Shadow Rising

3. Water

He opened the door, stepped in, and heard the sound of the TV from far off. Walked into the living room and looked down at Raphael, who was reclining with the remote in one hand and a can of soda in the other. Some old horror flick on the screen.
"Where were you?" Raph twisted his head around.
"Out."
He raised an eyeridge. "Obviously."
Mike sat down next to him. "I went to that costume nightclub downtown."
"Ah, that one. How was it?"
Shrug. "Kinda stuffy. Crowded."
Raph looked at him. "Head hurt?"
Mike glanced up. "Yeah..."
Drinking half the can in one gulp, Raphael tossed him a knowing glance. "Figures. You and crowds don't exactly mix anymore."
"I try, Raph--"
"I know you do. I just asked if your head hurt."
Rubbing his head, Mike leaned an elbow on the couch arm. "I met a couple of kids there, our age. Carrie and Tommy. Cute couple."
"And?"
Mike shrugged.
"That's nice." Raph turned back to the movie.
There was silence for a few minutes. Then Michaelangelo looked down at his hands. "Raph, she's got TK."
Raphael turned his head. "What, the girl?"
He nodded.
"You sure?"
"I checked. She asked me to."
Passing a hand over his eyes, Raph blew out his breath. "Natural?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Telekinesis."
"Yeah."
"Damn."
Mike realized his hands were sweating, and rubbed them uneasily. "She wants me to help her..."
Raph's hand on his arm. "Mike, you look exhausted."
"I'm not...I'm fine. I just...Raph, if I can cruise into an ordinary Manhattan nightclub and meet even one person with ESP...how many people like her do you think are out there? Everybody's always brushing this shit off as a hoax, hallucinations...but--"
"Bro," and here Raphael turned to face him fully, "there're over a billion people on the planet. Humans, I mean. Who gives a crap about those New Age flakes who claim to be psychic--I mean, if it exists, then somebody genuine's gotta have it. You do. This girl does, from what you're saying. And I'm sure there are maybe a thousand other people who have it. But who'd want to advertise and risk getting slaughtered by skeptics, anyway?"
Mike closed his eyes. "Well, yeah, but..."
"Shit, Mikey." Raph crushed the soda can in his hand. "Who'd believe in giant mutant turtles, anyway?"
Michaelangelo looked at him.
"See?" Raph said.
Mike sighed. "Then why do I still feel like a freak among freaks?"
Raphael touched his arm again. "Try to get some sleep, okay?"
Mike just nodded.

Cage. Iron bars. Voices. Pinpricks. Cattle prod? Can't tell. Damn it, too dark...he touches cold iron, and then a lock twists, door swings open and a hand grabs his arm. Voices. He's on a table. Cold metal. Restraints. Needle syringe pricks his arm, and then he's on fire. He starts to scream and can't stop screaming, and far away someone else screams with him...

He jerked up in bed, heart pounding. The others were still sound asleep. He hadn't screamed. He lay back down and thought about iron bars and voices in the dark, and realized that his hands had begun to shake.

Leo woke up early and was pouring milk on his cereal when Mike walked in and sat down, putting his head in his hands.
Leo put the milk down. "Bad night?"
"Can't remember."
Picking up his spoon, Leo pushed a glass of orange juice toward his brother. "Here, it's cold. It'll wake you up."
Mike took it and drank, wincing. "Yow, that's cold."
"Told you."
He took another sip, relished the tart citrus, and got up to get his own bowl.
"Raph tells me you met a girl with telekinesis last night," Leonardo said.
Michaelangelo slid back into her seat. "Her name's Carrie White."
Leo blinked.
Mike grinned. "Yeah, I know. Guess what her boyfriend's name is."
"Stephen?"
Mike laughed. "Tommy. As in the Tommy who took Carrie to the prom."
"Nobody was hauling around buckets of blood, were they?"
Mike had just taken a bite, and now he almost choked on it laughing. "I asked that. They said no."
"What makes you think she--"
"I checked."
"Oh."
They ate in silence, and then Donatello joined them. "Morning."
Mike glanced up. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty."
"Shaddup."
Michaelangelo grinned.
"By the way," Don said after getting his breakfast. "I was out by your nightclub last night, Mike. Looked like somebody was lurking around in the bushes. You sure it's safe to go down there?"
Mike's hand froze. "Ah..."
Don looked at him curiously. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, fine." He picked up his bowl and dumped the milk in the sink. "I gotta go, I told Carrie I'd meet them by the pizza place by April's."
"Which reminds me," Leonardo cut in. "April's invited us over this afternoon, just to hang out. Are you coming?"
"Yeah, I'll be there." Now he was really getting anxious. "I'll see you guys later."
He ran out, grabbing his coat and fedora, trying desperately to outrun the shadow of the nightmare that still clung to him.

