over, she sets the tray down on the table and sits. “How are you feeling?”
“A little better.” He’s said it so many times it was almost reflexive; every day it’s the same thing. Someone would bring food, sit down, talk, ask him how he’s feeling. Every time, the same answer. Not that it’s not true; he is getting better. He just wishes he could convince Leo that he needs to get out…
He’s halfway through the french toast when he looks up. “Hey April?”
“Yeah?”
“You think Leo would do anything if I went with you above-ground?”
She pauses and looked at him. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No. I just want some fresh air. And don’t tell me you’ll bring some in a bottle.”
She giggles. “Seriously Mike, I don’t know…I mean, your leg is still healing. The fever’s broken but it might come back. And you’re just not in any shape to move around right now.”
“Well, if people would stop treating me like an invalid--” He breaks off, not looking at her face, and then a little voice in the back of his mind murmurs, if you’d stop treating yourself like one…
He looks down at his hands, sees the long scar on his left palm from Nashima’s sword. He’d been in a funk for a few days; but he hadn’t thought…sure, he’d been depressed but…
“Raph was worried,” April says softly, breaking his thought. “Leo told me about the talk they had the other day. Mike, you were depressed. You refused to eat, you were burning up, you were having nightmares, you were apathetic…of course they thought you didn’t want to get better.”
“At the time, I didn’t,” he says truthfully. “But…April…I want…I need…”
“I know,” she says gently. “All right.”
Standing, she takes his hand and he sits on the edge of the bed, feet lightly touching the floor. Bracing himself against her shoulder, he stands slowly, shaking a little, willing strength into the muscles, telling himself over and over to move, to just do it, to just…walk…
“No, Mike,” April says suddenly, softly. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
He blinks, realizes his face his wet…suddenly feels the lump in his throat and tries to swallow it…it’s just hard, he’s not used to this, it hurts…
“A-April…shit…”
His leg shakes and won’t stop shaking.
“Mike,” she says, “take it easy, don’t get mad…you can do it…”
They move toward the door, and he’s all but clinging to her…just wants it to end, to go away…he just wants everything to go back to normal…
He puts too much weight on his left leg by accident and stumbles.
“No…”
Pain shoots up his calf and thigh and he freezes, locked in the pain for an instant, teeth clenched in an ineffective effort to block it out. April holds onto him tighter; she seems determined now to get him out the door and up to where he wants to go…
“It’s okay, you just slipped. Relax, Mike. Relax, it’ll pass…”
He nods, breathing deeply, and starts to limp as best he can, April with him at every step.
Raph sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his bandaged arm and hoping Splinter would give him permission to leave. He felt fine, he didn’t need to be watched over like this…it was just one gunshot wound.
Now I know how Mike felt. Sort of. Getting up, he went to the door and saw an empty lair-- so far. He sat down in the living room and picked up the remote.
“Raphael.”
Shit…no such luck.
“I’m fine, Master, really. I’ll be back in action in a few days.”
Splinter eased himself into the old sofa chair in the corner. “Even so…I do not want you to exercise yourself too much. It’s just a precaution.”
“I know…Splinter…I understand.” They had all been acting cautious since the cyborg raid, and that had been months ago. “Can I at least go get some fresh air?”
Splinter smiled. “Of course. Just make sure you are not seen.”
Raph flashed a grin and got up. “Never. At least…not again.”
He scooted up back to the pillow; lotus style, eyes half-closed…he could still see slivers of light from the ceiling…
He felt his eyes roll back and his muscles loosen, felt something pull, felt something else trying to come through-- a rush of images, like a tapestry, woven…
Pictures swirled like stained glass windows. A woman. Brown hair gathered against the back of her head, a few tendrils hanging around her face. Lab coat, powder blue. Blue jeans underneath. Above the rush, that was the strongest. A woman standing in a room. Clear blue eyes looking right at him. She opened her mouth, he could almost hear…
Movement. He smelled fire, burning wood. Alarms blaring. He couldn’t see…
Smoke was too thick. He shuddered, cringing back. What was it? He couldn’t see--
The mansion. It was on fire.
