 
Fresco

Diamond City Trilogy: Book One

Patti Larsen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 by Patti Larsen

Find out more about Patti Larsen at

<http://www.pattilarsen.com/>

***

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Edited by Annetta Ribken, freelance Goddess. You can find her at <http://www.wordwebbing.com/>

***

Dedication

You didn't laugh when I told you I wanted to be an author. Just nodded and bought me a typewriter. I wish you were here to see my dream come true. I know it was yours, too.

This is for you, Dad.

***
Part I: Fall From Grace

# Chapter One

Fresco swallowed a mouthful of fresh-baked cookie as his best friend burst through the kitchen door. Justin was early for once. The Lighting's star linebacker drew a big breath, expanding his substantial chest as he savored the aroma.

"Who's the best mom _ever_?"

Fran Conte giggled. Fresco's mother dished hot treats onto a plate with a bright pink spatula. He snagged another as his friend engulfed her in a massive hug, lifting her from the ground. Justin planted a big one on her flushed cheek.

"Justin Collins, you put me down this instant!" Fran giggled even as she threatened him with her oven mitts.

He winked at her, but did as she asked. Fran's left hand, still sheathed in puffy protection, went instinctively to her short, brown hair.

_Like anything could mess it up_ , Fresco thought. His mother always appeared neat and tidy, petite, compact and flawless, if ordinary, in dress. She _totally_ radiated 'mom' vibes.

Justin took terrible advantage of her.

"But, Mrs. Conte," he said as he flashed her his most charming smile. "You know I can't resist you."

"My cookies, you mean." She tapped his wide T-shirted chest with her spatula. She peered up the height he had on her over the rim of her round glasses, hazel eyes sparkling. He was an easy six foot two where she barely called it at five one. "I'm on to you, Justin."

Fresco grinned around his cookie, enjoying the exchange. Justin tossed back his dark brown hair and clutched one hand to his chest in mock horror.

"Mrs. C! Your cookies mean nothing to me!"

Fresco laughed. "You been sneaking into drama class while I wasn't looking?"

Justin rolled his eyes at his friend before smiling angelically at Fran. Fresco, blond to his friend's dark, had the innocent smile down pat, but Justin raised it to an art form. His deep brown eyes shone with sincerity, handsome face full of charm. Fresco tried not to laugh again. Justin was a natural.

"Oh, here." Fran dumped a cookie into his waiting hands. "You'll be into them in the car anyway, the pair of you, so you might as well have one now." Justin stuffed the whole thing in his mouth as Fran turned and slapped Fresco's fingers with her spatula when he tried to take a third. "At least pretend they are going to make it as far as the door."

Fresco dodged the dancing utensil and grabbed another cookie, devouring it in one bite, brilliant blue eyes full of humor.

"'Kay," he mumbled around it.

Fran rolled her eyes as Justin snuck another.

"Enough, you two!" She chased the both of them away from the island in the center of the bright and cheery kitchen. "Let me finish or you'll be leaving without them."

Fresco bent his lean body to the side, dodging her wrath. He made the stairs, laughing around his cookie. Justin, with twenty pounds on his friend, thundered up behind him, stuffing down his own. He followed Fresco to his room and leaned against the doorjamb.

"Your mom's cool," he said.

Fresco rolled his eyes. "She's right. You just want cookies."

Justin's grin was no longer innocent, more devil than angel when parents weren't around. "Maybe." His eyes went to Fresco's desk, flashing nasty. "Done your homework yet?" His voice melted honey.

Fresco groaned at the sight of his unfinished math questions. Playing football was the most important part of his life, and there was no way he was missing it because he hadn't done his algebra.

"Don't tell and I won't," he said. Justin smiled a devil's smile.

"Show me up on the field and I might."

Fresco made a rude gesture. Justin was a real jerk sometimes. Fresco wouldn't put it past him to screw him over. And his father's rules were pretty strict around homework and football. School came first.

The scent of cookies reached Fresco's room. He wondered how many of the delicious morsels his mom was lovingly placing in plastic containers would make it to the game. Justin always drove and still managed to down half a box himself before they even got to the field. Still, Fran kept making them, called them good luck. They had to be fresh baked, nothing cold or packaged for her boys. Fresco grinned to himself, knowing the team would be all over him as soon as he hit the locker room. Fran Conte's cookies were legendary.

Seeing Justin's eyes were still on his homework, he flipped shut the cover on his tattered red binder, a disaster already despite the fact school only started six weeks before. He ignored the knowing smirk on his friend's face and grabbed his denim jacket.

Fresco loved living in California, where the days stayed nice pretty much all year round, but late November brought cooler weather after the sun went down, and he didn't want to catch a chill. He expected to be run ragged in a few short hours on the football field. Keeping warm after the game was important to tired muscles.

Like the rest of his team and his very enthusiastic coach, Fresco took football more seriously than anything else in his life.

Justin had drifted away. Fresco stepped out into the hall, looking toward the back stairs, but didn't see him. He glanced further down the hall and watched, too late, as his friend walked into Daniel's room.

Heart in his throat, it took him a moment to react. When he did, Fresco's panic rose even as his feet dragged him without his consent to the open door.

Justin stood in the middle of the room, looking around with curiosity. After the initial shock wore off, Fresco took a hesitant step inside himself. He hadn't set foot in it for two years, not since Daniel left. He frowned in the sunlight streaming through the half-open curtains. Small dust motes hung in the hot, heavy air of the room echoing with their footsteps.

Daniel's room was empty except for a smallish cardboard box, spun off to one side. The top was open and a trophy poked out. It was this very thing that caught Justin's attention, too. He lifted it free and blew on it, thumb running over the front plate to remove the last of the dust. He glanced at Fresco.

"Huh," he said. "Didn't know Daniel got MVP."

Fresco couldn't move, could barely breathe. The air in the room choked him, pressed on his chest, trying to drive him to his knees. He managed a nod.

Perhaps there would have been more if they hadn't been interrupted.

"What are you boys doing in here?" Raymond Conte's voice cut deep, sharp with anger. Justin dropped the trophy and plastered on his most innocent and respectful expression.

"Hello, Mr. Conte." He inched away from the box.

Ray's face struggled against fury behind his heavy glasses.

"Thought you had a game."

"Yes, sir," Justin said with false cheer, taking a step to the door, moving out of the oppression of the room. "We were just leaving. Right, Fres?"

He listened to Justin go, the big football jock brushing past Fresco's father, his heavy footsteps thumping over the thin Berber carpet in the hall and at a pounding jog down the wooden stairs. Fresco remained frozen, eyes locked on the discarded trophy.

He heard his father move, the soft shuffle of sock feet on hardwood, saw Ray drift past him and approach the box. His father hovered over the remnants of his oldest son while Fresco, lost in his own pain and cycle of grief torn raw by the emptiness of the room, watched.

Finally, Ray sighed, a deep and heavy breath, before turning to Fresco. He was lit from behind by the sunlight. Fresco couldn't see his expression, only a dark, slim figure, faceless, unreal.

"You'd best be going, then."

Fresco managed to jerk his head in a nod. He staggered backward as though his father's words released him, unsure later how he managed to stumble into the hall.

He stood there, trying to catch his breath around the pounding of his heart. He seemed unable to shake the past in spite of the time gone by. Daniel's room, the room he remembered, was as long gone as the brother he adored.

While he fought himself and the memories threatening, he heard the door swing softly shut behind him.

***

# Chapter Two

Daniel's betrayal was fresh again and despite all his efforts to the contrary his brother's rapid spiral into drug addiction still sat inside him, eating Fresco up as surely as it took Daniel. His sudden and complete reversal from happy and loving older brother to hard-edged addict who Fresco barely recognized flashed through his mind in a series of painful images.

Daniel smiling, ten years old, helping Fresco up after a nasty fall, wiping his tears away

the dark-haired brother defending the smaller, fairer from bullies on their block

Daniel, his gray eyes laughing, tossing Fresco the game ball of which he was the star

the tall, thick-shouldered brother he so adored withered and hunched, stunning smile missing, spirit sold to the drug taking him over

It seemed like overnight they lost him. When Daniel vanished, Fresco was desperate to find him. Despite his parent's best efforts, it wasn't until Daniel showed up, a shadow of himself, that Fresco finally understood what his brother valued.

at the back door, hiding from the full light, eyes haunted, sunken

begging for money, help from what was eating him alive

his mother sobbing, father furious, sending Fresco to his room

watching his brother from his bedroom window, powerful body reduced by the hunger, slinking away into the black

It was the last time Fresco saw him.

That night, the handsome, dark hero of Fresco's life, once his idol and confidant, disappeared, devoured by the drug he chose over his brother.

Fresco shivered despite the warmth of the second floor hallway. He succeeded in the past two years to block his brother from his mind. He absorbed himself in school and football. His parents practically smothered him in love and attention, as though doing so would prevent their youngest from following in Daniel's footsteps. They even lied to everyone they knew, told neighbors and friends the older Conte was away at college and doing well, thank you very much. Since there were no uncles or aunts or cousins to pry, no grandparents living to ask the hard questions, everyone simply nodded and smiled and believed.

It hurt Fresco the first time his parents lied about Daniel in front of him. He was so floored by their deceit he hadn't been able to say a word to the contrary.

"Best for everyone," Ray told him in the stuffy station wagon on the way home. Fresco watched the flash of the passing streetlights on the wet pavement, ignoring them.

"Honey," Fran said, reaching back to pat his knee, "you know we love you. We're just trying to protect you."

And had been doing so, he realized with a start, quite effectively, even from himself. When did they clear out Daniel's room? He fought the rising anger. Where was Daniel's stuff? He started to shake from the rage. A headache, teasing him the last few days with jabs of pain, flared into life. And with it, a heavy feeling in his chest and a sensation of burning deep inside.

Fresco didn't know how long he stood there, absorbed in his hurt.

"Fres!" His mother's voice broke his concentration. The headache eased, retreating to its familiar and ignorable ping.

"Coming!" He got a hold of himself. He needed to have a talk with his parents. But they trained him well. He would wait until they were alone.

Fran must have seen the trouble in his face when he made it to the kitchen. Her smile melted to concern but, like him, she held her tongue. Instead, she pressed the containers of cookies into his hands, her eyes radiating love and concern. Fresco risked the inevitable backlash and leaned down to kiss his mother's cheek.

"Love you," she whispered.

"You, too."

Fresco refused to meet Justin's eyes as they walked out the door. He continued to ignore his friend as they made their way down the neat, gravel path to the driveway, past perfect flowerbeds and fresh cut grass. Fresco heard the double beep of Justin's car alarm as he stepped up to the passenger door of his friend's massive and perfectly polished black truck. The thing was a gift from Justin's parents for his seventeenth birthday.

Fresco's folks gave him a watch.

He fumbled his jacket and the containers, managing to get the door open without fingerprinting the paint. Justin would be sure to check later. A tall hop and he was in the leather seat.

Justin relieved him of the top box of sweets, sliding it into the console between them. He popped the top. Two cookies vanished in rapid succession before he even turned on the ignition. Fresco fastened his seat belt and waved at Fran who watched them through the front window.

Justin made kissing noises around the cookies, his expression nasty. Fresco punched his shoulder, hard. Justin winced.

"Lay off! That's my catching arm."

Fresco felt his evil nature well up, part of him enjoying his friend's pain. "What arm?" He hit him again as Justin turned the key. Heavy music blared through the speakers. Fresco knew from experience the bass blasted outside the sealed windows.

Justin hit him back. It hurt like hell, but Fresco refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he leaned forward and turned down the music. Justin turned it back up, twisting the knob even louder.

Fresco sighed. His friend was such a child sometimes.

Justin jerked the monstrous truck backward into the street without looking, not even stopping at the urgent blat of a car horn. He gave the angry driver the finger and, laughing, spun away, tires squealing.

The rumble of the big engine roared as Justin sped through the suburban neighborhood.

"Better have your game on tonight," he yelled at Fresco over the music.

"I know, finals." He refused to grab the chicken bar as Justin took a corner too fast, tires humming. The seatbelt dug into Fresco's side with bruising force.

"Damned right, finals." Justin crammed in another cookie, face dark. "Can't afford to have any weak links. Those bird lovers are going _down_ this year."

The Madison High Raptors were their most bitter rivals and held the prized regional school trophy for the past four years.

"Our team's stronger," Fresco hollered back. "We're kicking ass."

"Just don't screw up," his friend threatened him with his typical heavy-handedness. "I'll have to kill you or anyone else who keeps us from winning our senior year."

Fresco felt equally as driven, so he forgave Justin his enthusiasm. This was their last chance to win one for their school. Graduation meant college and not necessarily football.

The thought of college made him think of Daniel, and the headache came rushing back. Fresco squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. When he opened them, he felt better, but the dull throb of it for the last few days felt worse than ever. He helped himself to a cookie to distract himself. Justin slapped at Fresco's hand, his own busy in the container, when his cell phone lit up and bounced its way across the dash. Fresco couldn't hear the ring over the pounding music, but its activation was obvious. Justin grabbed for it.

"Jen," Justin said with a smirk. "Wants to know what I'm doing after the game." His new conquest was firmly in hand. Fresco rolled his eyes. He preferred to hang out with the girls, not tear them apart one by one.

Justin punched buttons, texting her back. Fresco saw the stop sign approaching, felt the acceleration of the truck, and knew Justin didn't see it or the car with the right of way. Before he had a chance to shout a warning, the headache took him over and fire filled his vision.

Everything was gray as time moved in slow motion. The car, a mid-sized blue sedan, sped in quarter time toward him as they cleared the stop and entered the intersection. Fresco watched, detached, as the pretty blonde woman behind the wheel opened her mouth in a large "O" he guessed backed a scream. Her eyes were huge and stared into his. Just as her bumper touched the passenger door of the truck, time stopped.