"He was nice, wasn't he?"
"Mm-hmm. Nice enough to help you out."
They stood under a grove of trees in Central Park, his hands on her waist. They kissed for a long time, and when they pulled away the swans were gathering in the pond, wings flapping and splashing in the water. A small box turtle crawled near Carrie's foot.
"Tommy?" she murmured.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"I don't think that's a costume."

"Yes or no?" Hatcher asked, arms folded.
"For the last time, John, yes. Now will you stop bitching about it? We'll get them."
Hatcher shook his head. "Time flows like a river, my friend. You can't always follow it wherever it goes."
"We'll get them--"
"Shh." Hatcher put a hand over the scientist's mouth. "No more talking. Talk again and I'll kill you. Just show me what you have."
His eyes bulging, Dr. Morrison nodded.

"You mean you think he's--"
"Real? Yes, I do. Just the way his hand felt when I shook it, or maybe it was how you couldn't see one single seam, like it was all smooth and perfect..."
"Carrie..."
She bent and picked up the turtle, whose head and legs immediately disappeared into the shell. "And those were scars, Tommy. Who'd deliberately put gashes in a costume?"
"Carrie, giant talking turtles don't exist."
She turned and looked at him. "Neither does telekinesis. Right?"
Tommy closed his eyes.

Tongue running over his teeth, Donatello clicked on "Net Search" and waited. Typed in "parapsychology." Waited. A world opened before him. He scrolled down, clicked, and began to read.

Mike waited at the curb until he spotted a green Honda pulling up. He drew his trench coat tighter around him. Not like anyone would notice; this was New York. Still... They got out, and Carrie waved to him. He waved back and waited until they joined him.
"Shall we go in?"
Tommy nodded. "Thanks for agreeing to this, Mike."
He smiled at Carrie. "Don't mention it."
Her eyes looked back at him. Don't worry, they said. We won't tell.
And inwardly, he took a step back.

He wakes up screaming, and then cool hands are quickly touching him, furred fingers on his face. "Hush, Michaelangelo. You are safe. You had a nightmare."
And lately that's all I've been having, he thinks, and looks up. "Master?"
The rat looks back at him solemnly. "Can you remember it?"
He shakes his head.
Splinter feels his forehead. "You feel all right. But I fear the speed of development may be a bit overwhelming."
His brow furrows. "Huh?"
Splinter perches on the edge of the bed. The other turtles have already gone to breakfast. "It has been three weeks since you and Raphael came upon the hidden cavern. Do you not remember what happened that very day you awoke from the three-day sleep?"
Michaelangelo looks downward. "I remember...hearing Donatello's thoughts. I was thirsty, and I tried to reach for a cup of broth, and it...flew into my hand."
Splinter nods. "Respectively, you demonstrated powers of telepathy and telekinesis. You understand what that means, don't you?"
Mike nods slowly. "Reading people's minds and moving things just by thinking about it. Respectively."
The rat takes his hands. "I believe it is more than that for you, my son. These powers are growing at a fantastic rate. Your nightmares may in fact be a window to the future. You must try to remember."
"The future...?" His eyes widen. "But--I don't want to see the future!"
"You may not have a choice," Splinter says. "I have offered once, but I will offer again. Will you let me teach you?"
"Teach me...?"
"To control these powers. To see what you wish to see. I am afraid for you, Michaelangelo. Your emotional sensitivity already marks you as highly empathic. I would not want to see you torn apart by the very minds that harbor those emotions you feel."
Mike shudders. "I...yeah. I mean, after that dream about the plane crashing, and what I did to the TV--"
"Donatello will fix the television," Splinter says. "And while there is nothing we can do about that one premonition, we can perhaps try to regulate others. Come."
He stands up. Slowly, Mike gets out of bed and goes with him.