Fire alarms screamed in his head. When he opened his eyes again, cold sweat was pouring down his skin.
The woman who brushed past him dropped one of her books and he knelt to pick it up, holding closed the collar of his trench coat.
“Hey, wait--”
She turned; her eyes were clear and blue and her light brown hair was pulled back in a twist. Looked about April’s age.
“You dropped this.” He held it out-- The Nature of Mutation. He didn’t recognize the author-- it was probably a new release. Still, it sent a small chill running through him.
She came back, smiling, and took it, placing it back on top of the small stack in her arms. “Thanks. Makes me wish I had a cart or something.”
“I know the feeling.” Don smiled. "Good book?"
"I guess," she smiled. "I've never actually taken my own books out of the library, but a friend wanted them--"
Don's eyes widened. "Wait-- you wrote these?"
She nodded, looking at the top one. "I'm a biologist dabbling in different aspects of psychology. Not surprisingly, all my findings warrent enough to be placed under the 'bizarre' category."
He grinned. He remembered reading stuff like that.
"Anyway, I gotta go. Thanks again." She grinned and hefted the four books in her arms.
Don watched as she opened the main door and headed out to the library steps. The book he had seen still lingered in his mind as he checked out his own books and hurried back to the streets.
Pacing the room, he tapped his fingers rhythmically against his plastron-- they had kept the straps off for now, when they had gotten tired of trying to get a reaction with the drugs. Mostly, all that had happened was that he’d been in pain for a while, or lost the power, or hallucinated in his dreams. He didn’t even know what the hell they’d been giving him anyway. All he knew was that it wasn’t over.
Going to the window, he tried to picture the outside world through the black iron cover. Shouldn’t be so hard…just close his eyes, imagine…
He felt the pull and then the sense of tearing as he stepped into the astral plane. It was getting easy-- just let go and pull away. Not as easy as the dreams, but he was getting there.
He felt his fingers grip the windowsill, and then he stepped away and found himself outside, surrounded by trees and lawns and a courtyard. It still looked like a hotel. A haunted one at that.
But who knows what ghosts lurk here?
He decided he’d better make sure there weren’t any new additions.
As if it was an answer, he was suddenly pulled to something else…a roadside a good three miles behind the house…trees and shadows…and he could see drying blood and a sneaker lying in the dirt.
Oh shit…
Quickly he shifted time-wise, saw the fresh footprints of someone running, and the sense of terror was strong; he couldn’t see the face but…
This only happened yesterday, didn’t it? Who--
And then he heard a gunshot-- several. No one was yelling, but he could hear the murmuring voices clearly.
Almost clearly.
Another shot, an explosion of red and a scream--
Mike tried to cry out but couldn’t; the feeling was strangling…I have to get out of here…
He shut his eyes and the world tilted…he opened them and he was standing in the courtyard by one of the sculptures, gasping for breath…he didn’t think it was possible to feel like this in astral…
Shit…how am I supposed to tell--
Pain gripped his temples like a vise. With a low moan, he snapped back into his body and collapsed on the floor.
The grass was soft and soaked with dew once he stepped into Central Park. Glancing up at a slowly darkening sky, he took a deep breath and let his skin breathe cool evening air. His right arm throbbed slightly, but he ignored it. The wound was taken care of; pain wasn’t a priority. He thought about Donnie cringing with the thread and needle. Splinter had assured him the surgery had gone well. Still…
Reaching a tree, he sat down against it, lotus-style, and stretched his arms above his head as far as the wound would allow, which wasn’t much. His mind turned back and clung to the memory of heat.
Fire had seared up his arm when the bullet struck; but a different kind had followed when Mike’s mental scream had reached him. The heat that had closed the wound inflicted by Oroku Saki; the heat that had probably kept Mike alive after the helicopter fall. Raph winced and imagined he could feel himself crashing into the ground, with nothing but the strength of his mind to save his bones from shattering…
Movement caught his eye and he silently rose to his feet.
