Gracie, Girl.
Gracie, Girl.
Just stay still, Grace, baby girl. Stay still and cover your ears. Stare at the floor. Nothing else.
Those were the last words he’d ever spoken to her. The last words he’d ever say to anyone. He’d told her to lower her head, put her hands over her ears, and stay as still as possible. Just like training. Exactly like training. And since there was nowhere for her to run, nothing she could hide behind, she did exactly that. Faced away and tried to ignore the bright white jets of light searing past her, white-hot even from inches away. Tried to ignore that, only feet away from her, the five people that she cared about most in the world, were just one wrong step away from death.
She’d watched while they fought – the five men who were only there because of her. That had only come to make sure she was safe. She’d hated herself, standing there uselessly, trying to avoid watching the chaos and danger around her. Staring at the floor intently like he’d instructed her to, it was only out of her peripheral vision that she saw him being slammed into the wall, saw the gun held against his jaw. Saw Korse pull the trigger.
That was when she started screaming.
-
“Grace, honey, you can’t blame yourself.”
She didn’t make any sign of recognition that she’d been in the same position for hours, sitting in the middle of the bed with her head tilted down, her gaze fixed intently upon the stretch of floor in front of her. Her chestnut hair fell in ringlets around and in front of her face, and she made no effort to brush it away. She was not crying. She was not shouting or shrieking like she had been for the first couple hours. She didn’t have enough energy left.
She felt drained, and empty, and hollow, like something very vital had been stolen from her, taking with it all her energy, all the fight that she had left. Which was exactly what had happened. Every laser, every shot that hit its target was another blow directly to her heart, tearing something precious away from deep inside of her with each body that struck the floor.
Gerard was the first.
Terror. Wild disbelief.
Scream.
Mikey was the second.
Desperation.
Find Frank. Run.
Frank, third.
Cold dread.
Don’t look. Keep running.
With one final shot, Ray.
Numbness.
It’s over. It’s all over.
She threw herself into the Dr’s arms, allowed herself to be hoisted into the getaway van. Sat, slumped and defeated, in the back seat, staying quiet, saying nothing. Leaned into Show Pony’s cold chest, felt him wrap his arms around her tightly. Felt the strange cloth of his half-shirt, the scratchy feeling of his tights. Allowed that to distract her. Anything, to keep her from thinking about that. Didn’t shed a single tear until they found the safe house, where the tears started and progressed to screaming, and again to silence.
She felt empty and hollow. She had no energy left inside her that would give her the strength to weep or to even raise her head. It took more fight and power than she had left to even keep her breathing, though she did it, because he’d told her to. Keep breathing, Gracie. Deep breath in, deep breath out. That’s my girl.
“Grace?” The man standing in the doorway didn’t wait for an answer this time. The sound of his heavy books seemed amplified as he crossed the floor of the otherwise silent room. The bed creaked as he set his weight on it, only having been built to support the weight of a child. “You know, the Scarecrow got my brother, a few years back. Got him ghosted, out on Route Guano, and, well...” he trailed off, gazing at the small girl intently. To be so young, he thought, and have to deal with so much. He raised one hand and gently brushed some of her brown curls out of her face, tucking them behind her ear. “For a long time, I blamed myself for letting it happen to him. For getting him messed up in all this.”
She didn’t look up, but showed one, very small sign that she’d heard him – she closed her eyes. Clearly not understanding or wishing to understand what it was Dr D wanted to make her understand.
“None of us are safe out here, Gracie girl, is what I’m trying to say. The Killjoys knew what they were up against, what they were getting into. They knew how strong the Scarecrow unit is, that they probably weren’t going to live very long, healthy lives. They knew it was dangerous, but they were willing to fight anyway, to stand up for what they believed in. You really think Party P would have been content to just sit back and swallow those wonder drug pills? I-”
He stopped, noticing the drop of water sliding down her cheek. He held his breath in anticipation, waiting for the storm, and thought he saw her lips tremble. With a second look, though, he realized she was actually whispering something. It was a few seconds more until he understood it. Two or three simple words, repeated over and over in a simple whispered refrain; i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry. i’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.
Without thinking about it, without stopping to consider what kind of reaction he’d get from the young girl, he leaned over and wrapped his arms around her, letting her collapse into his chest, breaking into uncontrollable, heaving sobs. He knew the pain, the terrible sense of betrayal – that he was the one betraying. He remembered how he’d hated himself after his brother had been taken out. Remembered how nothing anyone said, how nothing anyone ever could have done would not help the feeling that he was responsible for it. Because he knew, just as strongly as the young girl he was holding incorrectly knew, that each of them had played a role in the destructions of the ones they loved.
