Cinderash landed with a painfully loud thud that reminded me I had not taken my sensory suppressants. While I still am not used to taking them—nor do I like them—it didn’t change the sharp clank of metal on metal. A metallic screech, sharp and loud, sounded through the air. I winced. I felt my focus wane—which shouldn’t have been easy to lose to begin with. I felt like my mind blanked out; I didn’t even process anything until Cinderash whistled at me. It wasn’t a high-pitched whistle—it was considerably low-pitched. Then I felt cold hands on my face.
“Kiddo?” Cinderash questioned. Then his right hand pinched my cheek. “Say something? You aren’t completely unresponsive—”
Having snapped out of it by that moment, I placed my hands on his metal-gloved ones, proceeded to pull them away from my face, and spoke. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Just a little dazed.”
I did not feel comfortable with a man who had killed people touching my face, so I stood up and tried to make some distance.
Cinderash retorted, “Why do I get the feeling ‘I’m fine’ is going to be your famous last words—?”
“Then I am okay, good, swell—” I told him. However, he cut me off.
“Kid, listen, you almost just got jumped by one of the local druggies. I doubt you are ‘swell.’ Let me walk you home—”
I cut him off in return. “Listen, Cinderash, I am grateful you intervened—I am—but I can walk myself home and—” And why was he so determined? The red lenses that hid his eyes through his black mask stared me down while I talked. “—I’ll be okay, really! No need to be followed by—”
I shut myself up as I heard more metal. I turned my head and squinted my eyes. Either this was a hero or another villain—my day was NOT going well either way.
“Everything okay, gentlemen?” the dude in the white suit asked.
I blinked. “Who the heck are you?”
There was no indicator of facial expression through the white guy’s suit. Just a mask that covered it, with yellow patches lined below where his eyes might be, and elsewhere were indents where joints moved. He didn’t get the chance to respond because SOMEONE was howling with laughter in the background. I looked at Cinderash with a raised eyebrow.
“Do you know him?” I questioned.
Cinderash waved it off. “I only know he’s a Corporate Rookie.”
The man in the white suit groaned. “I am called ‘Smokey.’”
I paused, resisting the urge to... react. How was I meant to react? There were more creative names out there. But I also knew—and took into consideration—the fact that not everyone liked direct insults to their brain. Or maybe creativity wasn’t as common as it seemed.
“So, Smokey. Everything is alright,” I answered, then gestured to Cinderash. “He saved me. I’m good. He’s just being stubborn—”
“Look, kid, just let me walk you home! It’s not that hard—”
Smokey interrupted... Smokey. I’m still sort of stuck on the name. A nickname insult I didn’t need to make myself? Rare.
“Listen—Kid. He does need to take your side of the story if he hasn’t already. It’s protocol.”
‘Kid’? Cinderash only got a pass because he’s an adult. Smokey? He sounded my age. Cinderash piped up before I could.
“AND! He was unresponsive for a solid ten minutes. Isn’t it also protocol to walk a victim home after they experience symptoms?”
Smokey shook his head. “No, it’s protocol to take them to a Zel Corporation-run medical facility.”
I waved my hands around. “NO NO NO—okay, I am not going to another doctor—again. Please, let’s not do that. I can give you the story you want, but I will refuse to go with anyone to a medical facility—”
Cinderash cut me off. “I am here to negotiate a copycat. I get the story and take him home—end of story. He is a minor. Leave any further medical issues up to the kid’s parents if the issue isn’t immediate or an emergency. It was a sensory issue.”
I nodded. “Yeah, sensory issue! Though I am still not fond of the idea of a man who has killed someone taking me home.”
Smokey sighed and went silent for a few minutes. “Okay, okay. Here—I’ll take the kid home and get the story. Cinderash, take the... I assume it was a criminal in.”
He looked between me and Cinderash. So was the assumption. Cinderash crossed his arms, indicating a pout. He’s a villain. I had to wonder why he acted like this.
Smokey spoke up again. “C’mon, Cin. We were partnered up tonight. You’ve seen me on the field—I’m capable. I won’t put the kid at risk.”
I doubted Cinderash had any real concern. Why would he? I’m just a random kid in Dashburke. Smokey seemed to realize I gave in. Mostly because if I magically died, he would legally be held accountable as the escort and Zel Corp-provided hero.
I told Cinderash, “Listen, I am very grateful you saved me. Especially since the man seemed relentless. And I am even more grateful you saved me! Just...”