A brown rabbit bounded out into the clearing, nose twitching. He relaxed slightly and crouched, unmoving, hand held out. The rabbit blinked at him, came forward slowly but without fear…almost like it recognizes me from someplace…
And then, almost unexpectedly, the rabbit hopped forward and into his arms.
“He went for a walk,” Splinter said. “I think in Central Park.”
Leonardo nodded. “I guess he’ll be okay, then. I just wish we knew why he was shot-- or who did it.”
Don had taken apart an old radio he’d stashed in his workshop and was now busily dismantling and reconstructing it; Leo could tell he was nervous if he kept tinkering with no real goal. Now Don glanced up. “It has to be those guys who took Mike. There’s no other explanation.”
“Okay, but why? They don’t know about Raph.”
“They know Raphael was with the boy,” Splinter said quietly. “If they had gotten a good look at him, they would have recognized him again.”
Leo watched Don play with the wires for a few minutes. “I want Michaelangelo out of there alive. I want him back home. I just wish I knew where to start.”
“Carrie,” Don said abuptly, and they both looked at him.
“The girl?” Leo asked.
He nodded. “Maybe if we find out who she is…we can find out who these guys are. I mean, if they hadn’t come after her, Mike wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Splinter nodded sagely. “A wise deduction. And where will you start?”
Standing, Don dusted off his hands and ducked into his workshop. Minutes later they heard the computer booting up.
“Where else?” came the reply. “The Internet white pages.”
Hatcher opened the door and let out a curse; he and Morrison both ran to the window, bent down, and gripped his arms…damn it, he was heavy, and the limp weight didn’t help…
“Come on,” Hatcher said. “Help me get him back to the bed…”
Morrison gripped the other shoulder, the left; that was when Michaelangelo stirred.
“No…” he mumbled. “Hurts…Leo…get the others…not much time…”
“Who’s Leo?” Morrison asked.
“One of the others, I think. He’s in a trance; it’s like sleepwalking. Don’t jolt him.”
They dragged him back toward the bed and pushed him against the pillows.
“You sure know a lot about this shit,” Morrison said.
“I have to,” Hatcher said simply.
The turtle whimpered slightly; it was an odd sound coming from a creature like this.
“Ghost pain,” Hatcher said. “He’s remembering something that hurt him. Maybe something like--”
“My god,” Morrison breathed. “Look at that…”
Hatcher blinked. Bullet wounds had suddenly appeared on the turtle’s left shoulder; the skin and shell was torn open…there was blood soaking the mattress.
Manifestation, he thought grimly. Oh shit…
The turtle’s breathing was suddenly shallow.
He turned to Morrison. “Prep an IV and a respirator. We can’t do anything about a transfusion right now.”
“What is it?”
“The power of mind over body,” Hatcher said grimly.
She raised her head, felt a distant pain, like a fading blow. A voice called to her. Michaelangelo’s voice. Carrie, I need your help.
She scrambled up, stood off the bed. What is it?
We have to get out of here. They’re about to put me under again and there’s no time. Show me what you’ve found.
But--
Show me.
She closed her eyes, remembered the blue room and the embryos, the vials of his blood stripped of mutagen but flowing with psi…
Mentally he cursed. I’m going to pull a fire alarm. I want you to get out and find my room. I’ll take it from there.
Twisting her hands, she grabbed her shoes. What about Tommy?
There was a pause. I’m sorry, Carrie. He’s dead.
She sat down on the floor with a cry. They killed him?
It wasn’t pretty. Carrie, I’m sorry…
She was crying openly now, huddled on the floor. “Just do what you have to, Mike,” she whispered, and she knew he heard. “Just get us out of here…”
The rabbit’s fur was softer than anything he’d touched, even Splinter’s after a brushing. He held it close to his chest, crouched on his knees, watching the ears twitch. The little guy was so placid, almost like a pet…
And then he realized. Shoulda known. This has Mikey written all over it. A way with animals, my foot. This is is a goddamn mental connection…
The sound of cars on the street startled the rabbit and it jumped, scurrying back into the bushes. Raph brushed his hands off and stood, trying very hard not to think about his brother. The swans were in the pond again. There were songbirds skittering along the tree branches.