Fresco looked around. Justin grinned, checking out his phone, the open box of cookies beside him. Over his friend's shoulder, through the glass, Fresco saw a robin paused in flight, preparing to land on the street sign. He looked down at his hands. He seemed transparent to himself, ghostly and unreal. He looked up again at the woman. Such naked fear shone in her eyes he wanted to call out to her, to reassure her, but there was nothing he could do. It wasn't until he dropped his gaze from her that he noticed the toddler secured in the back.

In a flash of terror, Fresco reached out with his mind and grabbed the child.

He had a heartbeat of time to register he now stood on the sidewalk next to the stop sign. The sun beamed down on him, warming his face. The world was silent, a jolting change from the blaring music. Justin's black truck roared past in the next breath, careened into the intersection, T-boned by the blue sedan. The impact rippled the air, rushing over, through and past him in a shockwave. He felt it before he heard metal shriek and clash, the deep thrum of humming tires, the sharp bellow of shattering safety glass, the pop of releasing airbags. The two vehicles melded together with enough force to spin them 180 degrees and come to a screeching halt against the opposite curb. Smoke billowed from the front of the blue car, bits of yellow and red plastic scattered as though tossed with casual disdain. Something within the crippled four-door hissed and sputtered its way down to death, its bonnet compressed, embedded in the passenger side of Justin's 4x4. The truck bent inward where the cab met the box, but appeared almost intact compared to the crumpled mess of the family midsize.

People rushed from houses, from hastily parked cars, pouring over the scene. Fresco heard voices, harsh with shock, calling for help on multiple cell phones. An older woman, a stranger, hovered in front of him. Her mouth moved, face lined with concern, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. He stood frozen, lost and empty of emotion. How? Where? He tried to make sense of what happened. The woman gestured to Fresco, but he was still having trouble understanding her. She reached for him, tugging on him, on something he held. His arms tightened reflexively. He could not— _would not_ —let go.

It was hard to think. Someone cried, and the crying distracted him.

Fresco looked down.

The boy from the back of the car bawled in his arms.

***

# Chapter Three

The boy clung to Fresco, head on his shoulder, huffing little gasps of air as he expelled the last of his distress. Fresco registered the smell of the child's full diaper under the little faded denim overalls. More powerful was the reek of burned rubber and spilled fuel making a rainbow river across the asphalt. The sirens were quiet, though the flashing ambulance lights still spun, intensifying his headache. His body shuddered slightly, totally drained. Only the weight of the boy, the awareness of the child and his need, kept Fresco on his feet. He ignored all attempts to speak to him. There was nothing to say even if he possessed the strength to say it.

His mind pushed away questions, unable to process and unwilling to grapple in the presence of reality. He held his breath when the woman was pried from her car. The boy started up again, struggling against him, shrieking over and over for his mother in a pitiful voice, mucus running from mouth and nose, face sheathed in tears. Fresco turned the boy away and spoke at last, a soft hushing noise as he rocked the terrified toddler to comfort him. The child collapsed again, burying his crimson face in Fresco's shirt, soaking it through with his distress. Relief rushed through him as he saw the woman move, watched the EMT's brace her neck and body and load her into an ambulance.

"Sarah!" A tall man in a rumpled business suit stood at what was left of the blue sedan. He missed the ambulance as it pulled away, siren blaring. Fresco found himself walking, knees jerking with the effort it took to move. He stopped in front of the frantic man and held out the boy.

The stranger's green eyes met his through sparkling glasses before glancing down at what Fresco offered. With a low cry, he reached for the sobbing boy who was leaning so far out with his arms outstretched he almost knocked Fresco from his feet.

"Thank you," the man whispered. "Is she...?"

It took Fresco a moment to respond. Everything seemed so hard. Speaking was an effort. So was feeling. But he wanted to help a little more if possible.

"Alive." It came out of him in a whispered breath. "Going to the hospital." Fresco gestured toward where the ambulance had been.

The man's face registered relief as his eyes welled with tears. Before he was able to say anything in return, a black uniformed officer interrupted.

"Mr. Connelly?"

The man nodded, still clinging to his son as tightly as the child clung to him.

"This way, please." The cop's old face was calm, but lined with the pain of more accidents than this one. He shot Fresco a glance, but dismissed him as he led the stricken husband aside.

Fresco rubbed his face with both hands, feeling his strength come back a bit at a time. He looked up and examined the truck again. When he did, his mind flashed to the vision.

the "O" mouth, Justin's smirk, blaring music, gray everywhere, the child

Fresco shuddered and found himself again. When he surged back to life, he panicked, heart stricken. Justin!

He found his friend in the back of the second ambulance. He was shaken, pale, with the beginning of a black eye and skin reddened from the force of the lifesaving airbag. Anne Collins, Justin's mom, wept next to him, light blonde hair pulling free of her pony tail as she dabbed at her red eyes with a mascara stained and crumpled tissue. She spotted Fresco first and ran to him, hugging him hard.

"Fres!" She pulled back, small hands surprisingly strong as they gripped his upper arms and gave him a shake. "We were terrified! Are you all right?"

Fresco nodded as he lifted his gaze from her to Justin. His friend scowled at him.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Collins," Fresco said. "Just shaken up, is all. Justin?"

He shrugged as the EMT wrapped his right wrist. "Broke my arm." He made a face. "Of all the damned luck..." He drifted off, dark eyes latching onto Fresco again. There was a fury in Justin as he glared. His rage pushed against Fresco, making him want to take a half step back.

He didn't.

"We were so sure you were... were..." Mrs. Collins started crying again. "The passenger side... there's nothing left!" She looked up at him, curiosity shining through her relief. "How did you get out?"

Fresco didn't have an answer. He struggled with his response. He needn't have bothered.

"He bailed." Justin's lips twisted to a snarl. When Fresco and Mrs. Collins turned to him, the fury on Justin's face fell to a friendly grimace, but left his eyes untouched by false good humor. "Must have. Thanks for the warning, bro." Justin was _not_ happy.

Again, Fresco had nothing to say.

A car squealed to a halt, double door slams preceding the arrival of the Conte's. Fran embraced Fresco as Ray hugged Anne

"Everyone okay?" Ray glanced at Justin's arm, then at the truck. Eyes widening, he looked at his son. When their gazes met, Fresco felt a jolt of something he didn't like.

Ray's eyes were empty.

Fran, on the other hand, was making a big fuss. She also spotted the crumpled mass of destruction and gasped.

"Fres!" She hugged his arm, stroking his hand as though to reassure herself of his good health. "Dear Heavens, you boys are lucky to be alive."

"One of us is." Justin winked at her. "Good old Fres here took the easy way out, didn't you?"

Ray was still staring. Fresco didn't know how to take his father's blank expression.

"Guess so," he said.

Fran frowned. "If you hadn't..." She shuddered, her eyes drifting over the destroyed passenger seat. Two tow trucks pulled against the wreck, trying to get the cars apart. They separated with a grating of metal and plastic. They all stared at the gaping hole where Fresco had been sitting.

He was the first to turn away. There was more to it, but he was unable to go there, more willing to believe Justin's story.

_I jumped_ , he told himself. _Saw the car and bailed. Makes total sense_.

_What about the boy_? The little voice knew he was lying to himself.

Fresco shuddered away from it. And from the look of pure vindictiveness Justin let him see before plastering on his old, familiar jovial grin.

"All's well that ends well," Justin said.

The hardest part of it was knowing the game wasn't over. Not for Justin. And, not for Ray. The short ride home in the back of his parent's car was the worst one since the night his parents lied about where Daniel went.

_Now, why did I draw that parallel_? Despite the accident, the endless questions from the police he did his best to answer, knowing what he told them got Justin in deeper trouble, Fresco's mind returned to his brother.

He followed his parents into the house, stopping in the dark of the hall by the front door. Night had fallen, the quiet of the street outside punctuated by the hum of a nearby streetlight. For some reason he couldn't explain, as he watched their backs retreat toward the kitchen, Fresco found himself remembering how he and Daniel used to pretend they were adopted. Their real parents were superheroes or spies or royalty who would come and get them someday.

Even when Ray told him the truth about Daniel, Fresco held out hope. But his father made sure to crush it absolutely.

We need to forget your brother, Ray said as Fran sobbed beside Fresco. Despite all we've done for him, he's chosen his life. And we aren't in it.

Fresco wanted to believe in Daniel, but didn't he himself see his dark-haired hero make his choice? His parents hugged him and told him how much they loved him and how he was their whole world. Fresco believed them, chose anger over love, and let them convince him to forget his brother the long and lonely night Daniel left him forever.

In the dark and silent hallway, punctuated by the hum of electricity, it took Fresco a moment to make up his mind. When he did, he followed his parents into the kitchen.

They whispered in harsh voices. Fresco made himself wait in the doorway, listening.

"It can't be!" Fran's voice was harsh with tears even when hushed. "They told us—"

"It doesn't matter what he told us," Ray cut her off, anger rising. "You know that. We both know what happened."

They were silent so long, Fresco had time to paw through his confusion. What were they talking about?

"He's fine. That's all that matters," Fran said at last. "Nothing happened. It was a car accident."

"He survived," Ray told her. "He shouldn't have. He has it. We have to do something."

Heart pounding all over again, not sure of another shock after what he went through, Fresco walked into the kitchen. Fran flinched, but Ray just looked at him.

"What's going on?" He stood there, glancing back and forth between them. In the glow of the faint light over the stove, with the fading aroma of chocolate chip cookies lingering in the air, his parents felt like strangers.

"Nothing, son." Ray's blank face shifted. He smiled at Fresco. "You've had a rough night. Best get some sleep. We all need it, I think."

"Things will be brighter with the sun." Fran smiled at him, too, through fresh tears. How many times did Fresco hear the familiar saying? His understanding honed by his experience of the day, he observed with newfound revelation Ray's knowing grin, his mother's loving face. He saw how they so easily controlled him his entire life, how he was manipulated to forget his brother. The memory of Daniel, vivid from the afternoon, made him speak. If they wouldn't tell him what was going on, what they knew, at least he could get some answers. Fresco owed his brother that much.

"I want to talk about Daniel."

Ray obviously warned Fran. She played the part well, but he knew her heart wasn't in it from the moment she opened her mouth.

"We've had this conversation," she said. "Daniel is gone, Fres, and he isn't coming back."

"Where's his stuff?" He needed to know. He wasn't sure why this was so important, more important than how he survived an accident that should have left him dead. Anger flared, pushing him away from the memory of the gray and to the cardboard box. He was sure the trophies vanished after he left the house.

"Gone," Ray said. "About time, too. We've moved on, son. Like we thought you had."

"He's my brother," Fresco said. "I need to know what happened to him."

"We have no idea," Ray said. "He ran off to kill himself with drugs, not caring about any of us."

"He chose drugs over us," Fran said, voice tired. "You know this, Fresco. We talked about it." She pulled away from Ray. "Why are we having this conversation now? When I think how close we came to losing you today..." She drifted off, a loving appeal in her hazel eyes.

Fresco didn't budge. Her familiar kindness washed over him, leaving him unaffected. It was easy to remain detached. Something changed in him, and they all knew it.

Ray cleared his throat. His parents exchanged a glance. From the weight of it, there was so much more going on than they told him. Ray sighed and nodded, rubbing his eyes with his hand while Fran turned back to Fresco.

"Sweetheart," she said, "We didn't know how... and after everything you've been through today..."

She trailed off, looking at Ray.

Fresco's father didn't hesitate.

"Daniel is dead."

Fresco's world wobbled, the shock closing darkness in around him for a moment. It shook him from his safe, empty place and thrust him back into emotion. It took him time to catch his breath and when he did, all he uttered was a hoarse, "What?"

"We were going to tell you," Fran said in a rush of words with fresh tears in her eyes, hands fluttering in front of her, not quite reaching him. "When you were ready. But you've been doing so well and we didn't want to disturb your life with the waste he made of his."

"When?" Who were they to decide if he was ready? Fresco felt the weight building on his chest again, but was too overwhelmed to be afraid. He could barely breathe, hardly speak, but he got the word out.

"Six months ago," Fran said. "I'm sorry, honey."

"Was there... a funeral?" Fresco struggled with the concept. The headache started up, this time fed by fire sliding through his veins, his body vibrating with it. He welcomed it, wanted it to burn away the stabbing anguish making its way through the cold of his shock.

"No," Ray said. "We decided to have him cremated. There wasn't much left of him you would recognize, Fres. It was hard enough I had to identify the body. I wanted to spare you and your mother."

The images of his brother from his past flashed yet again through his mind, but this time, instead of flinching away, he embraced each and every one. The fire within him sizzled and went out as a great pain welled up within him for Daniel and for himself, for the poor woman in the blue sedan, her husband, and the boy he rescued. As it reached an uncontrollable size, his heart shattered.

Unable at last to cope, Fresco bent his head and broke down, crying hopelessly for the brother he loved and lost all over again.

***

# Chapter Four

"Hey, hero, watch where you're going!" Justin punched Fresco in the arm, hard. Fresco winced a little, but Justin was grinning his nasty grin, knowing he hit his mark better than usual.

Justin used his cast.

Fresco brought himself up abruptly in the dull yellow hall outside English. His fellow students milled past, heading for their lockers and the freedom of home.

He did his best to avoid everyone all weekend and continued the trend his first day back to school. He hated the stares, the unspoken questions. Worst of all, he knew his friend had some retaliation planned for the supposed slight of leaving Justin in the truck alone.

Fresco rubbed the sore spot, knowing it was time to own up and see what kind of punishment the bigger guy planned.

"We have ourselves here a genuine hero, my friends." Justin spoke to their crowd who gathered for the show. Everyone laughed. There was a time when Fresco would have taken it as a joke, even been in on it. He was finally seeing Justin might not be who he thought he was. He fought down his harsh reaction and tried for normal.