Nobody could help you after something like that, and it never truly left you. He thought of the Grace he’d known even the day before her kidnapping, how bright and full of vivaciousness she always was. The only sunshine in the desert that didn’t soak up the only clean water available, the only truly good thing in this wasteland, slaughtered. Because, though fragments of that girl were left inside the tormented shell he’d taken from the Scarecrow building, that girl, and all her innocence, had been just as brutally murdered as the five men who’d gone in to protect her.
They were never going to get their Gracie back.
He knew that words were not going to fix this, were not going to stitch back together the gaping wound left deep inside the girl, deeper than any physical detection. No matter how hard he tried to explain that the Killjoys had died as independent men who had made their own choices and died doing what they thought was right, nothing was going to convince her that she was not at fault. The Killjoys were only at the Scarecrow building to rescue her. If she weren’t there, then they wouldn’t be dead. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been there by choice, that it was Scarecrow’s doing right from the beginning.
The people she loved had died saving her life. That fact would bring her more pain than any shot from any laser would ever bring her, and wounds like this didn’t close over.
He didn’t try to hold back his tears when the sound of the girl’s shaking, distraught voice became too much for him to handle, thinking that trying to hide his feelings would only be more damaging towards the impressionable young girl. He simply held her as her body shook with convulsive tremors, her lungs gasping for air in deep gasps as she tried to control her breathing, sometimes simply crying out unintelligible noise, and sometimes shrieking out the same two words – I’m sorry.
He held her as the sobbing turned into screaming, held her as she tried to block her thoughts with pure noise. Gradually louder, under her voice was cracking with the strain of her volume was too much. He didn’t try to stop her, didn’t try to keep her quiet. He rocked her silently, trying to soothe her slightly, knowing all the while that nothing he did was going to calm her, that the only thing he could do was hold her and wait for her to go quiet on her own, when she was ready.
So he held her. And he waited. He waited until she became quiet, and then he waited until she fell asleep, the personification of pure weariness and complete, utter exhaustion. And he waited, even then, letting her stay resting against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her still. And he waited until she woke up, and the crying and the screaming started again.
-
Those were the last words he’d ever spoken to her. The last words he’d ever say to anyone. He’d told her to lower her head, put her hands over her ears, and stay as still as possible. Just like training. Exactly like training. And since there was nowhere for her to run, nothing she could hide behind, she did exactly that. Faced away and tried to ignore the bright white jets of light searing past her, white-hot even from inches away. Tried to ignore that, only feet away from her, the five people that she cared about most in the world, were just one wrong step away from death.
She’d watched while they fought – the five men who were only there because of her. That had only come to make sure she was safe. She’d hated herself, standing there uselessly, trying to avoid watching the chaos and danger around her. Staring at the floor intently like he’d instructed her to, it was only out of her peripheral vision that she saw him being slammed into the wall, saw the gun held against his jaw. Saw Korse pull the trigger.
That was when she started screaming.
-
“Grace, honey, you can’t blame yourself.”
She didn’t make any sign of recognition that she’d been in the same position for hours, sitting in the middle of the bed with her head tilted down, her gaze fixed intently upon the stretch of floor in front of her. Her chestnut hair fell in ringlets around and in front of her face, and she made no effort to brush it away. She was not crying. She was not shouting or shrieking like she had been for the first couple hours. She didn’t have enough energy left.
She felt drained, and empty, and hollow, like something very vital had been stolen from her, taking with it all her energy, all the fight that she had left. Which was exactly what had happened. Every laser, every shot that hit its target was another blow directly to her heart, tearing something precious away from deep inside of her with each body that struck the floor.
Gerard was the first.
Terror. Wild disbelief.
Scream.
Mikey was the second.
Desperation.
Find Frank. Run.
Frank, third.
Cold dread.
Don’t look. Keep running.
With one final shot, Ray.
Numbness.
It’s over. It’s all over.
She threw herself into the Dr’s arms, allowed herself to be hoisted into the getaway van. Sat, slumped and defeated, in the back seat, staying quiet, saying nothing. Leaned into Show Pony’s cold chest, felt him wrap his arms around her tightly. Felt the strange cloth of his half-shirt, the scratchy feeling of his tights. Allowed that to distract her. Anything, to keep her from thinking about that. Didn’t shed a single tear until they found the safe house, where the tears started and progressed to screaming, and again to silence.