Damn it Mike, why does everything have to remind me of you?
He thought back to the dream he’d had-- the trip into the astral plane, seeing Mike. The mansion he’d seen, the surrounding area, didn’t look like Westchester County or Long Island. Well, maybe Westchester, but…
But where? Come on, Mike, you’re going to have to do better than that.
He closed his eyes, tried to call it up again, but it faded like wisps of fog. Crossing his legs again, he eased into meditation, counting slowly…until the wide expanse of dark opened up before him and he fell…
Carrie sat numbly, waiting for another call from Mike, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. So Tommy was dead. How convenient for them.
She bit down on her fist, and then the images hit her again-- the blue room; and another one, an office, with a desk, and something in the drawer; a computer disk…and she knew they had to get that disk before hell broke loose…
She saw fire raging up the walls of the mansion, saw the canisters in the blue room explode in a rush of fluid…she was running, and something was looming at her back, someone had taken firm hold of her wrist and was running, said something to her that she couldn’t make out…
And then it stopped and her eyes flew open. Alarms were screaming in her ears and she stood up and ran to the door.
He took a deep breath past the phantom pain, sought out the main controls for the alarms…pushed hard, and they screamed across his brain. He heard cursing erupt around him, but didn’t open his eyes. He knew the wounds were gone now; they always disappeared once he made them gone. But he had slipped and that had been dangerous. He sucked in another breath. The drugs were starting to take effect. He didn’t have much time.
Go out into the hall, check the topmost floors first, he thought, and pushed.
Precious seconds passed. He heard Hatcher turn to Morrison. “Go out into the hall,” he snapped. “Check the topmost floors first. Make sure everything is secure.”
“Right.”
He heard Morrison leave; a minute later Hatcher’s footsteps faded away, running. Mike opened his eyes and sat up.
Carrie?
I’m here, Mike. Damn, what did you do, set off the whole system?
Something like that. Hang on, I’ll show you where I am…
Raph’s eyes flew open and he gasped for breath. Mike…shadows and fire…screaming…
No, it was Mike, it was his mind, I just slipped in…how could I…
The rapport, he reminded himself. That empathic connection.
He said he’d let us know when he needed us…
Getting up and sprinting out of the park, Raph desperately hoped it was soon.
She ran blindly, people shoving past without a second glance. You'd think they'd at least go to check on me...
But then she remembered Mike's push. He might have done the whole building. Didn't Hatcher once say she had it too? If they did come looking, she could...
The blaring seared her ears and it was all she could do not to hold her hands over her ears as she ran. Another hallway loomed up, and she turned into it, running along a winding maze. Third door on the right, she thought. Third door--
Someone caught her from behind, hands on her shoulders--security guard--
"Hey, hold it," a voice boomed. "Where do you think you're going?"
Carrie froze, then blinked, and calmly turned. "I'm going to meet my friend," she said slowly. "We're going to get out of here. Can you tell me the fastest way outside?"
The guard's face became a mask. "Down the hall, stairwell's on the left," he said. "You take care now, Miss White."
And then he turned and was gone. The alarms slowly shut down. The hall seemed deathy quiet.
He set off the alarms to distract everyone, get them out of the building...why? What does he want...
And then the vision hit her. The fire. The gunshots. And Hatcher. Mike...Oh my god...I understand now...
She pressed a hand to her head. There was a slight throbbing, but it would pass. At least it worked. Now for Mike...
She turned to the door, pushed it open. He was sitting on the edge of the bed; without a word, he jumped up, and then she was being pulled down the hall with his hand firmly against her wrist. "If anyone tries to grab you, push them hard," he said.
She nodded. "What about--"
He turned looked at her. "We need to destroy the evidence somehow. And the files on the disk."
"How?"
Mike hesitated, and then she saw something in his eyes, deep and mournful and filled with regret.