"I'm not a hero." Fresco knew what Justin expected of him. He decided to play along and let him have his fun. Let Justin do his worst so he'd let it go. Fresco just wanted to move on.

Justin wasn't in the mood to be friends. "Yeah, a real hero." His brown eyes brimmed over with something Fresco refused to recognize. "Bailed on his best buddy, left him, ran when things got tough. And what did I get out of it?" Justin held up his right hand. "A busted arm, no more football, and so long scholarship for next year. Thanks a lot, Fres. Great friend."

He resisted the urge to punch Justin in the face. He wanted to yell at him, tell him if he hadn't been texting, was paying attention and not driving like a maniac, none of it would have happened. Forget about convincing Justin he was wrong. It was a losing battle on its way downhill to nowhere in a hurry. His friend's selfishness didn't surprise him as much as it should have.

In an instant of clarity, Fresco acknowledged Justin as he really was. Gone was the charming, handsome guy half the girls in school sighed over, the friend he knew and hung out with his whole life. Instead, Fresco saw the cruel, angry bully he was, who couldn't stand the fact he made a huge mistake and was the only one to pay for it, at least in his own eyes. Justin would have felt better if his friend died in the accident. At least then Justin would be the center of attention.

The truth hit Fresco so hard his anger roared to life. The headache surged, more powerful than he remembered it. His veins flooded with fire. An image of Justin slamming into a locker with blood running from his broken nose and fear in his eyes, begging for mercy, flashed through Fresco's mind so quickly he almost thought it never happened. Except he knew it did. The force of the compulsion shocked him and smothered the flames before he was able to do anything about it. He and Justin were friends forever. There was a rivalry between them, but as far as Fresco knew, it was a healthy one. Now he absorbed the obvious truth.

Fresco was bombarded with the truth as though recognizing it opened some kind of floodgate. He took a step back away from Justin, overwhelmed by the bitterness and resentment. Fresco stared at his friend in shock, unable to speak.

"What?" Justin snapped at him. The image of who Justin was floated, superimposed over him, the distortion adding flare to the headache. Their friends were all staring at him, as much as he was now staring at them. He tried to keep himself together as he scanned from face to face, seeing the same dual vision on each and every one of them as he did with Justin. Heart pounding, he absorbed the lies they lived, the masks they wore, his own inner horror growing and growing as he saw the truth about the friends he cared about.

None of them were who they seemed to be, and they all resented him.

"Fres!" Justin's cast-laden fist impacted his chest hard enough to make Fresco stagger. "WTF? You going to tell me what the hell happened or not?"

Fresco made a monumental effort and pulled himself together. He understood somehow through the panic he had to find a way to excuse his behavior and managed to fake enough calm to reply.

"I gotta go." It was all he could manage. The need to escape was so potent it hurt. He pushed past the friends he thought he knew and hurried on.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, hero," Justin called after him, laughter echoing the malice chasing him.

Fresco made it to his locker. He fought with his lock and his temper, lost in his own bubble of confusion and rage as the students around him went on with their happy lives. His headache deepened, settling into his shoulders, forcing flames through his pounding head. He fumbled blindly, unable to focus enough past the pain to get the lock open. The headache wouldn't ease, wouldn't let him go, and it made him furious. In a flash of rage and a rush of heat leaving him dizzy, he focused his anger on the small lock.

It shattered.

Small pieces of hot metal struck his face as the padlock disintegrated. Fresco batted in panic at the tiny points of pain. His fury drained completely as shock took over and fear-fueled adrenaline replaced it. Fresco staggered back. His heart raced as his mind tried to absorb the destruction he knew in his heart he caused.

Engulfed in a cold sweat, Fresco gingerly reached for the broken lock. He touched it, jerked away from the heat still in it, noticing a thin line of smoke rose from the twisted thing. Panic building, Fresco used the corner of his binder to lever the useless chunk of metal out of the slot. It clattered to the floor at his feet, leaving a scorch mark on the faded paint.

Fresco kicked the thing away from him before hurriedly emptying the contents of his locker into his kit bag. He felt a nudge against his sneaker and looked down. Another student inadvertently returned the damaged goods to its maker.

The melted dial stared up at him, accusing him of its destruction.

Unable to contain his distress any longer, Fresco fled.

***

# Chapter Five

Whatever was happening to Fresco came on with a vengeance. As though freed from some long confinement, his mind gaped wide, open and raw, letting in everything around him. He staggered as he was flooded with emotions from the people in the corridor, their truths visible to him. Somehow, he was sharing their pain, their joy, their pettiness, and it terrified him. Not knowing what was going on or why he was suddenly _feeling_ , Fresco bounced from person to person like a pinball, ricocheting from emotion to emotion. He vaguely recalled his English teacher, Mrs. Palmer, asking him if he was all right before pulling away from her in terror.

Because there were whispers included with the feelings.

gave up the stage for these ungrateful brats

Mrs. Palmer's concerned frown was overlaid with deeply hidden anger. Fresco dodged her and moved on to the next horror.

called me pizza face

whined a redheaded boy with terrible acne.

what if I'm pregnant

worried the head of the yearbook committee as she smiled at Fresco, not knowing he just laid bare her darkest secret.

going to fail Chemistry

fretted the smartest boy in school, ignoring him completely.

The trouble was, he couldn't ignore them. Whatever was happening to him forced him to look deep inside the people around him and squeeze out the darkest part of them to feel and examine, the images of who they really were driving spikes of pain through Fresco's mind.

Overcome and in complete panic, he finally resorted to shoving and running, gasping for air into lungs constricted by fear. He reached the front door and fresh air as he brushed past a small girl with a huge pile of books and felt a shock pass between them. Fresco never noticed her before, but suddenly saw her father was abusing her.

_I'll kill myself as soon as I get home_ , she thought. _I hope it's Daddy who finds me_. He stopped short, heart pounding. She looked up at him with a blank, empty expression, but her soul screamed at him for help.

Unable to cope, Fresco ran on.

But he couldn't outrun this. He hit the pavement at a full sprint until he was away from the school. He stopped to catch his breath. The pressure of their feelings lessened, but it was still there, haunting him. Air whistled in and out of his straining chest. Despite his restricted breathing, he started to jog, just wanting to get home. He stopped next to a handsome couple at a streetlight waiting to cross. The woman, well dressed with flowing brown hair and a scent of perfume around her, was doing most of the talking. The man, tall and suited, thanked her for walking him to the corner. Fresco's hand brushed the woman's coat, and the gates opened again.

He knew everything about them.

_The bank is around the corner_ , the man's deep voice was horrible in Fresco's mind. _I'm taking everything, you bitch. Then Emile and I can go to Mexico and you can rot._

The woman's smiling face hid her own secrets.

_Think the money's still there, you bastard?_ Her voice was a screech _._ _I cleaned it out this morning. Just after I found the letters from your "boyfriend." Your phone will start ringing as soon as you cross the street. That would be my lawyer, asshole._

Fresco stared at them, at the smiling, happy faces and the masks of hatred morphing them into horrible creatures as the light switched. The man kissed his wife and moved off. She turned and walked back the way they came, trailing her true self behind her.

Fresco flinched when the man's phone started to ring. It was all Fresco had in him not to collapse as he watched the man answer. He couldn't bear to be there any longer. He forced himself to cross the street, barely making it past the furious man who turned and almost crashed into him on his way to chase the woman down. There was murder in his mask. Fresco stumbled away from him, stunned and shaking, before dragging himself the rest of the way across the street, ignoring the impatient horns of the drivers who now had a green light.

He staggered to a halt, resting against a mailbox.

"Are you all right, son?" Fresco flinched as a street cop reached out to touch his elbow. He looked genuinely concerned, but his thoughts were clear.

_Damned stoners,_ his accusation jabbed into Fresco like a weapon. _Should lock the lot of them up and hang them._

Fresco watched the officer's duality, wide-eyed and unable to speak.

"Are you sick?" The cop asked out loud as his true self said, _This one's going in the tank._

It jerked Fresco into action. "Sorry, officer," he said in a shaky voice. The cop's thoughts continued to churn. Fresco stilled, amazed at the power of his own self-preservation. He even managed to smile his most charming. "I'm all right. It's a dizzy spell. Thanks."

He kept up the act as the cop's mind said, _Bullshit, but not worth the effort. I'm going for a coffee. Maybe the cute waitress with the too-short skirt is working._

The cop walked off, leaving Fresco alone. As he did, the pressure in his body clenched tight and released. As he watched, the officer who was two became one. Just as it mysteriously began, whatever it was shut off. The instant quiet was almost as unnerving as the crushing empathy.

Fresco stood there for a long time in the stillness, trembling and terrified, waiting. But the phenomenon didn't return. Wanting to be sure it was really gone, he even made himself reach out to the people who walked by him, carefully studying their faces. His mind remained his and his alone.

Too used up to feel much more than relief and not knowing what else to do, Fresco ran for home.

He didn't make it two blocks when he heard someone call his name. He stopped, desperately looking around. He knew that voice.

Fresco!

Again, he heard it, but this time he knew it was in his head. He hunted wildly for the source and, for a moment, across the street, he was sure he saw Daniel standing in the mouth of an alley. But not the Daniel who betrayed him. No, this was _his_ Daniel, the Daniel he remembered from childhood.

His brother waved and smiled.

_Fresco_.

Before he thought or acted, a line of cars passed, shielding his brother from his view. When they finally went by, Daniel had vanished.

***

# Chapter Six

Fresco retreated to his room as soon as he got home, avoiding his mother's usual inquiries about how his day went. Drained and terrified, he curled up on his bed and shook for a long time.

He refused to come down for dinner. He ignored the tapping on his door and Fran's soft voice. It was harder to block out Ray. He recognized the heavy shuffle of his father's feet on the carpet.

"Your mother worked hard on supper," the deep voice said through the locked door.

Fresco choked on a bitter laugh. Like he even considered food or casual conversation or even looking them in the face at a time like this.

"Fine," Ray said. "Be as selfish as your brother." His feet rustled away. Fresco's heart clenched, but he knew his father's tactics.

There was something wrong with him even Ray's guilt couldn't touch.

Fresco crashed, emotionally and physically drained. He needed to deal with it on his own, not trusting his parents, who kept his brother's death from him. His mind spun and spun, searching for answers, shying away from the fact he was a freak, isolated and out of his depth. Surely he hadn't seen his dead brother on the street? And if he didn't, just how crazy was he in the end?

Despite his fear and worry and the weight of his thoughts, Fresco managed to fall into a deep sleep.

***

_He drifted into peace, an old, familiar melody rising to fill him up._ _He vaguely registered surprise before it faded to unconcern. He hadn't dreamed, to his knowledge, in almost two years. In his waking mind, he understood it was unusual to be aware in his dreams he was, in fact, dreaming. His friends often told their funny and impossible ones, or at least the bits and pieces they remembered, jokingly trying to interpret them for each other, with X-rated undertones. But none of them controlled their dreams, as far as he knew._

Fresco never tried to tell his. The only person who believed in his dreams, understood where he went when he slept, was dead.

Until Daniel left, Fresco always dreamed the same thing, or, at least, about the same place. It was a dream he shared with Daniel, oddly enough. He was six when he woke to his brother sitting next to him on his bed, smiling down at him.

You too, _Daniel whispered._

From that night on, the brothers often talked about their dream, both wondering what it meant and why they were having it. Daniel made Fresco promise to keep it a secret, to never tell Mom and Dad. Fresco didn't know why it was so important, but he agreed readily. Not only was it marvelous to have such a wonderful secret, adoring Fresco always did what Daniel wanted.

Still without answers years later but grateful to have the dream come again, finally, and for the first time since he lost his brother, Fresco found himself standing on the shining floor of the entryway to the Diamond City. He understood instantly as the song wrapped around him like a blanket, soothing his soul. The frightened and angry part of him quieted when he dreamed. He felt very calm in that particular place, and tonight was no exception as he walked forward across the massive, glittering tiles through the entry. A wide, glowing staircase led down into the impossibly green valley cupping the City. The air was full of the freshness of new grass and lilacs, saturated with energy. The sky arched overhead, blue, painfully so if a color can cause discomfort, bluer than any sky in the waking world. The sun beamed in full glory over the pristine vale and the wonder nestled there. Everything in the City shimmered and sparkled, faceted edges catching the light in blinding flashes, every building from the lowliest to the highest reaching spire glittering like a freshly polished gem. Even the ribboned streets twining their way in lazy, flowing lines were paved in shining splendor.

Fresco's sleeping mind, free of ego, made a connection as he stood there looking down over the beauty of the City, the music swelling his heart with each passing second, drinking in the vision he forgot and never knew he missed. He saw clearly what happened to him earlier and his presence in the City were tied together. Knowing the answers he sought were down the shining staircase, Fresco set out in his dream to find them.

Silently, he walked the streets as he had done most of his life, his memories returning in flashes, as though the two years of dark dreamlessness without the glowing City never happened. The warmth of it enveloped him and, as it had ever been, he felt like he finally came home.

Fresco paused now and then to examine a brightly glittering building or to bend and run fingertips over a particularly brilliant paving stone, the smooth surface cool to the touch. But his path was consistent and his certainty as deep as his calm. Farther and farther into the City he went, occasionally hearing echoing laughter or the sound of voices talking carried on a gentle breeze. But, as always, when he dreamed of the City, he was alone. He and Daniel often tried to find each other there, but were never able. A part of Fresco wondered if his dead brother still roamed the streets.

Fresco paused as he neared the center of the City, looking up at the massive building in the broad square marking its very heart. It was a fairy tale castle with breathtaking spires and intricate, almost delicate, detail. The huge gate stood open to him, a brightly shining light welcoming him within, calling him home. Fresco drew a deep dream breath, his sleeping body echoing him in his dark room, and moved forward.