She felt empty and hollow. She had no energy left inside her that would give her the strength to weep or to even raise her head. It took more fight and power than she had left to even keep her breathing, though she did it, because he’d told her to. Keep breathing, Gracie. Deep breath in, deep breath out. That’s my girl.
“Grace?” The man standing in the doorway didn’t wait for an answer this time. The sound of his heavy books seemed amplified as he crossed the floor of the otherwise silent room. The bed creaked as he set his weight on it, only having been built to support the weight of a child. “You know, the Scarecrow got my brother, a few years back. Got him ghosted, out on Route Guano, and, well...” he trailed off, gazing at the small girl intently. To be so young, he thought, and have to deal with so much. He raised one hand and gently brushed some of her brown curls out of her face, tucking them behind her ear. “For a long time, I blamed myself for letting it happen to him. For getting him messed up in all this.”
She didn’t look up, but showed one, very small sign that she’d heard him – she closed her eyes. Clearly not understanding or wishing to understand what it was Dr D wanted to make her understand.
“None of us are safe out here, Gracie girl, is what I’m trying to say. The Killjoys knew what they were up against, what they were getting into. They knew how strong the Scarecrow unit is, that they probably weren’t going to live very long, healthy lives. They knew it was dangerous, but they were willing to fight anyway, to stand up for what they believed in. You really think Party P would have been content to just sit back and swallow those wonder drug pills? I-”
He stopped, noticing the drop of water sliding down her cheek. He held his breath in anticipation, waiting for the storm, and thought he saw her lips tremble. With a second look, though, he realized she was actually whispering something. It was a few seconds more until he understood it. Two or three simple words, repeated over and over in a simple whispered refrain; i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry. i’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.
Without thinking about it, without stopping to consider what kind of reaction he’d get from the young girl, he leaned over and wrapped his arms around her, letting her collapse into his chest, breaking into uncontrollable, heaving sobs. He knew the pain, the terrible sense of betrayal – that he was the one betraying. He remembered how he’d hated himself after his brother had been taken out. Remembered how nothing anyone said, how nothing anyone ever could have done would not help the feeling that he was responsible for it. Because he knew, just as strongly as the young girl he was holding incorrectly knew, that each of them had played a role in the destructions of the ones they loved.
Nobody could help you after something like that, and it never truly left you. He thought of the Grace he’d known even the day before her kidnapping, how bright and full of vivaciousness she always was. The only sunshine in the desert that didn’t soak up the only clean water available, the only truly good thing in this wasteland, slaughtered. Because, though fragments of that girl were left inside the tormented shell he’d taken from the Scarecrow building, that girl, and all her innocence, had been just as brutally murdered as the five men who’d gone in to protect her.
They were never going to get their Gracie back.
He knew that words were not going to fix this, were not going to stitch back together the gaping wound left deep inside the girl, deeper than any physical detection. No matter how hard he tried to explain that the Killjoys had died as independent men who had made their own choices and died doing what they thought was right, nothing was going to convince her that she was not at fault. The Killjoys were only at the Scarecrow building to rescue her. If she weren’t there, then they wouldn’t be dead. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been there by choice, that it was Scarecrow’s doing right from the beginning.
The people she loved had died saving her life. That fact would bring her more pain than any shot from any laser would ever bring her, and wounds like this didn’t close over.
He didn’t try to hold back his tears when the sound of the girl’s shaking, distraught voice became too much for him to handle, thinking that trying to hide his feelings would only be more damaging towards the impressionable young girl. He simply held her as her body shook with convulsive tremors, her lungs gasping for air in deep gasps as she tried to control her breathing, sometimes simply crying out unintelligible noise, and sometimes shrieking out the same two words – I’m sorry.
He held her as the sobbing turned into screaming, held her as she tried to block her thoughts with pure noise. Gradually louder, under her voice was cracking with the strain of her volume was too much. He didn’t try to stop her, didn’t try to keep her quiet. He rocked her silently, trying to soothe her slightly, knowing all the while that nothing he did was going to calm her, that the only thing he could do was hold her and wait for her to go quiet on her own, when she was ready.
So he held her. And he waited. He waited until she became quiet, and then he waited until she fell asleep, the personification of pure weariness and complete, utter exhaustion. And he waited, even then, letting her stay resting against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her still. And he waited until she woke up, and the crying and the screaming started again.
-