"What's the old saying?" Raph asked, popping open a can.
Leo traced the ring that his own can had left on the table. "The more things change, the more they stay the same?"
"Yeah, that. Does he usually stay out this late?"
Leo shrugged. "What can I say? He's always been the party animal of the family. He
deserves a little fun."
Raphael belched softly; the bubbles fizzed and the sharp taste of beer spread across his
throat. "It's when Mikey stops having fun is when I start to worry."
"I don't think that'll happen," said Leo.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. 8:45. His head was starting to pound. He ignored
it; focused. In the distance he could see them pressed together, embraced. Swaying.
Lights flashed.
"See the stone set in your eyes, see the thorn twist in your side. I'll wait for you.
Sleight of hand and twist of fate, on a bed of nails she makes me wait. And I'll wait,
without you. With or without you...with or without you..."
It hurt now, really hurt. Like the hooves of a great black horse thudding over the soft
tissue of brain, into the electric whiteness of mind. Swelling. Spark. The tide of voices
crested, ebbed. He watched the two of them dance.
"Through the storm we reach the shore, you give it all but I want more. And I'm
waiting for you..."
Stormclouds in his head. He rested his forehead against the table. Bartender was busy at
the other end. No one was noticing. Pinpricks. Hurt. Jesus, it was starting to pound.
"With or without you, with or without you ah ha...I can't live, with or without
you..."
Splinter had once said it was like opening the door on a cocktail party and instantly being
aware of a droning hum, voices blending together, conversation. If you concentrated hard
enough you could pick out one or two voices and block out most of the rest. Narrow it
down. If you shut the door the sound would still come through, muted, background
chatter--but if you walked away it would fade out completely. Shut the door and walk
away. Shut the door.
"And you give yourself away...and you give yourself away...and you give, and you
give, and you give yourself away..."
The problem was, he couldn't shut it. Not with the girl. He had to find her. Had to know.
Damn it, the headache was blinding. Too many distractions, too many people's
thoughts...too many...too much...
Shut the door.
I can't.
Shut the door.
Have to know...
She was laughing. He had picked her up and was twirling around, around...
"My hands are tied. My body bruised, she got me with nothing to win and, nothing
left to lose..."
Shut the fucking door now!
He turned inside his head, fairly slammed it. Pain. Like slamming a door on himself.
Mute button. Distant tide. Horse in the stable, beating at the doors. You stay. Too much trouble.
At least it didn't hurt much anymore.
"And you give yourself away...and you give yourself away, and you give, and you
give, and you give yourself away"
Tommy laughing at a joke, Carrie with a sly grin, pressing close, slow dance. Couples
around them, moving slowly. Soft. The music soothing. He looked at his glass, thought
about that other Stephen King book, the one with the little girl. Focused on the ice.
"With or without you...with or without you ohh, I can't live, with or without
you..."
The ice was melting. Not too warm. Cool. Cold. Ah. Melted. He took it, sipped it down
softly.
"With or without you...with or without you ah ha; I can't live, with or without
you..."
But could he, in fact, live with it? It was actually getting harder to see living without it
now. ESP. He smiled wearily. Not so uncommon now, was it? Telepathy. Telekinesis.
Precognition. Telempathy. So many obscure names, all boiling down to one thing. Sense
beyond sense. Okay, then. He could live with that.
But killing someone, even a villain, even in self-defense...
Something screamed, like something out of a dream, and he shook. Ghosts. My past.
The scars are still there, aren't they?
Leonardo had told him, time and again, that he had never actually killed Tetsu Nashima,
that he had just...struck out. Self-defense. Delivered a blow. But he had never told them,
had never admitted...
I felt it. For a minute I touched his heart, held it in my hand and I was squeezing. I
could have crushed him from the inside.
And why hadn't he? Because it had all been so quick? Because, through the shock and
pain of death that was already there, he had just...slipped? Backslid? Had he
meant to do it? Had he wanted to?
Something said yes. Loudly. He told it to shut the hell up.