Fresco _, Daniel's voice whispered._ Fresco, wait _._

He paused, looking around, calm mind curious but not concerned. Daniel was dead. Was he right? Did his dead brother now haunt the streets of the Diamond City? Daniel was nowhere to be seen or felt and his whisper fell silent. Fresco waited one more heartbeat before moving on.

Fresco! _Daniel's voice was louder. It seemed to come from all around him, bouncing from building to building like an echo. Fresco stopped on the threshold of the castle, the white light calling to him, singing louder inside him. But Daniel's voice was not to be denied._ Don't go to them. _He begged._ Please, Fresco, we were wrong. It's all a lie. It always was. Please, don't let them take you too!

Fresco hesitated. He needed to listen to Daniel. His brother protected him.

Why are you afraid? _But Daniel's voice was gone and the song of the light swelled and engulfed him, whispered to him. Daniel left him. His brother didn't care about him at all. He abandoned him. All Fresco had now was the City. The song soothed him and eased the pain in him the truth created. He settled back into calm. Fresco turned back toward the gate, his curiosity and hurt about Daniel fading away._

His heart full of the Diamond City, Fresco stepped into the light and was lost.

***

He woke, head pounding, blood singing with the light of the City. Confusion didn't last in the heat of its presence. This had never happened before. His visits to the City always ended in calm awakening to early morning, not this flare of agony. It burned him up from the inside out. The fire he felt earlier was nothing to the raging torrent blazing through his every cell. Fresco cried out as the white light flooded his vision, blinding him. He thrashed on the bed, a seizure taking over. He was only vaguely aware he was screaming.

Hands touched him, held him briefly. Fresco knew peripherally his parents were there, but they backed away. Something within him built, growing brighter and stronger. Surely the fire was at its limit and could burn no hotter, yet it did. The swell of some unspeakable force overwhelmed him and filled him up to the breaking point.

Heart pounding, Fresco felt himself lifting from the bed. The gathering storm pushed against the confines of his body, forcing him into the air. Unable to control or release it, he continued to scream in agony.

It seared his entire being from the inside out.

Desperate to end it, instinct taking over, Fresco pushed the fire with all his strength. It was tearing him to pieces. He was sure he was broken into bits, ready to be scattered by the flames. Gasping through the pain, Fresco heaved in the confines of his body. He didn't care if it killed him as long as the blazing hurt went away.

The power fled from him as though from a shattered dam. A huge pulse of white light shook the house to its foundations, destroying streetlights and setting off car alarms for three blocks before dissipating.

Fresco knew none of it. He was thrown back as the power exploded out of him, tossed by the concussive impact of its exit back onto his bed, limp and entirely empty.

Barely conscious and unable to move, stunned to be still alive, Fresco watched as his parents hugged each other. His mother cried, but his father stared at him with a resigned look on his face. Fresco tried to reach out to them, but his body disobeyed.

Ray detached himself from Fran and picked up Fresco's phone. She grabbed at him, sobbing openly now, but he pushed her away. Fresco watched him dial and wait.

There was a click. A voice answered on the other end.

"You were right," Ray said in a flat, hard voice. "Friday's events changed everything. It's happened. Come get him."

Ray hung up and set down the phone as Fran collapsed on Fresco's bed, drawing him to her as though he was a child and holding him, rocking gently, smoothing his short, blond hair and his sweat-soaked brow.

"You knew this time would likely come," Ray snapped at her, disgust creeping into his voice. "They'll be here soon, and you don't want them to see you like this."

Fran, however, continued to rock and sob. Fresco gathered what strength remained to reach for her, but the effort proved too much for his overtaxed body and mind. In a rush, the last of his strength left him. He passed out into oblivion to the sound of his mother crying.

***

# Chapter Seven

Fresco faded in. His neck felt uncomfortable, cramped. His head bobbed with motion. He opened his eyes in the dark to a dead streetlight going past and heard the crunch of broken glass. Unable to raise his head despite his best effort, he managed to roll his face to the side. His cheek came to rest against coarse, dark fabric and his eyes settled on an embroidered patch. The shape of a white diamond winked at him.

Fresco's head flipped back as he was bounced lightly. His view gently adjusted enough he could tell the man was a stranger. Fresco was surrounded it seemed by people in dark blue ball caps and coveralls, all with the same logo. Fresco's eyes drifted back to the diamond as the man who carried him laid him out on a gurney in the back of a van of the same navy blue. His father's voice spoke dispassionately about what happened. Fresco fought exhaustion and confusion to find the strength to call out.

"Tell him this is the last one we'll take," Ray was saying. "We're done doing his dirty work. Either the plan works on what he's accomplished, or it fails."

Fresco's desperate need to reach his father froze as he registered those words with shock.

"He won't like it," one of the men said. "But I'll tell him. Do you have everything under control here?"

Ray muttered something Fresco missed, turning away so he couldn't hear him clearly. He searched the back of the van with his eyes, the only mobile part of himself, terrified and knowing now he was very much alone. His inability to move or speak brought back the panic and, with it, the fire. But it burned itself out instantly. Fresco had nothing left to give it.

The man who carried him bent over him from a seat next to his gurney and set one hand on his arm, smiling a charming smile.

"No worries, kid," the man's eyes shone impossible blue, glowing from within. _The blue of the sky in the City_ , Fresco thought. "You're on your way to a better place now."

Fresco wanted to protest, to call out to his mother. Surely she still cared for him! But he only managed a low moan. The man nodded.

"I know, believe me. You'll be fine. Just hang in there."

Fresco heard the sounds of the others piling into the van, feeling it rock with their weight.

"I hope it was worth it," Ray said bitterly. No one answered him.

Fresco managed the monumental effort of lifting his head enough to see his father standing at the back of the vehicle. His last view of Ray was a flat, unfriendly stare, chilling him to the core as the man beside him leaned forward to slam the back doors shut. Fresco, his energy wasted on his father, dropped his head back to the gurney.

The van rocked one last time as the driver's door closed. With a rumble, it started up.

"You got that kid out yet, Strom?" The driver's voice was harsh. Fresco felt the van begin to move and found he was finally able to move himself a little, if he struggled. He had no desire to move. Hopelessness filled him. The one named Strom watched impassively as he bent over Fresco, loading a syringe.

"Sorry, kid," he said as he inserted the needle in Fresco's arm. "It'll all be over before you know it."

He moaned in protest as the blackness returned.

***

Fresco opened his eyes in the Diamond City. Relief flooded him, followed by calm. This time was different. He was lying down, for some reason. He felt the bump and vibration of wheels beneath him as the City flashed around him. The song was so powerful he felt deaf from the pressure of it. But, his relief at being home settled him deep into peace and he stopped fighting.

He looked up with little interest at the man pushing his gurney and realized with a slight shock that for the first time he was seeing another person in the City. Fresco smiled at the glowing, sparkling man in faceted white who gazed kindly down on him.

"Welcome," the man said in a voice much like the familiar song. "We're so happy to have you back, Fresco."

Fresco's smile widened. "Thank you," he said, marveling at the sound of his own voice. He never noticed before how beautiful it was, melodic and exactly a match to the harmonies flooding him. Nothing in his life ever felt so right. Tears welled in his eyes. He absently reached up to touch them. When he pulled his hand away, he was delighted to see he, too was a creature of gemstones and light. The moisture balanced on his fingertip was a perfect puddle of shimmering beauty.

They seemed to travel forever and yet the time went by quickly. Everything appeared slung at a different angle. He usually saw the City from his own two feet. The experience of being pushed through on his back was both surreal and relaxing at the same time. He found himself immersed for long intervals in the song itself, losing his awareness in it.

Finally, they reached the tall, castle-like core. Fresco felt the melody swell to welcome him. For the first time since he could remember, the gate to the castle was closed and dark. They waited as the beautiful doors eased open, the light shining through growing brighter and brighter. Fresco's heart overflowed with joy, so much he was sure it would stop at any moment and he would die content. He let out a soft sigh of happiness.

"Almost there," his companion said. "Soon you will be home again and we will love you and care for you forever."

The man pushed. Fresco watched as the light of the castle gate drew nearer and nearer until the threshold pressed like a thin barrier of force against his feet.

As he passed through the film and was pushed into the light, he faintly heard Daniel's voice crying, "NO!"

The light engulfed Fresco, so bright he needed to shield his eyes, although he didn't want to miss a thing. For the first time he would know what was beyond the gate. He and Daniel tried many times to pass through into the castle but never succeeded, always waking up as they neared its light. Fresco remembered he passed through that night. Or the night before. Or was it a week ago? Did his old life really happen? Time was so different in the City. He had no memory of what was on the other side.

When his vision returned, he blinked away tears brought on by the brightness and gaped in awe at the towering splendor of the castle's interior. The entire building was one single room of spun crystal, reaching up to the impossibly blue sky. Gemstone birds swooped and played far above and even some clouds of silver dust floated within the delicate arches of the ceiling. The song of the City was the loudest here and sang in his very bones. He felt himself floating and looked down to see himself settling in a reclining throne made of one giant gem. He slid his hands down its polished arms, marveling at the silky smoothness, pulsing with warmth and light. The throne seemed to engulf him in a loving embrace and he fell into it joyfully.

He laughed out loud in happiness when he saw there were other people there as well, beautiful women, tall and elegant in shimmering white dresses of gauze and handsome, charming men with perfect teeth glittering when they smiled at him. And they were all smiling at him. Their love for him touched deep, and their voices whispered, whispered at him, welcomed him, embraced him as did the song. Fresco wept at the welcome in which they engulfed him and found heaven.

A small, sweet-faced man with lovely sparkling glasses bent over Fresco, his smile a drink of honey. Fresco grinned at him, wanting to touch his glasses and the halo of shining silver hair, but the man gently set Fresco's hands aside.

"Soon," he said. "Soon, my Fresco. Do you know how special you are?"

He nodded. Of course he knew. He'd always known. No wonder he and Daniel played those games of make-believe. They were right all along. They were princes of the Diamond City and Fresco finally found his way back again. He would stay here forever and ever. The only thing blunting his all-consuming joy was the fact Daniel wasn't with him.

"You are a great gift," the man told him. "My gift to the world."

Fresco didn't understand, but he also didn't care.

The man turned and gestured to the others. When his hand moved, a dusting of shimmering stars fell from him to land on Fresco. Delighted, he moved his own hand and saw he too had stars on his skin. He looked up to ask where they came from to find all of the smiling men and woman circled around him.

"It's time," the sweetly bespectacled man said. "Are you ready?"

Fresco nodded, love and peace overcoming everything. He was born for this. He was absolutely ready.

With his same gentle smile lighting his eyes behind the sparkling glass lenses, the man lifted a shard of diamond in his hand and drove it into Fresco's heart.

***

_pain pain pain pain pain_... _PAINPAINPAINPAIN—_

did he have a voice? what was a voice again? a sound drove through everything and made his face ache (he had a face?) screaming? (what was screaming?)...endless, endless pain and pain and pain and pain...

images flashing, bright and sharp edged and PAINFUL and it wouldn't stop, didn't stop, he couldn't couldn't couldn't... endure couldn't too much painandpainand...

shadows, floating above the pain but so little time, so brief, long enough to twitch his hands (are for holding and have fingers) and feet (are for walking and have toes) and always the dagger of diamond in his heart and the song, the terrible song, too much, so much, too much...

and the minds in his mind, pulling him apart... who was he who are you who are they... stabbing and ripping and grinding and peeling, severing him from everything he was (just let me die!) and putting him back together again only to rip and shred and slice...

And.

Then.

Stillness.

Until the fire came and burned him up.

***

# Chapter Eight

Fresco groaned and rolled over. Unable to catch himself as he fell, he landed hard on something gritty and wet. His head burned, his whole body on fire. Trembling overcame him as he struggled to come to. He was seized by emptiness and a massive hunger for something unidentified.

Fresco ran his dry, swollen tongue over cracked lips and teeth, crusty and burnt tasting. He was long in need of a toothbrush. His hot cheek rested for another moment on the cold damp of the ground. At last he opened his eyes and tried to focus.

His first vision was of grass wet with rain. It glistened just past his nose on the other side of the dirty gray paving stone. Only one buzzing streetlight pushed back the black of the night. Heavy clouds obscured the stars. Fresco lay there for a while, watching a collection of moths throw itself in a swirling dance against the florescent bulb, struggling with his mind, trying to understand. He had been in the City. Hadn't he? Fresco moaned as his mind flickered to the memory of the pain, refusing to settle there, like the poor, lost insects beating themselves to death in the uncaring light. His thoughts touched the edges of the past before fluttering away again.

It took him four tries to lever himself into a seated position. He leaned his back on the park bench and pulled his legs up, using what little energy he had in those simple acts. He crossed his arms over his knees, resting his head there as the shaking grew worse. It faded as his strength began to return. The ache within increased as it did. Fresco cried out when an alien hunger seized him, his voice hoarse, throat rasping from overuse. The power of the craving gaped, an incredible, jagged wound, begging to be filled or it would devour him instead.

Fresco had no idea how to feed it.

He spotted a small, concrete building huddled alone in the black. He made it there somehow, at times crawling on his hands and knees when falling left him breathless. The door of the public washroom was locked. It took some time for his fog-riddled mind to register his pushing and pulling efforts were useless. By then, he was strong enough to stand without help, knees locking to hold his swaying weight. Overcome with frustration, conformity deserted him as the law-abiding Fresco found and picked up a rock.

It took three strikes to shatter the lock, and he was in. He staggered into the dimly lit florescence, nose full of the reek of old urine and mold, feet slipping on the damp, greenish tiles. Fresco made it to a sink and leaned against the cracked and stained porcelain. He glanced up and drew a sharp breath at his reflection in the unflattering light.

A gaunt, filthy, hollow-eyed boy stared back at him. With this recognition, his awareness flooded back.

_What the hell happened to me?_ He touched his sunken cheeks with dirty fingertips, still doubting the wraith in the mirror was him. His heart skipped an unhealthy beat as the starving need gnawed at his insides. _I don't even know where I am_.

