Chapter Three
There was sand underfoot, black and fine. A cold wind lifted it into puffing little dust devils like smoke in the harsh dry air. The sand marched to meet a sky of gun-metal gray. No feature broke or softened the knife-cut line of the horizon. It was an utterly desolate place.
“Your life.” Blaise’s voice seemed to come whispering from all directions. “This is what it’s become. How it’s going to stay.” The wind seemed to shiver with a cold, evil laughter.
Tachyon whimpered and covered her ears with her hands. “No, you’re gone. You can’t hurt me anymore.”
“Sure I can. I’m twined around your dreams, I hide in the dark places of your soul.”
“Leave me alone.”
“No problem. You haven’t got anybody now.”
She had to force out the words. “I have my friends.”
“Really? Is it an act of friendship to tell you that you’ve lost yourself forever? That you have to resign yourself? In other words, shut up, stop whining, and let us get on with our lives. We’re sick of you and your problems, Tachyon.”
“They are not saying that.”
“They’re thinking it,” retorted Blaise.
“No! I would know.”
“You know nothing! You’re no telepath. You’re a crippled excuse for a telepath.”
“Finn,” cried Tachyon in desperation. “He is my friend.”
“He was thrilled to have you gone. It was a chance at last for him to excel and be recognized. And it’s more just that a joker should run the Jokertown Clinic. Not you, an arrogant, bigoted fool who has secretly despised your damned and deformed stepchildren.”
“Don’t! Don’t. Stop, please!” Tach dropped to her knees, bent at the waist until she was brought up short by the swell of pregnancy.
“Look at you. What a laughable sight. A man… trapped in a woman’s body, and pregnant. Bloated, ugly. Neither you nor that child are loved. You’re an embarrassment, and she’ll be an even greater one once she’s born. Blaise’s crazy bastard.” The scorn was evident in the ghostly voice.
But there was a point of light, a burning fire that struggled valiantly against the creeping cold that was gripping all her limbs. It was music, and the scent of sunlight in a girl’s hair, and the touch of silk. It was life.
“Illyana,” Tach murmured.
She came striding across the sand. Where her feet touched, the black shattered into rainbow colors. Her wild mane of golden red hair formed a nimbus about her face. She had her mother’s mouth with that cute little porpoise smile, and Tachyon’s features, all sharp angles and pointed chin.
She leaned down and took Tach by the hand. “No, PapaMom. It’s not fair.”
Shaklan came drifting by and gathered his granddaughter into his arms. “House Ilkazam doesn’t breed cowards,” he said as they whirled away to a lilting three-quarter-time song.
“No!” The shout brought Tachyon fully awake.
The water was a deep rose, and very cold. She gripped the edge of the tub and tried to stand. The Formica was icy cold, and slick with blood and water.
Strain shivered through the muscles. With a gasp she fell back into the embrace of the water.
Rolling heavily onto her knees, Tach began crawling for the steps of Finn’s sunken bath. Her hair trailed like seaweed behind her. It was an effort to keep her mouth and nose above water. First step. Second. Her head was on the top step, the tile clammy against her cheek. Hair wrapped like tentacles about her arms and throat. She was dimly aware of the water lapping at her buttocks. Mostly she was aware of numbness.
Query/love/fear/love/query???
Not the self-composed young woman who had come to her in death’s dream. Terrified child. My child. It was horribly uncomfortable lying on her stomach. Tach heaved herself up, crawled free of the grip of the water. She dragged down one of the towels and cinched a clumsy tourniquet about one wrist.
The doorjamb served as a crutch. Tach climbed shakily to her feet, tottered for the phone. She passed a full-length mirror on that thousand-mile journey. The red-streaked body with the distended belly was a fearsome sight. Collapse on the bed. Dial Cody’s number.
It seemed to ring for a long, long time.
“This better be good.” Cody’s sharp tones were as welcome as a symphony to Tachyon.
“Cody. I’m hurt, badly… badly. Help me.”
“Who is this?”
“Tachyon.”
“On my way.”
The phone gave back the flat nasal buzz of a disconnected line. Tach lay back in the bed and tried to stay conscious.
“You know, this is only the second time I’ve seen you in seven months, and you’ve managed to wreck my mood both times.”
A brief smile flickered across Tach’s lips. “Once by being a bastard, and once by being a Juliet.”
“That remark is just as confusing as the pronouns that are applicable to you.”
The curved suture needle darted like an eager fish back and forth across the gash; It was fascinating to watch the pale skin pulling closed over the moist red of the muscles and capillaries.
“You sew better than anyone I know,” said Tachyon.
Cody smiled up at her. “Cut pretty well too.”