But that was the problem. He liked it. He had actually felt a painful pleasure from
it. Something about holding your enemy's life in your hands...
Carrie and Tommy were making their way back to the bar, crackling under the lights.
Laughing. He put on a tired smile and turned to them.
The rat placed furred hands against the painting, touching it. Landscape. Waterfall.
One of the best works Michaelangelo had produced in the past year. Just for him. He had
even made a dedication on the back.
For Splinter...my teacher, my father...thank you.
He closed his eyes. "Ah, my son," he murmured to the painting. "What is happening to
you?"
U2 had been replaced by Phil Collins. "In The Air Tonight." Carrie had been
laughing two seconds ago; she wasn't laughing when she looked at his face. "Are you
okay?"
Mike looked up, smiled shakily. "Headache. I think it's getting a little stuffy in here."
Tommy jerked his head toward the door. "Do you want to go outside for a few
minutes?"
"Sure..." Unsteadily, he slid off the seat. Carrie's hand brushed his arm. "Do you really
have ESP?" she asked.
He smiled at her. "Pick a number between one and fifty."
She bit her lip, nodded.
"Thirty-three point nine."
Her eyes widened. Mike grinned. The black horse was starting to break the lock down.
He winced a little and turned away. "Let's go."
Her fingers on his wrist. "It's not just the air, is it?" He didn't look at her.
"You're picking up people's thoughts."
He nodded. Couldn't they just go?
"Can you control it?"
He shrugged. "Mostly, yeah."
Silence. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her bite her lip. Waited. She took a deep
breath.
"Could you...could you teach me?"
Mike looked at her. Tommy looked at Mike. The circle began to move.
A gust of cool wind hit his face. Don shielded his eyes and peered out at the night,
the stars. Took out the binoculars and looked through them. Crouched on the little
hilltop, he could see everything. Mars. Venus. The dippers. Orion was out tonight. He
looked higher, harder. Are they out there? Could we see the planet from here? Can
they hear us?
A question he figured only Mike could answer. Although Don wasn't sure even Mike
knew. Just because they saved his life twice...
He closed his eyes and saw blood. Michaelangelo's blood, splashed on the kitchen wall,
pooling onto the floor. Saw him lying on the ground after a near-fatal fall, fighting just to
breathe, to stay alive. Saw a cold body on the med table; flatline, defibrillation. Saw the
body jerk as the heart began to beat again--surge, flow. Saw, again, a lifeless form,
beaten and bloodied, in Raphael's arms, Raph screaming in pain and anger. People
surrounding them--aliens, M'Kari--reaching in, a driving force, willing Mike to live.
And not even a real goodbye. They just...left. Like the wind. Gone. And what did they
leave behind? Sure, we have Mike back, but not all of him. Not the part that died that last
time. It's lost in the wind. All lost. Shit.
He stood up, stretching his cramped legs. It was a long walk down the hill.
Voices in the wind. Whispers in the dark. "Any better?" Tommy asked.
Mike nodded. "Yeah. You guys don't have to stay, you can go back if you want..."
Carrie came up beside him, Tommy's arm wrapped around her waist. "I dunno, it's pretty
out here. All the stars..."
"Mm."
He rubbed his solar plexus uneasily. Not like cramping, more like...pressure. Slight
pressure. In the back of his mind, someone yelled. Damn precog...go away!
And it went, but not before leaving a mark. As usual. He looked around for something
distracting. A rabbit was scuttling across the grass, toward some bushes.
"Oh, look!" Carrie exclaimed. "That's so cute."
Mike smiled. Knelt and held out a hand, palm up. C'mere, little guy. Nobody's gonna
hurt ya, just wanna look at you. He felt himself soften instantly. The rabbit paused,
nose twitching, then slowly hopped toward him; hesitated--then was sniffing his hand,
coming closer...black eyes into brown, neither knowing which was which...
He gathered it up and stood, the rabbit's body warm and shivering in his arms. Trust.
All based on trust, little guy. You trust me?