Bits and fragments of memory slipped through. _The accident. The sobbing child I held on the sidewalk. Daniel._ Fresco shook his head. Daniel was dead, killed by his addiction. Fresco looked up at himself and for the first time wondered what really happened to his brother. All questions fled as he doubled over while the need clawed at him before easing again.

_Home,_ he thought, his only real thought as he gasped for air, tears of pain standing in his eyes. _Mom. Dad. I have to find help. And answers._

Decision made, it was still all Fresco could do to pull his eyes away from the hurt and lost expression on his own face.

Fresco staggered through the doorway and back outside, hunting for something he recognized in his surroundings. It was hard to tell in the dark where he was but, fortunately, he wasn't far from the street. He made it to a crosswalk and looked up at the sign, hoping to get his bearings. With a shock, he realized he knew exactly where he was, after all. He glanced back over his shoulder at the park where he and Daniel used to ride their bikes and play endless games of make believe as children. He was amazed he didn't know it, forgivable in his current state. Optimism lifting him at least a little, Fresco turned and headed down the street.

As luck would have it, he was three blocks from home.

Even though the distance was short, it took him several breaks along the way. The hunger chewed and tore at his insides while he begged it to stop, to just leave him be. And still it took its toll, over and over again.

_What are you?_ Pinpoints of light from the pain of it bloomed in his vision. It was a living thing inside of him, he was certain of it, eating him up one bite at a time.

Fresco dove for the bushes as a cop car cruised by, instinctively knowing he needed to stay out of their way. By the time he reached his yard, he was panting and tired, but he had just enough momentum left to dig the spare key out of the plant holder by the back door and get inside.

Fresco held his breath as he leaned wearily against the door. He jumped a little when the refrigerator beside him hummed into life and stood there for a long moment, one hand pressed against the smooth side, letting the subtle heat from it warm his palm and fingers. He debated waking his parents, certain they would be worried about him. Wouldn't they? Why did part of him think the opposite? Fresco chose sleep instead. He dragged himself up the back stairs and to his room, easing the door open and closed with barely a whisper of sound as he did so many times before. Fresco didn't bother with the light, turning to crash on his bed.

_Just for a few minutes_ , he promised himself. As he did, his pain-fogged brain finally registered something was wrong. In the dim light from the street outside, Fresco realized his bed wasn't where it was supposed to be. And more, the one replacing it on the other side of the room already had an occupant.

In the near dark, he made out the sleeping form of a little girl. As he stood there, staring, trying to understand what was going on, the girl stirred and opened her eyes, looking up at him.

Before he registered what happened, she started to scream.

Instantly the house came alive. Fresco, caught in terror, broke out of his shock and dove for the window. Fueled by adrenaline and little else, he knew the best way out was his old standby, onto the overhang and down the maple tree to the back deck. He wasn't sure why he didn't just wait and ask where his family was. As he did with the police, he understood getting caught was not an option, his gut somehow honed now to fear and flight instead of trust.

Fresco flung the window open when a man burst into the room, throwing the light switch. Fresco leaped out onto the overhang, risking a glance at the girl's father. The barrel of a gun shook between them, the man yelling as the girl continued to scream. Desperate and panting like a cornered animal, Fresco slid down the maple tree, skinning his hands and wrenching his left knee when he chose to jump the last five feet. He pulled himself up and staggered toward the neighbor's yard as the man with the gun emerged, still yelling, from the back door. Fresco ignored the flaring pain in his leg and his burning questions and ran.

Those familiar three blocks later, Fresco collapsed back in the park, desperately trying to figure out what to do. He felt overwhelmingly lost, with no idea how long he'd been gone or where his parents were. His fogged mind rolled over and over, the longing he felt not allowing him to think clearly. Fresco toyed with the idea of going to the police after all, but the events of the night would probably get him into worse trouble than he could handle. The hunger drove him now, making him hug himself and grunt as he rocked with the pain and tried to hold on until it passed.

Fresco slid his way further into the bushes as the same police car cruised past, this time shining a light into the park. He barely made it behind a tree to hide as the want within him made moving almost impossible. Somehow, though, he dragged himself through the dirt and grass, pushing to the limits of his strength to fall on his face just out of sight.

As he lay there with his cheek in the dirt, gasping and choking air into his fragile lungs, the car and its light reached his tree. Through the wide-open windows, he heard the voice of the dispatch.

"Be advised, suspect is a white male, late teens, wearing denims and a blue T-shirt. Blond hair. Possible drug addict. May have a weapon. Use extreme caution."

Fresco held his breath as the cops slowed, their search light punching through the dark, so close to him, so close. Finally, they moved on. The beaten and exhausted Fresco allowed himself a moment to give in to despair. He found the energy to flip over onto his side, curling into a fetal ball as he choked dry sobs into the dark.

It wasn't long before the burning want inside shook him loose of his grief. Fresco chewed his lower lip bloody through the attack, sprawled and panting in a dirty puddle under the tree. The reality of his situation hit him like a physical blow. His mind flinched away from the depth of the truth, shielding him and letting him think with some dispassion.

His parents were gone or moved. Fine. Maybe one of his friends knew where and could tell him what happened. A familiar face, one he knew all his life, popped into his head. Choosing to trust Justin, needing to act, Fresco dragged himself to his feet and moved on.

Part of his choice was proximity. Justin's house was two blocks away and in the opposite direction. Fresco hoped the police would be checking elsewhere by the time he got there.

Despite his twisted knee, he made way better time with fear as his fuel. He soon found himself paused under his friend's window, gripped by uncertainty.

_What if Justin doesn't live here after all?_ Fresco shuddered. _What if everything I remember is a lie? Maybe my memories from before are false and this is my reality. Is my whole life imaginary?_ He shied away from that line of thinking. Only one way to find out.

As he often did when they were kids, Fresco chose a small stone from one of Mrs. Collin's meticulous flowerbeds and tossed it at the second floor.

It took three attempts before the light in the bedroom switched on and a large, dark shape pushed up the sash.

Relief flooded Fresco as his friend looked down at him with shock on his face.

"Fresco?" Justin stared at him.

"Justin!" His whisper was just loud enough for the sound to carry. "Man, you have no idea how happy I am to see you." His throat was still sore, pushed to its limit.

His friend's face hardened. "What the hell do you want?"

Stung and with worry returning, Fresco answered. "I need to know what happened." His shaking was getting worse. He hugged himself to hide it. "I went home, Justin, my folks... where are my parents?"

His friend recoiled, glancing over his shoulder into his room and back to Fresco.

"WTF, Fres," he said. "You should know."

Fresco's heart squeezed as fear gripped him.

"They're dead, man," Justin said. "And everybody says you killed them."

***

# Chapter Nine

Fresco stared up at his friend in horror. Dead? He shook his head, trying to sort through his fried memories. He didn't remember their deaths. And kill them? Fresco's body twitched involuntarily. He couldn't have killed them.

While he fought to process what Justin told him, his friend went on.

"Three months ago," Justin hissed down at him. "After the accident. You got all weird at school. The next morning your parents were found dead and you were arrested. They said you were a crack head." Justin's face twisted in disgust. "I guess they were right. How the hell did you get out?"

Fresco shook his head. "I didn't kill them, man." He needed to convince his friend. "I don't remember any of it. Weird stuff was happening and then my folks..." He had a flash of a dark blue van and a man with a diamond on his coveralls. "Someone took me away and I..." The happily smiling bespectacled man hovered over him. "Justin, someone did this to me!"

If Fresco were able to see how he acted or for a moment understood just how bad he looked, he wouldn't blame Justin for being skeptical. As each memory hit him, he flinched, the tremors in his body making him jerk and rock like a damaged marionette. He'd lost twenty pounds and was a skinny, filthy parody of himself. But the worst of it was having Justin witness an attack of the hunger. A full minute passed as he clutched at his chest and stomach while his friend took it all in. When Fresco finally came out of the attack, Justin retreated from him and he knew his friend was done.

"Whatever," Justin whispered. "Get lost, freak, before I call the cops. Go back to your crack head friends and leave me alone."

Justin closed his window, leaving a desperate Fresco to slink away, heart clenched in loss.

He cut through three yards before finding a quiet place behind a corner store to sit and gather himself again. He refused to believe he did what Justin said. He wasn't like this before that night. But what actually happened to him was still going in and out like a horrible living nightmare.

Fresco ran down his list of friends. He discarded each, knowing they would treat him like Justin did. The only person he thought of to trust was Coach, but after the meeting with his former friend, Fresco hesitated. Still, Coach Matters always treated him fairly and was also one of the few people Fresco told the truth about Daniel. Maybe he could help, or at least tell Fresco more about what happened to his parents.

Mind made up, he tried to rise but was caught in the grip of the need. This attack lasted much longer. Fresco had to rest for about fifteen minutes before he was able to pull himself to his feet and move.

It took the better part of an hour to get to Coach's house. Fresco took frequent rests and even snuck into a washroom at a gas station to try to clean himself up a bit. The attendant chased him off, forcing Fresco to run again.

Finally, bone weary and certain he could go no further, he sat down on a lawn chair in the dark back yard to rest one last time before facing Coach.

Despite his best intentions, and at the end of his reserves, Fresco fell asleep.

***

He was in the dark, frozen, confined, and in horrible pain. There was something sticking out of his chest, a shard of crystal glowing softly, pulsing with the beat of his heart, stealing his life away. Fresco struggled against it, trying to pull the thing free, the razor sharp edges of it slicing through his flesh. Hands slick with blood, skin in tatters, he stared as the shard continued to leach his soul, growing brighter and brighter.

As it took the last of him and left him empty, Fresco started to scream.

***

He awoke to being shaken by strong hands. Someone yelled hoarsely, the sound almost gone, and he realized with apathy it was him. Fresco opened his eyes to see the tall, broad form of Frank Matters standing over him.

"Fresco!" Coach's face showed his shock, his brown eyes huge. Fresco saw movement behind him and caught sight of Penny Matters, terrified, clutching a phone.

"Frank!" She called to him.

Coach looked over his shoulder at her and shook his head.

"It's okay, Pen. I'll take care of this."

"I'll call the cops," the slight brunette said, gesturing at Fresco with the phone, staring at him like she'd never seen him before. Like he never spent lazy Sunday afternoons there with the rest of the team having barbeques. He pushed down a hysterical giggle.

_A barbeque,_ he thought, _would be perfect right about now_.

She pointed at him with the phone again. All the humor ran out of him as his heart stopped. But Coach shook his head one more time.

"Go back inside, Pen. It'll be all right."

She hesitated before retreating back into the house. Coach stared at Fresco for a long time before pulling up another chair and taking a seat next to him. Fresco, relieved Coach at least seemed willing to talk, closed his eyes against the rising sun.

"You look like hell, kid," he said.

Fresco nodded. "I feel like hell, Coach."

"What happened, Fresco?" He opened his eyes and saw genuine concern and curiosity in the big man's gaze.

He tried to smile and shrug, but the shakes made it hard to commit. "I wish I knew. That's why I'm here. I was hoping you could tell me."

Coach sat back in his chair. It creaked under his great weight. A former pro still in top condition, Frank Matters cared about as much about his players as he did about the game. It was obvious to Fresco the man was unprepared for what he was facing as he sighed heavily, passing one huge hand in front of his eyes and back through his dark blond hair, now shot with gray. "Folks are saying some heavy stuff, son," he said, peering closely at Fresco. "And I'll be damned if some of it doesn't look like it's true."

Fresco didn't say anything. He had no way to defend himself. But Coach was always kind, even about Daniel. Fresco hoped this time wouldn't be the exception.

"Are you on drugs, Fresco?"

"I think so," Fresco whispered.

Coach's eyebrows shot up, and he chuckled. "You either are or you aren't, kiddo," he said.

"I think they gave me something." Fresco wasn't sure how much to tell, but wanted Coach to know he was the victim.

"They?"

Fresco was about to respond when the longing hit. The pain took him away as he writhed on the lawn chair, body vibrating from the gnawing, tearing pain inside. He collapsed at last, wanting to cry, wanting it to go away, but fearing now he was trapped with it forever.

Coach stared at him with huge eyes. He let his breath out in a whistle.

"Boy, you are not well," he said. "I've seen the DT's before, and you're deep in them. What is it, Fresco? Crack? Heroin?"

Fresco shook his head. "I don't know."

Coach was getting visibly angry but still struggling not to show it. "Listen, I want to help." He drew a deep breath and reached. "I knew guys like you when I played pro ball. Guys who fell off the deep end through no fault of their own. I know sometimes it can just get too big, be too much. You've seen it too. In Daniel. I know how much you hate what he turned into. You don't have to be like them, like him. You can kick it, kiddo. I can be here for you. But, I can't help you until you tell me what you're on."

Tears sprang to Fresco's eyes as he saw and felt the truth. Coach didn't believe him, either. His last chance at salvation was staring him in the face and all it would take was a simple lie. One word. Pick a drug, any drug. But the part of him that argued he was innocent wouldn't cave, not even for a chance at redemption.

Fresco pulled himself up and looked Coach in the face.

"I guess I better get going," he said.

Coach leaned away and nodded, his face sad. He got up and went back inside without a backward glance. Fresco shivered for a while on the lawn chair, the unnaturally heavy dew soaking through his clothes. He finally pulled himself together and stood up.

He swayed, steadying at last and headed for the tree line behind Coach's house, dragging his feet, trying to figure out what to do now that his last chance at his old life was gone. He couldn't blame Coach, but it didn't stop him from feeling sorry for himself. He never felt so lost and alone. Whoever did this to him successfully cut him off from every single person he ever cared about.

The question was, why?

As he reached the edge of the yard, he heard Coach calling to him. The big man jogged to the shocked Fresco's side, pressed a backpack into his hands with an apologetic smile, and a whispered, "Good luck, kid," before going back to his house and closing the door firmly behind him.