“Yes.” Tach sighed, and glanced up at the I.V. dripping plasma back into her blood-starved system. The local anesthetic Cody had administered made her forearms feel like blocks of wood. “Guess I cut pretty well too. I can’t believe I did that.”
“Everybody’s got a breaking point.”
Tach watched Cody wind the bandages about her arms. “People will see them and know that I tried to kill myself.”
“You did.”
“I don’t want people to think I’m weak.”
The long fingers caressed each instrument as Cody laid them in their velvet-lined case. “Is this the first time in your life you’ve ever tried suicide?”
“Yes.”
“And in forty-odd years on Earth, you destroyed the mind of a woman you loved, were deported, slid into alcoholism, came close to getting killed — I don’t know how many times — and now this.” She gestured the length of Tach’s body. “If this really is the first time you’ve ever attempted suicide, I’d say you’re made out of twisted blue steel and dynamite. And if you need even more to pat yourself on the back about, remember — you stopped yourself.”
Tach laid a hand over her belly. “Illyana stopped me.
“Illyana,” mused Cody. “Pretty name.”
“Named for my maternal grandmother eight times removed,” replied Tach. Cody sank back to sit cross-legged on the carpet at Tachyon’s feet. Impulsively Tachyon held out her hand to the older woman. “I ask your pardon. My behavior toward you has been inexcusable.”
“There was a lot of anger in you today. Was it directed toward me?” Cody’s single eye was serious. Tachyon couldn’t face that level gaze. She fidgeted, glanced about the room, twined a piece of her long gilt hair between her fingers.
“You are a physical reminder of all I have lost.”
Now it was Cody’s turn to look away. She laughed, but there was a huskiness in the sound as of unshed tears. “Damn it. I should have slept with you last year.”
Tach scraped back her hair with both hands. “You humans and your taboos.”
Cody stood and took a turn around the room. When she completed her agitated little circuit, she settled uneasily onto the sofa next to Tachyon.
Cody spoke first. “Do you… do you… still want me?”
“No. Apart from the fact that I’m pregnant, and my sex drive is decidedly reduced, there are those troublesome hormones. Estrogen, progesterone. You’re not making any bells ring.”
“But a man?” asked Cody softly.
Tach ran a hand across her mouth and chin. “The body feels the attraction.”
“And the mind?”
“I am Tachyon.” Her mind’s eye suddenly gave her a blinding picture of a decaying old room, the smell of mildew from a rotting mattress, Blaise — Tach closed her eyes, felt the skin between her eyes pucker with her frown.
“What?” asked Cody softly.
“No.”
“I’m your friend. I maybe can’t understand — thank God — but I can listen. And I can care.”
She beat her hands together, a nervous tic. Cody reached out and folded her hands over Tachyon’s.
“I’m free now. Why does it still unnerve me so?” Tach’s voice was breathy with fear.
“There’s a reason why there are rape crisis centers, and counseling, and support groups. This is the most violent of all violent assaults. The most demeaning, Cody said softly.
Hair flew as Tach shook her head. “I… should be able… to… to handle… this.”
“Why?”
She panted, trying to draw air into her stricken lungs. “I’m… I’m a man —”
“So that’s supposed to make you tougher? Have you ever met a male rape victim? Well, I have. The emotions are the same no matter what your plumbing happens to be. You go through the same shame and rage, guilt, the enormous fear, the depression.” Cody couldn’t control it. Her eye slid down to the bandages that cuffed Tachyon’s wrist. Cody stripped off her surgical gloves, removed the I.V., closed her case. “Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes, please.”
Cody’s arm around her waist was a welcome support as they walked to the bedroom. There was a brief moment of awkwardness, then they both noticed the blood staining the sheets.
“That won’t do…”
“I’ll get fresh linens…” they said simultaneously. It was a strangely cathartic action… making a bed together. Sheets billowed tentlike, corners were tucked. Then abruptly Cody asked, “Have you cried once since this happened?”
“Which part of it?” retorted Tach wryly.
“Take your pick.”
In a low voice she said, “I wept after the first rape. Then he came a second time, and all the tears died.”
“It’s a release you need.”
“It’s an escape I used too often, I think… in my old life.”
Cody tossed the down comforter onto the bed. “Don’t be a tough guy.”
“I’m not,” said Tach shrugging out of her robe. “I’m not trying not to cry. I just can’t. All the pain has jammed up somewhere, and I can’t let it out.”
They curled up beneath the comforter. Sleep had almost claimed Tachyon when Cody’s voice pulled her back, saying softly, “It’s not quite how I envisioned my first time in your bed.”
Tachyon levered herself up on one elbow, leaned over, and gently kissed Cody on the cheek. “I do love you…”
They put their arms around each other, huddled close.
“What are you going to do now?”
“Go after Blaise.”