Carrie drew in a pleased gasp. "How'd you do that?" She reached out to stroke lightly
between the ears; the rabbit twitched but didn't move.
Mike smiled. "Trust."
A pack of cards lay on the table by the far wall. He picked it up, took them out of the
box. The box was from an old poker deck, but the cards--
No. He shook his head, put the deck down. Changed his mind. Cocked his head and
turned them over, looked at them. The first one was a star. That was all it was. The thick
black outline of a star. He shuffled it to the back. Circle. Then a square. Wavy lines.
Black outlines. He closed his eyes, remembered. It had been a year ago. A month after
the strangeness began happening. But would he have thought it so strange if he'd
known?
He stood there, seeing the blackness behind his eyelids, and heard his son's voice,
younger, innocent. Went back. Reached back to touch that mind. His hand opened. The
cards slowly fluttered to the floor with a paper rush.
"It's been a long time since I've done anything like this," he murmurs, sitting.
"You mean you've done this before?" Mike asks, looking up. "You've taught--"
"In a way," Splinter says. "Part of the ninja skill is learning how to use the hidden sixth
sense. But sometimes...there were students who had more than just a sense."
His son's voice is barely a whisper. "Like me."
Splinter nods. "Like you."
He spreads the cards out, five of them, so the faces show. "These are called Zenner
cards," he says. "More commonly known as ESP cards."
"I--think I've seen those," Mike says. "In those old sci-fi movies from the seventies...I'm
supposed to guess what they are without looking, right?"
Splinter nods again, gathers them up, puts them in the pile. Shuffles. Breathing slowly, he
looks at Michaelangelo's face--eager, nervous, a little frightened. He doesn't blame him.
He holds up the first card, the face meeting his own.
Mike bites his lip, jaw clenching. Splinter can almost see what's going on behind his
eyes.
"Relax," he says. "It won't come unless you release it. Don't try. Just think."
Closing his eyes, Mike lets out several slow breaths. Nothing seems to happen. And then,
suddenly, Splinter can feel--can actually feel--something reach out, pass over the
back of the card and through. Eyes seem to stare at him from nowhere. Something grips
hold of his sight and holds for the briefest of seconds.
Then it is gone.
He shakes himself, looks at Mike. The turtle looks back, looks at the card.
"Square," he says, with such finality that Splinter would have believed it even if he hadn't
been looking himself. Indeed, a square. Suddenly he realizes that the game is afoot before
it has even begun.
My god...
"Perhaps this may be too simple for you," he says softly. "Perhaps a deck of playing cards
would suffice."
Michaelangelo blinks at him, his face so oddly neutral that Splinter actually feels a shiver
run down his spine. It is not supposed to happen this quickly...he needs time...he
doesn't even know what is happening...
"Okay," Mike says, in that same carefully controlled voice. Splinter suddenly sees a flash
of a plane with red-tipped wings, spiraling downward with smoke curling from the
engines.
So that's it. He is afraid. Afraid of knowing the future, of seeing the
future. Afraid of touching things that no one should be able to touch. Thought, form,
emotion, memory. It lies in wait like a beast, waiting to swallow him, waiting.
He's a child. No more than a child. He cannot begin to--
And, looking up into those innocent brown eyes, he realizes that Michaelangelo has
heard the thought as clearly as though it had been spoken. It has begun.
Pulling the grayness of memory around him like a cloak, Splinter opened his eyes
and knelt to pick up the fallen cards.
Children. Weren't they all just children. Seventeen, barely eighteen. Caught between
worlds. Boys at heart, animals in body. He stood looking at the cards, the harsh black
shapes, and somehow, suddenly, feared for his children.
He bit his lip, the blackness of uncertainty and unknowing creeping up, and put
strong hands on either side of her head. "If it hurts, let me know..."
"Okay." She sounded scared. Don't blame ya, babe...
The blond boy stood a few feet away, looking on with a strange expression--solemn, yet
laced with...he couldn't tell. He felt nervous, of course; it was like intimacy in a way, like
groping with the lights on and having the parents walk in. Her boyfriend was standing
right there, watching...