***

# Chapter Ten

The contents of the backpack were a blessing. Fresco hunkered down beside a tree and tore violently at the wrapper of a granola bar. The first bite tasted like heaven. He had no idea when he ate last, but the sight of food made him ravenous. As he chewed, he rifled through the rest of the stuff. Coach tossed in an old sweater, a couple of clean T-shirts, an unopened package of underwear, socks, and a worn pair of jeans. There was also a small towel and a bar of fresh soap Fresco took a moment to smell, inhaling deeply. He was disgusted by himself and decided his next act was to get clean and change clothes.

In the side pocket of the bag he found a toothbrush, a half-empty tube of toothpaste, two bottles of water, one he half downed to chase the sweetness of the granola and, in the other, the greatest gift of all. Five twenty-dollar bills unfolded in his hand. Fresco thanked Coach as he clutched the money to his chest before carefully folding it up and putting it back where he found it.

Fresco just finished eating when the hunger took him again. To his disappointment and regret, halfway through the seizure he threw up everything he ate. Frustrated by the waste of the precious food, Fresco beat his fists against the hard ground and ground his teeth in anger.

He was so close to giving in. His whole being craved something he couldn't identify, and he was terribly alone. The thought of going on was heavy and dark. He had no prospects, nowhere to turn and from what he could tell, no one would trust him until he shook free of whatever it was he was hooked on. He was tired, so tired, not sure he was strong enough to do it on his own.

For a brief, shining instant, Fresco caught a glimmer of the Diamond City in his mind and thought about ending it so he could go home.

A flash of memory chased away the image of the City. Fresco saw Daniel, happy, smiling Daniel, waving at him from across the street. The vision was so clear, the memory so bright and vivid, Fresco smiled back, tears standing in his eyes.

With the image of his brother firmly in his mind, Fresco found his courage again. Even the imagined love of Daniel was enough to give him the will to find out what was happening to him and why. If not just for himself, for Daniel as well. Fresco made the connection between the mysterious circumstances behind his brother's disappearance and death and his present circumstances in a flash of insight. His brother's loss two years ago had to be tied to what was happening to him now. Everything made a sick kind of sense and he hated himself for giving up on Daniel so easily.

He couldn't bring himself to even think about his parents.

Fresco found a cold stream far from the road and proceeded to get himself clean. He stripped the torn and filthy clothes from himself, noting with some revulsion there were scabbed sores on his feet and legs he couldn't identify. He eased himself into the cold water, shuddering at the temperature, but determined to get rid of the grime ground into his skin. He lathered up several times, using one of his old socks as a scrubber after cleaning it aggressively with a handful of gravel and some soap. His hair took forever to rinse clean. His arms grew weary from scrubbing, but he made himself continue, growing increasingly desperate to get rid of the stain of what he endured.

He had a terrifying moment when the desire seized him again. Fresco fell into the stream, face going under, feet finding no purchase against the slippery stones. He panicked as water filled his mouth, thrashing in the attack, struggling with the need to breathe. Bright lights flashed in his eyes as the blackness closed in around him. His lungs shrieked, spasming to inhale. Fresco felt a jab of utter clarity. If he didn't do something _right now_ , he would die. Finding control he didn't know he possessed, he reached past the hunger. He forced it to release his clenched muscles. Fingers uncoiling, his grasping hands found and grabbed at a tree root and pulled. His face cleared the surface as he inhaled a great gasping breath, collapsing on the rocky shore as the residue of the attack passed. He lay panting, shivering from the cold, half-in, half-out of the uncaring stream. But he was alive and grateful and more determined than ever.

From then on, he hurried.

By the time he was clean, he was so revolted by the clothing he had been wearing he couldn't bear to touch them again. He planned to wash them, but piled them up instead with the toe of his sneaker before kicking leaves over them. He carefully dried off with the small towel and pulled on his new, clean and dry clothes, feeling better for the bath. His sneakers were filthy, but he wasn't in a position to do anything about them so he put them back on.

Fresco risked a few bites of a new bar and was pleased when the food stayed down. Feeling more like a human and less like a hunted animal, he faced a decision. He weighed his options and came up with two. Hide there in the woods until his small cache of food ran out, or go into town while he was feeling better and try to find out what really happened. Someone had the answers to his questions and was unwilling to hide from the rest of the world. He shouldered his backpack and headed for the city.

The bit of sleep he snatched combined with some food in his system gave him enough energy to make it downtown before he needed to rest. The exercise also seemed to hold off the want for the duration of his walk. Grass turned to concrete and his solitude was replaced by people. He flinched from them at first, the half-burned memory of seeing masks of truth clubbing him between the eyes. When nothing happened, he did his best to control the involuntary twitches brought on when he was bumped by passing pedestrians. He reached downtown in short order, with only his fear for company.

At the first jab of an attack, he collapsed on a graffiti-etched bench next to an overflowing waste bin, the smell of the rotting garbage making his stomach churn. It all washed away when the need rose up. He was in the open, but was unable to do anything about it. He sensed people rushing by, knew they were staring, but didn't care. All that mattered was the craving and the pain.

The attack eased at last, leaving Fresco sweating and gasping, trying to gather himself. He bowed his head, heart pounding, the despair returning. Daniel's face was dim and Fresco's hope waned.

He almost jerked away when he felt someone touch his shoulder. He looked up and into beautiful amber eyes, framed by thick black lashes and flawless mocha skin. The most beautiful girl he had ever seen sat down next to him on the bench and smiled at him.

"Are you okay now?" He found himself watching her full, shining lips form the words. Her voice was deep for a girl, sort of husky, but gentle.

"What?" He asked, pulling his focus back. _Jeez, Fres, thinking about a girl at a time like this. Moron._

Her smile widened a little. "It can be rough at first," she said. "But you'll be okay if you'll let me help you."

When he registered what she said, a light switched on and he gasped.

"You too?" His words whispered to her.

She nodded, once. Fresco was no longer alone.

"We need to get moving," she said. "A lot of people saw your attack. I'm sure someone has called the police."

Fresco wanted more than anything to trust someone else. He was worn out facing it alone. Maybe, finally, he would get some answers.

She stood up and offered him her slender hand. He noticed her fingernails were painted a glistening pink. As his fingers neared her skin, he saw her begin to change before his very eyes, as though she were being encased in a sparkling diamond. She stood there, shining in the sun and his heart went to the City as the song swelled within him. He reached for her, not just with his hand, but with his very soul. The hunger grabbed him by the insides and tried to pull him apart.

He hadn't felt an attack so bad before. He was vaguely aware of the girl trying to get him moving, but he was so lost in agony it was impossible to do anything but twist with the pain. Her voice whispered to him through his torture.

"I'll find you again. You have friends, Fresco. Don't give up."

He felt her leave, even as his own mind went somewhere safer until the pain passed. Still tormented, he distantly heard male voices talking to him. He felt hands grip him and pull him upright. He dry heaved several times, the burning and clawing trying to cut him in half. He felt himself tossed onto something soft, heard peripheral to the pain the slamming of a car door.

Her face floated into his mind as his body swayed with the moving vehicle. He felt her and saw her as she was in the City and the pain rushed over him again.

Fresco gratefully blacked out.

***

# Chapter Eleven

Fresco came to as the door beside him was pulled open and he was manhandled from the back of a police car, his hands cuffed uncomfortably behind him. Struggling to remember what happened, Fresco started to fight the two officers. One shoved him up against the side of the car. The older man, with sharp green eyes and an angry expression, leaned in and hissed in Fresco's ear.

"You fight me, boyo, I'll break your arm."

He felt the man's grip tighten and believed him. Meanwhile, his partner, a young pretty boy with big shoulders, grinned at him, perfect white teeth sparkling.

Fresco sagged in the cop's grip, showing his total obedience. Returned to himself at last, remembering the attack and being thrown in the back seat.

"I'll behave," Fresco whispered.

"You'd better," the cop said, hand twisting his skin. "I watch you damned floaters eat up my town, sleepwalking your way into our clean neighborhoods. And here I find you, boyo, with a damned fine case of the superflu, wired up tighter than a Friday night and I ask myself why I should grant you the comfort and safety of my hospitality."

Fresco stayed silent rather than make things worse.

"Forget him, Len," his young partner said with a smirk. "He's so high up he's not hearing a word you're telling him."

Len shook Fresco a bit. "Is Jakey right, boyo? You chase the dragon one too many times? Fry that little brain you got in there?"

"No, sir," Fresco whispered.

Len's eyes widened as his partner chuckled. "Is that so?" Len leaned back and let Fresco go. "We'll see, won't we? I find you on my streets again, boyo, you and I will have a talk about your continued wellbeing, now won't we?"

Fresco nodded, keeping his head down. The old cop grunted and took his arm again, this time loosely. He half-led, half-dragged Fresco across the parking lot behind the station, his pace so fast Fresco dug for the strength to keep up, not wanting to find out what Len would do to him if he couldn't.

Air conditioning hit Fresco's face in a frigid wall as he was thrust inside the building. The interior of the station was cool and far too brightly lit. Len stopped at the front desk, pulling Fresco up along side. Before he knew it happened, Jakey took his backpack and Len spoke.

"He's clean," the older cop told the booking sergeant who grunted back.

"Name?" The bored uniform at the desk asked, eyes flat and disinterested.

"Fresco," he whispered. Len shook him a little.

"Speak up, boyo," he said.

"Fresco," he repeated, louder. "Fresco Conte."

"You got an address kid, or are you past that?"

Fresco shrugged, not knowing what to say. Len took it as disobedience and shook him again.

"Answer the man, boyo."

"No address," Fresco said.

The sergeant nodded. "Fine, whatever, put him in the tank. I'll call social services. You are under eighteen, aren't you, kid?"

Fresco didn't know. His mind flashed to Justin and the three months passed.

"Yeah," he lied, hoping Len wouldn't sense it, saddened he missed his eighteenth birthday. Neither of the cops seemed to notice or care past their preliminary questions. Len and Jakey deposited Fresco into the hands of a grossly fat cop with white donut powder on his face.

"You remember what I said, boyo," Len told him as he unhooked the cuffs, trading them for a set the fat cop handed him. "You leave Aunt Hazel alone or ain't nothing going to save you from me."

Fresco watched the two saunter out of the station. He turned back as the fat cop grabbed him and shoved him toward a door. The blue clad officer brushed at confection sugar on the front of his uniform before shuffling in his pocket, grunting a little as he dug. He liberated a keycard from the deep recesses below his ponderous belly and slid the pressure warped plastic strip down the lock. The cop was already heaving on the handle before the buzzer even sounded. With a heavy sigh he yanked the resistant door open and pushed Fresco in.

The hall was ugly yellow and green, lit by buzzing fluorescents. Part way down, he was pulled up at another door while the cop repeated his card performance. It swung wide. Fresco was yet again propelled through like a sack of garbage.

The room beyond held a large communal cage. Despite the early hour, there were already several young men there. A quick scan of their faces flooded Fresco with relief. None of them seemed above the age of majority. At least he wouldn't be with adults. The thought of it stirred his fearful imagination, fueled by years of watching dark police dramas and prison movies.

The cop nodded to the guard who looked up from his newspaper to check them out. The tall, lean officer sighed as he folded up his paper and set it aside, rising with keys jingling in his hands.

"Got another one," the fat cop grunted.

"Damned shame," the other said, his sharp eyes searching Fresco. His scarred face glowed with oil. He didn't seem all that sorry. "Anything interesting?"

The fat cop shrugged. "Just put him in. My donuts are getting stale."

The guard laughed and unlocked the door. "You animals stay back while your new roommate gets his jewelry off."

The other teens in the cell watched with flat eyes as Fresco was shoved through and pulled up against the bars to have his cuffs removed. As the keys released his hands, he heard the clang of the cage door and his spirit crashed.

"Play nice." the greasy guard said before going back to his paper and ignoring them.

Fresco was in jail for the first time in his life. The consolation of being housed with others his age did nothing for his heightened sense of preservation. It brought his anxiety back with a vengeance.

His fellow inmates were looking at him like he might be good to eat.

Hoping to avoid contact, he turned away from them, finding a corner of a bunk to collapse onto, pulling up his legs to rest his forehead on his knees. The thin mattress barely protected what was left of him from the cold of the concrete slab it laid over. He was still reeling from the pain of the last attack, disoriented, his veins on fire with need. His feet and hands twitched involuntarily, and no matter what he did, he was unable still them. He took turns focusing on one then the other before finally giving up.

To distract himself, he thought about the girl. He needed to get out of there and find her. Knowing he wasn't alone was more valuable to him than anything. He wasn't sure how he was going to get himself out of the cell, but as soon as he did, he planned to go looking for her.

The memory of her face, her smile, her shining pink fingernails, brought him a measure of calm. She was so beautiful with her darkly glowing skin and bright golden eyes. Where did she come from? And how did she find him? She even called him by name. He didn't have the answers, but thinking about them helped peace settle into him even further until he was able to raise his head and think more clearly.

It didn't take long for the top dog to notice he was now aware enough to be used for sport. Fresco watched the lean Latino boy uncoil from the opposite side of the cell, his fully tattooed sleeves rippling as he flung a cigarette butt to the floor and ground it out with the heel of his heavy leather boot. He was dark haired and eyed, around Fresco's age, slender but powerful. Two of his cronies moved with him as he crossed the distance and stood in front of Fresco, grinning down at him, one of his front teeth gleaming with a gold cap.

"Hello, meat," he said.

The beating commenced without further ado, ignored by the guard behind the newspaper.

***

# Chapter Twelve

Fresco curled into a fetal ball on the floor with his back against the bars while they did their dirty work. He refused to fight, knowing if he held back his attackers would bore of their game faster. Fresco was witness to bullying often enough in school to know it was true. This was his first time on the receiving end, though. He was usually the one to break up the mess.