"Ever seen the movie Firestarter?"
"Well, her father was involved with some of this John Hatcher guy's projects, and then he quit, and then he and his wife died in a plane crash." Don ran his tongue over his teeth and scrolled a little further. "Typical, right?"
"Guess so." Leo peered over his shoulder. "But the wife worked with a woman named Sandra Blake. Think she's still around?"
"Why?"
"To get answers. Take a look-- it says she's a parapsychologist. Maybe we can get some answers for Mike, too."
Don blew out his breath. "If we can find him."
She stood again at the door to the blue room. The blood samples. The stolen embryos that would be used for destruction. She felt the power stir and surface.
Anger.
The door blew open by itself. She glanced up at the ceiling, wishing she could watch as Mike broke into Hatcher's office. But at the moment, this needed to be done.
Needed...
Remember, she told herself. You can't let them do this.
Carrie stepped into the room, focused on the canisters, and let the power loose.
In the distance, something crashed, something began to pound, over and over. Someone was chasing him. He almost tripped on a rug and faced an endless hallway, door after door. It was here somewhere...he just had to feel his way through...
There--
A shot ran out and he bolted. Someone was coming. First instinct; he ran to the door that had begun to glow like blood in his mind. Crashed it open. Oakwood desk. The computer disk...the files...
He dove under the desk, grabbed the locked drawer, pushed and it opened. The disk was there. He let loose and the file cabinet spewed forth papers and folders and documents.
He grabbed as much as he could, realized he wouldn't be able to carry it all out; then realized it was all on the disk. He tucked the disk into his belt.
Burn them then, a voice said. Make it so they never catch you again.
He dropped the papers, looked at them, felt heat shimmer, rise, spiral...
The door burst open and Hatcher stood there. The gun was trained on Mike's head.
Mike smiled. "Too late."
The papers burst into smoky flame.
Hatcher fired, Mike ducked into a crouch, and the bullet shattered a window. Whirling, Mike threw Hatcher sideways into the wall.
The flames rose up, roaring. Alarms screamed again, on their own now, like a death song.
The door burst open, and Morrison stood there, gun in hand. Mike looked up, startled, saw the man's eyes, and decided a monstrous place like this bred monsters untold.
Morrison fired at him, twice; the bullets glanced off a mere inch from his body. Mike snarled, feeling helplessly used, helplessly betrayed in a way he couldn't explain. He lashed out.
Morrison's body was thrown out into the hall, a blazing ball of fire. Hatcher...he couldn't be sure, but he felt Hatcher being hurled back by the force and crash to the floor, his clothes burning. By the time Michaelangelo rose to his feet, he was already trembling and fire was climbing the wood panels and rugs...
Carrie, he thought.
Michaelangelo ran.
She found herself in total darkness; at the last minute she had swerved the force to make it hit the power box; the electricity went off. The power feeding into the canisters died.
I have to get out of here...
She ran, knocking something over with a splash. The blood samples, she thought. Didn't matter. Just run.
She burst through the door; ran...and then a shadow descended on her and grabbed her wrist again; he pulled her toward the hall and they ran together, and Carrie could smell smoke and fire swirling down the stairs, and the alarms were screaming again...
Get outside, someone thought, but she wasn't sure who. Have to get outside...
Outside, guns blasted at them. A silent figure with a face half-seared by fire stood not twenty feet before them, pistol in hand, and Carrie felt the power inside Michaelangelo spring to life...
"When was it published?" Raph asked. "This year?"
"Looks like it," Leo said. "Just like the other three. How could this woman know so much about--"
Don didn't say anything, just looked at the book titles that leapt out from the document. Inside The Mind's Eye. The Forgotton Sense. Secrets In The Gene Pool. The Nature of Mutation.
Sandra Blake.
"I know who she is," he said.
They looked at him.
"The library," Don said, and proceeded to look the books up.
"Don't move," Hatcher growled.
Michaelangelo went one way, Carrie another; a second explosion rocked around them. Fire blazed from the third-story windows.