“I know, kid,” Cinderash retorted with a sigh. “Saving five lives is nothing compared to the hundreds I’ve taken. You don’t owe me for rescuing you, and I should be more understanding of why you’d feel more comfortable with Smokes—I—”
He shut himself up after Smokey made a clicking sound. Then answered, “Calm down, Cin. No need to make any comments you’ll regret later that’ll reveal your civvies.”
What did that even mean? He grabbed my hand. “Question, kiddo. Are you in the health to fly?”
“N-no!? I just got out of the ICU recently—” He put his hand on my mouth.
“Then we walk. Mind leading the way while we talk?”
I nodded. We said our farewells to Cinderash. Then we walked back to my house. I explained everything—how I’d been out for a walk, when I noticed I was being followed and how, why I did what I did. I answered questions, be it a name for an official report or age. Then he dropped me off back home. To my surprise, Smokey didn’t ask to talk to my mother. He simply knocked on the door once we reached the porch, then he took off. Presumably to handle the case himself.
“Carter...” my mom asked with crossed arms. It was late. She was home from work. She was pissed because she got a call from a Zel Corp employee. She also placed dinner in front of me, with water that had my medicine mixed into it.
“Mom, I overwhelmed myself—I needed a break. I make snow. I make ice. Not predict the future,” I told her firmly.
Her response was, “No excuses. You could’ve been prepared. You could’ve been! You ALSO could’ve been kidnapped tonight, killed and dumped in a ditch, or drugged—”
I told her, “Mom, I know. And I also know if he had touched me, I would have attacked. This wasn’t the school fire all over again. This was a druggie in the streets. I could have frozen him still in the absolute worst-case scenario.”
“Carter,” she spoke again. “You aren’t as tolerant of your own condition anymore. The fire caused INTERNAL damage to your lungs. You HAVE chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. And your Neitlim condition HATES it—”
“Mom. I know. That’s why, in the worst-case scenario, all I would have needed to do was freeze the joints in his arms, shoulders, and legs—with the addition of his feet. It would not have been much—” Apparently, that wasn’t enough.
My mom kept going. “Why can’t you take your life more seriously!? Carter, you didn’t take your suppressants today! You went unresponsive with a villain in your company—”
I argued back. “If I had taken them, I wouldn’t have noticed I was followed.”
She shut up.
“I wouldn’t have noticed I was followed, and Cinderash likely wouldn’t have seen me when I was blocked by trees. We still debate on whether my hearing is good. But it saved my life today. We need to realize that part, Mom. I know you’re worried. I get that. I do.”
I also didn’t like how it seemed my own feelings were being brushed aside. Was she the one who had to talk to said villain? No. Was she the one who had to talk to said hero? No. Was she the one who had to figure out a way to hide when being chased by a stranger? Also no. Was this her condition?
NO.
“I know you’re dealing with secondhand stress and grievances. You are worried about me. But I need you to remember I experienced this all firsthand today—I had to fear for my safety already. I can’t change that I was followed, but I did actively try to keep myself safe. I may not have been bright enough to bring a kitchen knife with me, but I still figured out a way to not need it. I was helped in the end anyway. It happened. There is no way to rewind time. Let's just drop it,” I added.
“Carter—” I groaned as she continued.
“Mom. I know I could’ve gotten hurt or worse. I lived it, damn it. My senses didn’t render me useless this time!”
By this point, we both conceded. It was an agreement-to-disagree situation, which happened often. We had conflicting opinions about things, which made cooperation difficult. However, when we concede in arguments like these, it’s easy to let them fall.
It would likely not be picked up again either way. It was all said and done. And neither of us liked to linger. I finished my food, reluctantly drinking up my medicine. I told her,
“I want to talk to my doctor about taking me off the suppressants. I don’t think I am reacting to them well.”
Mom raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
I explained, “I’ve been feeling like it’s easier to be overwhelmed, and I try to make more noise than I should. I worry if it’s triggering a response to try to create more stimulation than I actually need…”
She seemed contemplative, then told me with a sigh, “Let’s give it another few days, okay? If you experience any other symptoms, we can tell Mrs. Hyde.”
“Alright, thanks, Mom.” That seemed to be the closest thing I was going to get out of her. I had also been feeling extremely exhausted by the day’s events. Given I had almost been attacked—or something—by someone and saved by two weirdos, I thought it was a valid feeling.
After we finished up with dinner, we washed our respective dishes and then escaped to our bedrooms. I cleaned up as necessary before I crashed onto my bed, letting myself fall into dreamland.
When the obnoxious beeping flooded the room, I felt like I did NOT get enough sleep…
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