Oddly, the hunger saved him. The heavy blows hurt, but he realized as he lay there, panting and bleeding, boot heels and fists striking him as the three boys grunted and sweated in effort above him, it didn't even compare to the pain of the longing.

Overcome by his helplessness, Fresco began to laugh. The leader stopped mid-kick and stared at him, his two hombres following his lead. Fresco continued to laugh, louder and crazier, knowing no matter what they did, nothing was worse than what already happened to him. In fact, he thought maybe it would be better if they just finished it and released him from his misery.

They backed off. Their leader grinned suddenly, using the T-shirt of one of his friends to clean the blood from his knuckles.

"This boy's one of us," he said. "Ain't you?"

"Waster, EMZee," one of the others said. "No antifreeze in him, man. Pure Wasteland."

The three exchanged a look. Fresco wondered what they meant, but kept laughing, his only defense.

"Wasteland." The leader spit it out like it was a curse and the greatest thing in the world all rolled into one. His eyes burned with his own hunger. "Waste off, then. You all ate up till you get more and we ain't got enough to share."

Sparking up another cigarette, the Latino boy tossed the smoldering match at the still laughing Fresco and went back to his corner.

Fresco waited a long time before uncoiling from the floor and dragging himself painfully back to his seat. He wiped at the blood on his face, ignoring the ache of his bruised ribs, grateful after all they didn't do any serious damage. He lifted his head long enough to see the guard's pockmarked face peering at him with interest over his newspaper before the thin sheets fluttered as the guard went back to his reading.

As the day went on, the cage began to fill up. One look at Fresco's bruised and bloodied body was enough to give him the privacy he wanted, especially after an attack. They whispered about him as he writhed in pain, and he tried to listen, but the very act of reaching out with his senses made the agony worse. Eventually, he withdrew into his own little world of misery and fearful anticipation of the next bout with the burning torture of his need.

He managed to dodge a passing kick from EMZee as he and his two buddies were released a short time later. The effort it took was almost more painful than the boot to his side, but he reacted on instinct. His last vision of the Latino boy was his index finger pointed at Fresco's forehead through the bars as he dropped his thumb and mouthed, "Bang!" He grinned and left, arrogant strut carrying him out of the room.

Fresco didn't have time to think about it. The hunger took control of him and sent him spiraling into the tornado of darkness. When he shuddered his way back to himself yet again and lifted his head, he was exhausted and wanting. As he did, his pain-racked brain noticed a young kid, younger than him, staring at him. The boy's eyes were a little wild and, like Fresco, he seemed to be on his own. In no shape to accept attention, even friendly attention if it was that, Fresco lowered his head again.

It wasn't long, however, before he felt someone approach him, wary, like a terrified animal, taking forever before perching on the bunk beside him. Fresco, his mind his own again, checked out the boy who was staring openly, fear etched into his face.

"You want to stay away from him," the boy whispered.

"Will do," Fresco said. He had no intention of going near EMZee or his boys ever again. As soon as he got out of there, he planned to find somewhere safe to figure everything out. Where he wasn't sure, but he felt better having a plan.

"You feel it too, don't you?" The boy whispered, hazel eyes huge and shining. "The fire. The hunger."

Fresco sat up a little and took a better look. The kid was horribly skinny, face sunken, eyes shadowed and terribly hurt. Fresco got it. The kid looked like him. Plan forgotten with answers finally so close, he nodded.

The boy sighed from deep within as some of the fear ran out of him. His grin was shaky, but it was genuine.

"Do you know what happened to you?" His voice broke a little.

Fresco shook his head. The kid nodded, like it was no big surprise. "Yeah, me either. No one seems to. We just have normal lives, you know? Then suddenly you wake up with this thing eating into you," he swallowed hard, "and that's it. The rest is Wasteland."

Fresco felt horrified. The girl understood, but here was the truth of it staring him in the face. This kid lived what he lived, what he now suspected Daniel had lived.

"How many?" Fresco asked in a whisper, finishing his train of thought in staggered chunks. "Of us. Are there?"

The kid shrugged, his quick grin flashing before the fear came back.

"Lots," he said.

They fell silent as Fresco tried to understand. Finally, the kid broke the silence again.

"Joey," he said.

"Fresco." That simple act of normalcy made Fresco grin, a faint but human smile mirrored by the boy a moment later.

"You got any on you?" Joey's fingers twitched. There was a tic in his cheek below his left eye Fresco couldn't help but watch in morbid fascination. Tearing his gaze away, Fresco shook his head, not understanding, but the kid took it as a no. He slid closer, his hand slipping into the cuff of his dirty denim jacket. There was a scent on the boy he recognized. It woke the craving within him. When Joey's fingers slid free, he was holding something.

"Guess you'll be needing some, huh? Don't worry, I got lots." Joey pressed his fingers into the thin mattress and eased his hand back, leaving a tiny tube behind. "We Wasters gotta look after each other, yeah?"

Fresco stared. His shaking halted as his body froze in horrible focus. The very sight of the little vial of shining blue liquid made his mouth water and his blood rush and he wanted it so badly he would kill to have it. He now knew the scent he caught from Joey was the same as the precious liquid in that perfect little vial and it was his, all his. He snatched the tube up and found the shaking returned, but this time in want. With a massive effort, Fresco jammed the center of his absolute desire into his pocket.

"What is it?" Fresco asked, voice harsh.

The boy's hurt eyes were sad.

"You're a newborn," Joey said with great regret. "Sorry, I didn't know."

Fresco shrugged, fighting his demon. "Just tell me. Please."

"The nectar of the gods, dude. Liquid Diamond City. It's Wasteland."

Fresco started at the mention of the City.

"You know about it?" Desperate need as powerful as his craving washed through him, a connection deeper than any drug. "The City?"

Joey's eyes welled with tears, instantly dashed away with one grubby hand.

"We all do," he said. "They take us there and show us heaven. And then, when we aren't worthy, they cast us out." His lower lip trembled and, in that moment, despite the years the pain added to him, Fresco guessed with shock the boy was no more than twelve. "Do you know how to get back?" A horrible hope lit his eyes. "I know I could kick this stuff, get off the junk, if I could just get back to the City."

Fresco shook his head. Joey nodded, hope fading.

"I guessed as much," he said in a flat, dead voice more terrible than his hope. "I don't even dream about it anymore. They won't even leave us that."

Fresco's heart pounded. There was so much he didn't know and wanted to ask but didn't know how.

"Guess you have questions," Joey said.

Fresco flinched, hating his transparency, but nodded.

The kid shrugged. "I don't have any answers, except the stuff I've guessed and it's all crap anyway." He squinted at Fresco. "You really look like shit for being fresh, you know? Usually I can spot a newborn, but you look ancient."

"Sorry," he said.

Joey tried his grin again. "No worries. Just saying. Oh, by the way, don't expect to be in here long."

"Why's that?"

"Dunno, but I've been caught a few times and never get charged or anything. It's like they _want_ us out there or something." The kid hugged himself. "At least, that's what I figure."

"Wasteland," Fresco said, trying not to think about it because the thinking made the agony of wanting worse, but needing to know. "Where did it come from?"

"No one knows, but one thing's for sure. It don't work the same for everybody. Some kids take it, they get a little drunk or something, you know? But guys like us," he gestured at Fresco, "we get, like, the _best_ ride." Joey's face turned dreamy. "So awesome, but so hard coming down." The tightness and fear returned to his face. "You gotta be careful, man, okay? This stuff is, like. _Wow_. You know?"

Fresco didn't, but he nodded, thankful for the warning.

"You need more, you find a sugarpop. He'll fix you up, okay? They're all over the city."

"Sugarpop?" Fresco was confused by the new language. He never even tried marijuana before, even though Justin made several attempts to get him to smoke some with him. The whole drug culture was entirely new.

Joey shrugged. "Dealer." A pause. "But not EMZee. Steer clear of him. He'll soon as beat you than sell you Wasteland."

So EMZee was a drug dealer. Made sense in a weird way. "How will I know who's selling and who isn't?"

Joey grinned at him, but this grin was full of despair.

"You'll know," he said. His hand twitched incessantly in his sleeve and a look of impatience came over his face as his eyes drifted away from Fresco, attention lost. Fresco recognized in Joey what he felt in himself. The boy disappeared in the want. Suddenly and completely, without warning, he was gone _inside_. Fresco didn't know what to say, or how to bring him back. It didn't matter. Joey was done talking. He returned to his solitary seat. Fascinated but feeling sick at the same time, Fresco watched the kid put something in his mouth and collapse with a smile on his face, his whole body slumped and vacant.

Horrified, Fresco tore his eyes away and swore he would never, ever, take Joey's road. In the meantime, the little blue tube burned in his pocket and in his entire being. But he fought with everything he left to keep his soul intact and, for the time being, he won.

***

# Chapter Thirteen

Not long after the sun went down, the fat cop showed up and stood at the door to the cell, gesturing at Fresco. Unsure of what to expect, he uncoiled from his seat and limped to the bars. At the same time, the guard, now engrossed in a basketball game, heaved the same sigh he did whenever he was interrupted and hauled himself to his feet, keys jingling.

The door opened and Fresco was free. They never told him why and he didn't bother to ask. He exchanged one look with Joey who shrugged and grinned his terrible grin before they led Fresco away. He felt like he was floating by the time he reached the front desk. A bored uniform, a new one but with the same expression, handed him his backpack and showed him the door.

He found himself standing on the street, breathing fresh air in the cool of the new evening. Worried, despite what Joey told him, they made a mistake and let him go instead of some other kid, Fresco threw on his backpack and hurried away.

After a few blocks, he ducked into a dark alley between a pizza shop and a shoe store. He desperately rifled through his bag, heart sinking. It only took a moment for him to discover the truth. All of his food was gone. His bottles were empty of water. And the money Coach gave him had vanished.

Furious, Fresco threw the now empty and useless bag across the alley and slid down the wall, sinking to the dirty pavement, stomach churning with ordinary hunger at the smells coming from the pizza place. He drove his fists into his pockets. His fingers brushed over the tiny tube.

He pulled loose the vial of Wasteland and held it up. It sparkled like a jewel from the City in the light of the street lamp. In a surge of anger, he threw it across the alley, seconds later crawling on his hands and knees in the stinking runoff from a damaged dumpster to retrieve it. He stared into its depths, a part of him screaming in horror at the hold it had over him. He agonized, forcing himself to remember the image of Joey collapsed in the cell, caught up in the throes of Wasteland, _ground_ himself into it in an attempt to regain control. But, even though the flicker of strength told him he would not end up like Joey, Fresco waged a losing battle. The hold of the drug was so complete he didn't stand a chance. With no other prospects and the emptiness taking him over, hope and faith a distant memory, Fresco's shaking fingers moved without his consent, knowing exactly what to do somehow, popping the seal from the tube and bringing it to his lips. In one swift motion, he emptied the contents into his mouth.

***

Molten joy runs through him as the drug instantly enters his system and fills him up. Fresco shudders in delight, all pain gone, all fear. He floats in the sea of ecstasy that is Wasteland, a blue tinted pool of heaven loving him like a mother, holding him like a father, and making him feel so good he never wants it to end.

He doesn't know how long he lies there in the alley, stretched out in a puddle of rotting garbage, submerged in the greatest pleasure he has known outside the Diamond City. But when it is over, he cries at the loss of it, a broken child who lost his mommy and daddy and just wants to feel such love again forever.

This time when the urge comes back, Fresco knows what he needs.

Unlike Joey, however, Wasteland triggers a far deeper reaction in him. At least Joey has been able to function in the real world. Whatever Wasteland does to Fresco, it completely tears down his humanity and throws him into an endless quest for the shining blue drug.

This new Fresco goes hunting.

Time is lost in a blur of days and nights spent in search of Wasteland. Nothing matters, nothing, only the glow of sweet love and light flowing in with the honey of the blue liquid. At first he isn't sure how to get more, but the hunger is an excellent teacher. The term "sugarpop" penetrates Fresco's animal mind. He staggers from corner to corner, from shady dealer to sleazy pusher until he realizes Joey was right. As he nears his target, his soul sings with the presence of Wasteland. But, without money for a fix, Fresco is forced to resort to other methods to keep his desire fed. He will never know how many sugarpops he takes down in those horrible days, how often his fists buy his fix. He takes what he wants, the strength of the want pushing him past his humanity.

_The first time his need takes him and a sugarpop isn't near, he stumbles over a Wasted kid lost in his own journey to joy. Fresco easily relieves the vacant boy of his juice and slinks away. Knowing those like him are easier targets, Fresco's methods change. He finds and follows other Wasters, a task made simple by their shared_ _addiction. He can smell the drug on their skin. He watches them buy their load and follows them to where they hide and waits for them to go to the blue. Occasionally one fights back, the instinct to protect their link to joy stronger than the grip of the drug itself. But Fresco's simple approach of threats and blows serve him well against any resistance. Battle and theft are his existence, punctuated by blue ecstasy._

He is so lost he makes a mistake. He tries to steal from the one person Joey warned him about. He finds himself on his side at EMZee's feet, being beaten over and over. He knows when they strip his clothes he needs to get away but his Wasted body doesn't have the power. All he wants is the drug.

" _Beg for it." EMZee's face is a twisted mask of horror, a demon face. Fresco hears himself pleading._

" _Please... please..."_

They laugh, the pusher and his two bullies.

" _Not good enough, waster boy," EMZee tells him. He is dropped into a puddle of filth, naked and bleeding. "Not nearly good enough. You don't want it, I guess."_

Fresco knows his knees are being shredded by the dirty pavement, the burning in his cuts isn't good, but he can't bring himself to care. A tube of blue joy dangles before him. He snatches at it, only to have it pulled away to the sound of more laughter.

" _Work for it." EMZee's words come out as a snarl._

Fresco falls on his face and licks the pusher's proffered boots.