Hatcher has the gun-- she thought at him.
Just run, he tossed at her. Go!
Most of the security team was either dead or running scared. He hated death. But it was him or them...
Hatcher circled him, the ruined left side of his face a twisted grimace.. "You're going to destroy everything!"
"I think I already have," Mike said calmly. "You know how I feel about Sumoto."
"So he tried to kill you! I didn't, I--"
"No, you did worse! And you were going to do what with it-- breed superminds, have some sort of guard...you're worse than Sumoto ever was..."
"No," Hatcher whispered, and fired again. It bounced off inches from Mike's face.
"You can't hurt me, Hatcher," he said. He looked around for Carrie, saw her, ran...
"Carrie!"
She turned, slowly; Hatcher raised the gun; and Mike saw it happen in his mind seconds before...he leaped, screaming...
Blood burst like a flower against the side of Carrie's neck and she dropped to the ground. Mike howled, landing on his feet and twisting around to whirl on Hatcher, knocked him back...but Hatcher scrambled up and ran...
Fire glared behind him and all around.
Let him go, the voice of reason murmured. He saw in the mind's eye, future flash; a shadow against the night, and a scream...
"Now, Raph," he whispered. "Now. I need you..."
I need you, guys. Now...
Raph jerked, grabbed Don's arm; Leo took a step back.
"I know where he is," Leo murmured.
"So do I," Raph said curtly. "Come on."
He dropped to his knees, touched her head. Her eyes were open, but glazed; she was choking on her own blood.
"I'm sorry," he gasped. "Carrie..."
"You did what you had to," she whispered. "Mike...thank you...for..."
Her body gave a massive shudder. The light in her eyes went out.
Thank you for what you've done for us.
Shaking, he passed a hand over her eyes, closing them. Crouched next to her body, with carnage and pain screaming around him, Mike sobbed.
"There," Leo said. "My god..."
The blaze was a torch-light, a beacon for the weary. Don screeched the Van to a halt and they jumped out.
Raph reached him first. Blood was sticky on the ground; the girl's body was already cold. Raph touched his brother's shoulder; Mike looked up. He was shaking so badly.
"It's okay," Raph said softly. "We're going home."
He pulled Mike to his feet; let him lean on him heavily. He shook so hard his teeth were chattering.
"It'll be okay," Raph said again. "Come on..."
"There," April says. "You okay?"
"I think so," he says, smiling at her. "Oh, yeah...feel that wind...the sun...oh man, I missed it..."
"How's your leg holding up?"
"It's okay. I just needed...y'know, just for a minute..."
She smiles, nodding, and reaches out for his hand. "I know, Mike. You just let me know when you want to come back..."
Splinter checked Mike's breathing again; lay the damp cloth over his forehead. "He should be all right," he said. "He's just traumatized."
Leo bit his lip, nodded. "Something tells me it's not over, though."
Raph glanced up, noting how ominous that sounded. Mike had collapsed in a dead faint once they'd reached the lair-- shock, apparently. That had been half an hour ago. Raph tried not to think about what had gone on in that building before it had burned.
He blinked when Mike stirred, opened his eyes, and looked at them.
"Told you I'd make it back in one piece," he whispered.
Raph closed his eyes.
Sure, he thought. Like a puzzle with a few pieces missing...
He looked down when someone touched his arm. Mike was sitting up, looking at him sternly.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "Let me do the suffering."
I can't, Raph thought, and spared a glance at Leo, who tilted his head as if in agreement.
Mike looked back and forth at them; at Don and Splinter, who looked so solemn. He thought about Carrie and Tommy, who would never see their senior prom.
No, he told himself. You will not start crying again. Shit happens. You have to deal with it...you have to...
"Michaelangelo." Splinter touched his shoulder, and he tried to choke back the pain.
"I'll be all right," he whispered. "I just need..."
"I know," Splinter said softly. "Just give yourself time to heal."
Nodding, Mike ran his hands over his face, and slowly began to close out the shadows.
There are some things in this world that are better left unexplained...
Back to Chapter Eight