"Tommy?" she asked, her voice thin.
"I'm here," the boy said. "You'll be okay." I think...
Mike didn't answer. He caught her gaze and held it. "You're gonna want to resist me, but
don't. When I tell you to, that's when you push back. Okay?"
She nodded, swallowing.
Splinter's voice in his head. It will be an automatic response, but you must let me in.
Only when I tell you, you must resist. Clear your thoughts now.
Hands against his head. Nerve endings in the fingers, nerve endings in the temples--
probably didn't mean shit, but he just felt better when he could touch them.
He closed his eyes, not that he needed to, and sent the first tendril of thought in, reaching
back to touch that spark. He felt walls rush up to meet him, white noise; pushed deeper.
Found the spark, embraced it, coaxed it. Felt her tense. Something flickered, flared.
He pulled back a little, satisfied. Carrie, can you hear me?
Yeah... She was trembling.
Push me. Got that? Push back.
She pushed at him, hesitant; he drove deeper and felt her tense, like a spar. Push. Resist.
Shove. Her guard weakened; she couldn't do it. He took a deep breath, considered the
other thing. Splinter had tried it and had been knocked across the room. He bit his
lip.
Carrie? he called. Don't resist me this time. I'm gonna try something
else.
Felt her weakly acknowledge. Drove back to the core, the spark, felt a sort of pressure
way back. Like a barrier, or a nub. He pushed a little harder...
And was promptly shoved back, out of mind, out of depth. His eyes flew open and he
jerked, releasing her. Her eyes widened.
"Mike? Are you okay? I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"
"I know. It's okay, I'm fine." He rubbed his head. "Just...testing a theory."
Tommy hurried over and took Carrie in his arms. "What happened?"
"She didn't push me back," Mike said. "At least not--not consciously. There's this tiny
part way back in her mind, like an automatic reflex. Pushed me away. But I'm not sure
if..."
He paused, approached the boy. "Tom, you mind if I try it on you? Just need to see
something..."
Tommy blinked. "Uh, sure."
Mike touched his head, went in. Back into the deep end. There was no spark, only a tiny
flicker, totally normal. Pushed harder, reached the space where the pressure should have
been...
Nothing. Just emptiness. He opened his eyes and stepped back.
"What was that?" Tommy asked. "Did you do anything?"
Mike smiled and shook his head. Tommy probably hadn't even known we was there.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "I'll explain later."
He glanced up at the moon, toward the brush where they'd released the rabbit. "I'd better
go. It's getting late."
Carrie nodded. "Will we see you again?"
He looked at her. "Sure."
She put her hand on his arm, looking at his eyes. Still thought she was looking at a kid in
a turtle costume. Wouldn't be long, now. Not with her.
"Teach me?" she whispered.
He touched the side of her face briefly, like a feather. "I promise."
"Haven't you finished those damn preparations yet?"
"Almost. Give me time."
The cell phone shrilled.
"I see him," the voice said. "Outside the nightclub, talking with the girl."
"White?"
"Yeah."
"Ross is there, too?"
"When is he not?"
Pause. "Don't do anything. Are they moving?"
"He's leaving."
"Which one, the boy?"
"The turtle."
"Can you follow him?"
"Not like this; he can probably sniff me out..."
"He's not a goddamn bloodhound--"
"In a sense, he is. Should I follow or not?"
Pause. "No. Wherever he goes, it's probably not best to tag along."
Sigh. "Yeah, okay. But what about the kids? Shouldn't I at least grab the girl?"
Twisted smile. "And spoil the fun? Let's see what happens first. If he really tries to 'draw'
her out. I mean, that's the theory we're trying to prove, isn't it?"
"Well, yeah..."
"Just leave it alone for now." His voice was like a purr. "I think I'd rather have both of
them at the same time. Besides, they don't have a clue what he is yet."
"Boss?" A tap on his shoulder.
He turned. "What?"
"Everything's ready."
Hatcher smiled. "That's good," he said. He hung up the phone.
