Samedi
Bourbon Street 1.7
Interlude: Danny
Danny was furious.
His day had started out so well. Taylor had opened up just a little at breakfast. It had felt, for a moment, like he had his daughter back.
His drive to work was pleasant. He hit every green light. His favorite song was on the radio. He was in the first good mood he could even remember.
His mood took its first hit when he arrived at his office and found that some asshole had unloaded forty boxes of documents there, stacked up in piles five high. He hefted one of the them, then put it back.
He should have known his luck wouldn't last.
Things got worse when he checked his messages.
The merchants had attacked one of his most promising work-sites. Three of his guys were in the hospital with broken bones. The bosses at the work-site had decided that this attack was a bridge too far, and had decided to relocate. Danny couldn't get anywhere with the Mayor on freeing up some more police over-time to protect the location, which was the only lever he had to try to move the bosses from their decision.
And now some of the gangers were out on the sidewalk, throwing empties at the DWU office.
"I hope those assholes die in a fire." Danny's muttered curse was barely loud enough for him to hear over the sound of breaking glass and shouted laughter. Danny tried to put it out of his mind and go back to work.
Another crash resounded up and down the street.
His temper was running wild, and he didn't really want to try to rein it in.
But he knew there was nothing he could do. He was stuck. He was stuck, and they were outside trashing the DWU. Trashing his life's work. Things just getting worse and worse.
Maybe the ABB would show up and drive them off. They had been making inroads in the docks for weeks. Ever since the gang had gained that tinker.
Danny didn't have that kind of luck.
The explosion stole his breath.
When he could comprehend what was happening around him again, he stared unbelieving at the smoldering pile of paperwork that had saved his life. The area between the stacks of boxes and his side of the office was relatively intact. Everything else was on fire.
He stumbled through the twisted, burning wreckage. It felt like days, though it couldn't have been more than a few moments.
The merchant scum who had been defacing his workplace were scattered around the street, the pieces large enough to be recognizable charred and bloody.
What the fuck.
Either something very bad was happening, or something both very bad and very weird was happening.
Is it just here or is it everywhere? Was it aimed at him? Was it aimed at Taylor through him?
Was his daughter lying in pieces somewhere, ashes floating off her burst skin and lifting into the sky like faerie candles?
Danny ran.
- - -
I ran.
The bus driver got there before I did. Of course she did, she was a lot closer to the accident, after all.
If it was an accident. Who trips in front of a moving bus? Okay, lots of people probably do. But I had never met one. Was it the kind of thing that happened but nobody talked about? Like when Taylor fell on that cookie cutter when she was eight and had a bruise shaped like a Christmas angel on her butt for a month?
Wait a second. Something about that train of thought was fuckin weird.
Whatever.
It wasn't until I actually reached Greg that I realized I had no idea what to do. I didn't know first aid. I wasn't a doctor or an EMT or a sexy nurse that it turns out is secretly slipping extra large doses of medication into her patient's IV bags and then rifling through their stuff at night, using the cash she found there to party with her scumbag boyfriend who treated her like shit, but she put up with him anyway because he knew just what buttons to push to make her feel oh so very good and she was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to find anyone better than him in this fucked up city or at least that's what he told her sometimes when he was in a bad mood and she didn't want to put out and she was starting to think he was right even if he was probably cheating on her with her sister Cindy. The bitch.
What the fuck could I do to help?
- - -
The ambulance arrived and took Greg away. They were doing chest compressions and pushing a rescue breathing mask thing against his mouth, pumping away at the bellows rhythmically. It was a nice, steady beat.
The medic had asked me if I saw what happened, but I said I didn't, I just heard the screeching brakes.
I left before the cops could arrive. Or the PRT. Or the super-powered assassination squad that Piggot had hired to hunt me down if I went crazier than usual and started giving my classmates Glasgow grins.
With all those people around, it took me a while to find someplace private enough to duck away and pop back to the street.
- - -
This wasn't good.
I was obviously getting worse. The difference between the two Taylors, the calm, in-control Taylor I was here on the street, and the chaotic, disordered, manic mess that I had become out there was becoming a lot sharper.
It was ironic, really. I triggered because I was isolated. I had been intentionally isolated by Emma and the bitches. And now my power was going to isolate me forever. I would be too crazy to have friends, let alone lovers. And I would be sane enough to be lonely, at least in here.
I was so excited when I discovered how cool my power was. It felt like turning a corner, like I would be able to finally crawl out of this bottomless pit of rotting used tampons I had been living in since Mom died.
And now, right as I was at the lip, now even my power was prying my fingers loose and kicking me in the teeth.
I didn't dare to use them for the things I really wanted to. I couldn't use them to fix things. To fix myself. All they were good for was breaking things down, destroying friendships, destroying sleep, destroying people.
I had super-intimidation when all I wanted was to not feel so fucking alone all the time.
Something that felt like a headache passed across my whole body.
"Taylor?" Carob chips. And Insulin.
Gross.