It wasn't crowded in the parlor, but even so they moved to the back and sat down, ordering Cokes. Mike didn't take off his coat.
"When did you find out?"
She bit her lip. "Just before we came here. I kept thinking about it, trying to figure out..."
"How?" Tommy whispered, and he could see the boy's eyes, glinting with surprise and possibly awe.
Mike looked down at the table, sliding the cold can from one hand to the other. "We used to be ordinary turtles, but we fell down a sewer drain and later got covered with...with mutagenic ooze."
"Mutagenic," Carrie murmured. "How did that happen? I mean, how did you get like this?"
Mike looked up into her eyes, somehow, suddenly, trusting them. He didn't know why. So told them, his voice young but somehow old. He was still talking by the time two tall men walked in wearing government issue. They sat at a nearby table, listening, and didn't make a sound.

"Load of crap," Donatello muttered under his breath. "Why doesn't anyone have any real evidence to show?"
A shadow standing over him. "That's because getting evidence is too hard," Leonardo said. "As far as we know, Mike's the only one who can actually do what he does."
"Yeah, but...I mean, there has to be something..."
"So, what do you propose? Make flyers? Send out an ad? 'Searching for anyone who can honestly delve into people's heads, blow things up from across the room, seal a wound in twenty minutes'? What are you trying to find, anyway?"
Don shook his head. "Something. Anything. Mike needs this. Look, we've always been outcasts. Hardly anyone knows we exist. That's bad enough, being shunned. But Mikey-- he's got something even more isolating."
Leo folded his arms. "I'd hardly call the ability to read minds isolating."
Turning, Don tapped his fingers against the computer desk. "Well, think about it. You see the look in his eyes. Like he's shutting off a part of himself. You know, blocking it all out. Remember when we ran to that burning building site and the crowd was gathering, and all of a sudden he was on the ground shaking? It's like that."
Leo took another chair and straddled it. "So, what would you do?"
Donatello shrugged. "Well, Splinter and I tested him enough--those powers aren't exactly ebbing. I just want...to help him learn control, that's all. It's a harsh world out there. And the way Mike is already, it'll tear him apart once he gets into it."
Leo looked at him impressively. "Jeez, you really put a lot of thought into this."
Shrugging again, Don turned back and began searching again, clicked on an odd- sounding site--and essentially turned cold as he read the text.
"Oh my god," he whispered.
"What?" Leo stood up, looking over his shoulder. "Donnie? What is it?"
Don shook his head, just pointed.

"Nothing happened for a couple of weeks after that incident in the infirmary," Mike said quietly. "I mean, I did dream about a plane crash that came true--" His head jerked up.
"Oh," Carrie whispered.
"Like this one?" Tommy asked.
Mike put his head in his hands. "How reminiscent..."
"Go on," Carrie urged.
He closed his eyes, heard the murmurs in his head again. The men in gray issue were sitting there, watching. Listening. He wondered what the hell was so interesting. And then he heard Donatello's voice.
This is not good. What the hell is this?
He blinked. A cold wave passed over him. The table under his hands became iron. Voices in the dark. He raised his eyes, glanced at the men across the aisle. They were standing up to leave.
They want something--what do they want?
"Mike?" Tommy asked.
He shook his head. "My name is Michaelangelo," he said quietly. "Hamato was my sensei's human name. My brothers and I are ninja. Mutants. Freaks. Master Splinter's a giant rat. We're all freaks."
Silence.
"Mike," Carrie said. He didn't look up.
"Michaelangelo," she said, firmly. He looked up.
"No, you're not."
Tommy nodded in agreement. Mike looked at them, wide-eyed.
She smiled at him, touching his hand.

"What is this?" Leonardo asked. "Is this for real?"
Don just nodded. "I think so." He read down the screen, taking deep breaths. "The Shadow Project. That's what they're calling it."
Leo blinked, staring at the familiar Japanese name on the screen. "But--he's dead. The place was blown up."
"Apparently," Donatello said flatly, "someone has resurrected his projects."
"Who?"
"I wish I knew."
"You don't think Michaelangelo's in danger, do you?"
Don just looked at him. "I don't know."

"Here," Hatcher said, scrolling down. "Ikashi Sumoto. The originator of the Shadow Project."
Morrison looked on. "Good lord, he gave himself a code name?"
"Why not? It's catchy enough."
"Experimenting in cybernetic augmentation...that fell through...he turned to studying the human mind, hidden capacities...thought that cybernetic implants could draw out psychic potential..."
"And it worked." Hatcher made a fist. "It fucking worked, he actually created psychic cyborgs."
Morrison looked at him. "You're not thinking about doing that, are you?"
Hatcher smiled. "Oh, no. Not the cyborg part. That's twisted even for my liking. The psionic experiments, though--I like those. And it says here that Sumoto did not exclude non-human subjects from his...hunt."
He sat back, began to chuckle. "Seems like our green friend is pretty popular, isn't he? What's the word from the field?"
"I'm contacting Agent Jensen now."
"You do that." Hatcher touched the screen, and was still chuckling when Morrison handed the cell phone over to him.

He looked at the clock. "I have to leave soon. Maybe now's not a good time to try this..."
She stopped him. "Just once. Please? I just--I need to..."
Looking at her, he softened. "Salt shaker?"
Carrie smiled at him, relieved, and he leaned over to pick up the salt.

"Well?"
"It's recorded. Do you need the tape now?"
"No. Wait till you get back. Are you out of the store?"
Jensen nodded. "Yeah. But White and the other two are still back there."
"Can you see what they're doing?"
"Talking."
"What else?"
He peered, tried to see closer through the binoculars. "Talking. That's it, John. Wait--he's got the salt. Looks like they're having some kind of staring contest with the shaker."
"Idiot." Hatcher pressed two fingers to his brow. "What do you think they're doing?"
"Oh. Right."
"Listen, get back to headquarters, Frank. If you happen to run into the mutant, don't do anything. He's mine."
"Okay...but..."
"And Frank, if you do meet him, don't make eye contact."
The agent blinked. "Huh?"
"He can...influence people. He can 'push' you, for lack of a better word. Plus he's ninja."
Jensen's mouth felt dry. "He should be killed, John. He's dangerous."
An amused chuckle. "Well, so am I. But you don't hear anyone complaining. No. I need him alive--for now."
"What about the kids?"
"Them too. But they're expendable. My hunch is that the freak will form a bond with Caroline. We get her. He comes for her. We get him."
"That works," Jensen said. "We're coming back now."
He hung up, nodded at his partner, and started the car.

"Not bad," Mike said, picking up the fallen shaker. "Think you can try to lift it?"
Carrie shrugged. "I guess..."
The shaker wobbled again, rose half an inch, slipped. Spilled.
"Shit," she muttered.
"Don't worry about it, that was fine." Mike smiled. "Keep practicing; you'll get it."
"Thank you," she said.
He smiled again, nodded once, and began to slide out of the booth.
"Wait," Carrie said. "I've...we've...been meaning to ask you..."
He returned and looked at them. She glanced over at the blond boy, then back. "How did you get the scars?"
Mike's face shuttered for an instant. "I lost a battle," he said quietly.
"With who?"
He shook his head. "No one you knew."
She sat there looking at him, and he could feel it working in her. Any minute now he'd feel her trying to get inside his head.
"It was a telepath," she said softly. "Someone who hated you. He was a ninja too. Attacked you with a sword...that's how you got the scars."
Mike said nothing.
"He was strong because...because...implants. Cyb--Oh, god." Her hand went to her mouth, and Tommy touched her arm.
"I'm so sorry," she murmured. There were tears in her eyes.
"Mike?" Tommy looked at him. "How did you lose the battle?"
Michaelangelo closed his eyes. "Both struck at the same time. We died."
The boy deliberately misinterpreted. "He was killed?"
"Yeah." Looking up, Mike saw a flicker of deeper understanding in the boy's eyes. He smiled back gratefully. Somehow, the touch between him and Carrie...
Then Mike remembered April. Mumbling a goodbye, he stood up. Tommy lifted a hand as he slid out of the seat. With a wave, he left them, heading up the street toward April's building.

"We'd better get going," Leo said.
Don nodded, printed out the last of the documents, turned everything off. "Raph! Let's go!"
"I'm coming, keep your goddamn shirt on!"
"If that were possible!"
Leonardo stuck his head in Splinter's room. "Master, we're going."
The rat nodded. "Say hello to April."
"I will," Leo said.
They met up, grabbed their disguises, and hurried out the door.

Hatcher sat listening to the tape. He rewound it, listened again, paused at places, rewound, listened again. He kept at it until he could mouth the words, memorize phrases. Every inch. Finally, he pressed the stop button. Then he sat back and smiled. It was the slow, white grin of a shark.
Trust me, Michaelangelo, he thought. Your life is about to get a lot more interesting.