" _I'll be seeing you again, waster boy," EMZee's voice fades as he leaves Fresco there in the filth. He sobs into the night, unable to breathe fully as his ribs ache, rolling over just enough to see the tube of blue shining in the puddle next to him. He lunges at it, wailing in despair. The top is off, the contents draining into the dirty water. He empties the tube into his mouth and laps the spilled jewel drops from the ground._

It gives him enough strength to find what is left of his clothes and pull them on, while his Wasted brain churns with only one thought—find more blue joy.

His life becomes the drug, for how long he cannot say, but it consumes him so completely he spends more time with it in his system than not. He vaguely recalls encounters with EMZee, bearing torment and torture for the deep pleasure of the drug, but the haze it creates saves him from the deepest and most traumatic of the memories.

To his frustration, it is beginning to take more and more of it to keep him in the joy. He hides on instinct, avoiding other people as much as he can, preying only on the weak and helpless. His existence devolves further, punctuated by brief intervals of awareness in which he huddles where he finds himself. He sobs in horror at what he is becoming and what he is capable of doing to other people for his addiction before the hunger takes him and he is off again.

Luckily or not, Fresco manages to elude the police for the duration of his wasted madness. A flash of light is enough to bring back the memory of Len and his threats, sending Fresco scuttling for safety and saving more than one of his kind from attack.

But it is the fire within that terrifies him the most. The familiar pressure he felt the night of the accident, the burning tearing him up at school and in his room just before everything went to hell, is growing. With every dose of the drug he takes, he knows he is feeding it. It makes him very afraid, but he can't resist those fleeting moments of liquid peace. And so, his power grows and he hunts and the drug fills his system with light...

***

Days or weeks later, in one of those times of awareness, Fresco came back to himself suddenly. He was so hungry, the pain of it gnawing, gnawing and he sensed there was some close by, the healing honey, the forgetful elixir, and he needed it, had to have it at whatever cost and no one would keep it from him. For whatever reason, whether his system was wanting too much to sustain him or his soul simply shook him awake, Fresco found clarity on a filthy strip of gravel under a crumbling bridge with his hands around another kid's throat, his focus pummeling the boy to death.

The stench of rotting fish and waste slapped him in the face. His hands unclenched as if of their own volition. The unconscious boy collapsed to the ground. Fresco stared down at his hands, filthy and scarred with horrible scabs covering the backs of them and a painful jabbing in one wrist where he unknowingly cracked a bone.

He peered into the face of his victim and the worst of the horror stuck him. No stranger, this boy, but Joey, small and fragile Joey with the brittle grin who gave him his first dose of the blue joy. Little Joey, no more than a boy, lay at his feet.

Fresco's stomach clenched. He fell to his knees in the filth and garbage and threw up into the softly lapping waves of the harbor.

He heaved for several minutes, only a sickly blue bile rising as he hadn't thought of or ingested any food for who knew how long. The addict in him despaired at the loss of the drug while the rest of him shuddered at the sight of the film of Wasteland scumming up the surface. He finally wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, catching his reflection in the moonlight over the gently undulating water. A distorted stranger looked back at him, a creature of evil with sunken eyes and matted, filthy hair, dressed in a tattered sweater he barely recognized as the one Coach gave him. The animal in the reflection sneered back. Fresco lurched to his feet, staggering away from the proof of what he was. He collapsed on the bank, his heart breaking.

"Daniel!" He screamed his brother's name, instinctively reaching for the sibling he missed and the memory that saved him once. "Daniel!"

But his brother was still dead, and Fresco was so horribly alone not even the sliver of a memory helped him. Unable to come to grips with what he had done, Fresco crawled to Joey, so terribly still, and emptied the boy's pockets of Wasteland.

Pushing his ruined body as far back into the darkness under the bridge as possible, he stared down at the eight vials of the brightly shining drug, insides aching with need. He still wanted it so much, too much, despite everything. The craving was so strong and he was weak. His mind screamed at him, madness closing in around the edges, the demon trying to protect itself. But Fresco's despair was stronger and his decision was a surprisingly easy one to make.

Six was the most he ever took at once and it almost killed him, at least as far as he remembered. Eight would definitely do the trick. He only had one choice, one way out. The world was much better off without him. He would join Daniel and maybe, just maybe, he would be allowed back into the City when it was all over.

Deliberately, with great calm, Fresco opened the eight tubes and drank them all at once.

The familiar euphoria was missing as he faded into darkness. No floating in a sea of blue, no love and light. Bitterly, Fresco realized by choosing death he was denied the City after all.

As the lights went out in his mind, he felt a hand in his and heard a soft voice he recognized, the husky voice of the beautiful girl who tried to save him. She called to him, but she was too late.

Fresco slipped into death, disappointed he never learned her name.

***
Part II: Last Stand

# Chapter Fourteen

There was a floating sensation, first, like he was submerged in a pool of warm water. Flashes of light registered behind his closed lids. He hovered on the edge of awareness, understanding something was happening, but not yet curious enough to find out what.

_Please,_ he thought, _now that I am dead, when I open my eyes, let me be in the City._

He floated a while longer, hearing voices occasionally, but unable to focus enough to make out what they were saying. A heavy apathy smothered his will, keeping him in a calm he only experienced in the City. His heart warmed, knowing he was right. He allowed himself to rest for the first time since his ordeal began, safe in the arms of home.

Fresco woke and opened his eyes, a smile of joy already coming unbidden to his lips, his brother's name hovering on his tongue. Daniel was there with him, he knew it, there in the City, and they would finally be together again.

To his shock, he looked up instead at a cracked, dull ceiling long in need of a coat of paint. It took him a moment to realize not only was he alive, after all, but the City was still a distant dream. He let his eyes fall shut, a huge lump rising in his throat as the weight of disappointment settled on his chest and squeezed.

It took him several minutes to collect himself. Resigned, he opened his eyes again.

Fresco lay on a cot with a thick wool blanket pulled over him. Daylight shone through the dusty window above his head, making him blink in the brightness. The room was dingy but clean, most of the old, musty wallpaper peeled free. It smelled vaguely of sickness covered by hospital antiseptic. A small dresser and mirror were the only other furniture. He noticed a tray on the dresser top and a pile of folded clothes at the foot of the bed. He tried to remember what happened and how he ended up there, but his last sure memory was of trying to kill himself.

_The girl,_ he thought. _She saved me._ The lump in his throat rose again as emotion slammed into him. _Why? Why couldn't she just let me die?_

All Fresco had been, all that he had done, pushed down on him. He struggled with what he became and whether he wanted to live with it. EMZee's distorted face floated before him, memories of what he endured at the hands and feet of the sugarpop hitting him like a punch in the stomach. All his breath rushed out as he flashed to things his Wasted mind tried to make him forget.

Cowering in the filth, begging for the blue joy

Beating a small girl for her stash and giving it to EMZee who laughed and gave him nothing in return

Being used as a punching bag by EMZee and his friends

Fresh memories hit him over and over, worse than any beating EMZee gave him. Endless faces of Wasted kids he tortured and tormented for EMZee's amusement, becoming the sugarpop's toy... Fresco's mind spun in circles. His heart pounded so hard he thought it would shatter. He was worse than EMZee. He chose to do what he did out of his own selfish need. Self-hate tore a hole inside him and drove him to sobs.

That amount of emotional outpouring only lasted so long, especially considering how little reserves were left to him. Fresco snuffled weakly around his despair when his strength abandoned him.

Sleep was a blessing he didn't deserve.

***

When he next woke, the room was darker, but someone obviously checked in on him because a single naked bulb glowed its soft twenty-watt light above the dresser. It took him a full thirty seconds to rediscover his loathing and guilt, enough time for him to register he felt at least physically stronger.

When the tears ran out this time, Fresco didn't so easily retreat into the quiet oblivion he craved. In fact, he felt wide awake, his face shoved into what he did over and over by the endless spinning of his mind. It became so bad he found himself jerking up into a sitting position just for the distraction, swiping at the tears on his face, drained of energy but needing to move before he went mad. He glanced at the dresser and the tray of food resting there. In that heartbeat, as he allowed himself the idea of hunger, the desire for Wasteland came thundering back.

Fresco braced himself for an attack, but none came. He held himself rigid for a long time, certain it was coming. He spent too long under the influence of Wasteland to shed it now. But when nothing happened, he made his tense body relax from the anticipation of the hunger. The need was there, but he could handle it, at least for the moment.

Part of him wished the pain would carry him away, that the clawing in his guts would rise and take over, just to put a stop to the thoughts twisting him up. He would never, ever forgive himself. Ever.

He was surprised to feel a hunger of another kind and resisted only because it was so unfamiliar. Once he recognized it for what it really was, his eyes went without his permission back to the sandwich on the tray.

_Just eat it,_ his heart said. _You need your strength if you're going to get better_.

_You don't deserve to get better_ , his mind answered in a voice he knew too well.

It sounded like Justin. His friend's voice berating him made his skin crawl. Especially because it was true. He didn't. Fresco hugged himself and wallowed some more while the food called to him.

He was never a melancholy child. That was Daniel's personality, prone to swings of emotion. Not so Fresco. And despite his struggle with his conscience, he realized he wanted to live after all.

Fresco stood up to go for the tray and had to sit back down again immediately as his knees buckled. A wave of weariness passed over him. Black crept in around the edges of his vision. Fresco took several deep breaths before trying again. He managed to get up and take a shuffling step closer to the dresser before crumpling to the floor in a heap. He lay on the cracked laminate tiles, chilled, realizing he was dressed in underwear and nothing else.

_Happy now?_ Justin was so smug. _Look what's left of you. Nothing. You can't even walk two steps on your own._

Hearing his friend's echo tear him apart gave Fresco the strength to try again. He might be broken and battered by his addiction, a shade of his old self never quite able to completely recover, but he was damned if he would let his false friend tell him what to do ever again.

This time, rather than attempting to walk, Fresco swallowed his remaining pride and crawled to the dresser, doing much better on his hands and knees.

He sat with his back against the chipped wood and managed to hook the tray with one hand, almost dropping it as he began to shake from weariness. His muscles felt old, weak, like he exerted himself way past the point of recovery. He had pneumonia as a child and remembered feeling the same way.

_I guess, in a way, it is the same,_ he thought as his fingers let go at the last second and dropped the tray the final two inches, knocking over the water bottle. _I've sort of been sick. Food and rest and I'll be okay, just like then._

_Sure you will_ , Justin whispered. Fresco called the voice a bad name and shoved it aside.

Despite his desire, the sight of the sandwich made his stomach churn. He pushed the tray away, only to drag it back, knowing he needed to eat but dreading the inevitable purging his body was telling him would follow the first bite.

Instead, he tried a sip of water. Frustration burned at the strength it took to get the top off. Sweating a little from the effort, he finally managed to break the seal with a soft grunt, collapsing against the cabinet again before trying a drink.

When the first mouthful stayed down, he tried another. Then another. Then a nibble of a corner of bread. Slowly, carefully, paying full attention to his body's warnings, Fresco managed to eat part of the sandwich and drink most of the water before exhaustion took him again. He fell asleep with the rest of his meal in one hand and the tipped bottle of water draining the remainder of its contents onto the cool tile floor.

***

The third time Fresco woke, he was back in bed, the same wool blanket pulled up to his chin. Disoriented, not remembering how he got there, he looked at the dresser. Another tray, another sandwich, another bottle of water.

This time it was easier and harder. His strength was returning. Fresco made the few steps to the tray and back to the bed again without the crippling exhaustion that plagued him the first time, but the effort was almost enough to knock him out. And the entire time guilt berated him in Justin's voice, telling him over and over how disgusting he was, how he deserved to die, beating him down with flashes of images from his days on the street.

Fresco choked the entire sandwich past a lump in his throat, the bread flavored salty with his tears and finished the water before putting himself back to bed.

He battled the voice for a while before falling into a peaceful sleep.

***

The fourth time seemed to be the winner. When he woke up he found he had enough energy to be curious about the world around him. Sandwich and, as a welcome addition, chocolate pudding. He savored the sweet smoothness, successfully washing it all down with a bottle of water. Fresco considered the jeans and T-shirt on the bed beside him. He was aware of other people, the sound of soft footfalls passing by his door and the murmur of voices below him. The pull of his need for the blue joy was constant and heavy, but he suffered so much worse he was almost able to ignore it.

Only the fear of facing other people held him back. Especially since Justin/guilt thought it was a bad idea.

_They'll know what you did,_ it hissed with hate. _They'll judge you and make you leave when they find out. You'll be alone out there again and no one will ever rescue you. You'll die alone, the disgusting freak that you are._

Fresco shuddered, hugging his knees. How could he face anyone after what he did? It was true. Better to hide behind his door and let the mysterious girl leave him a tray while he slept himself into oblivion.

_That's it,_ the voice contradicted itself in Justin's best snarl. _Quit, loser. Just like you always do._

That wasn't him. He wasn't a quitter. It was just so hard. And he had so little left, the shell he managed to rebuild around his self-worth ready to collapse at the lightest touch. But he didn't want to stay in the room forever. Wouldn't. Even if it meant the street again, he needed to try.

More importantly, Fresco found himself wanting to fill in the holes. To find out what happened and where he was. He handled the clothes left for him. The worn denim jeans felt comfortable between his hands, familiar. Normal, even. He pulled them on, the waist bagging slightly but not enough for them to fall. He found he enjoyed the warmth of the thick socks on his thin, chilled feet and the softness of the shirt over his wasted body. His eyes found the mirror before he realized he was looking and he flinched for a moment, the image superimposed with the monster he was that night under the bridge.

Reality was far different and forced its way through the memory. The hollow look was gone from his face, as was the horrible hurt in his eyes, only an echo of his guilt left behind like a stamp of sadness he would carry with him the rest of his life. And yet, only a shadow of himself looked back. He ran both hands through the shaggy mess of his long, blond hair, thinking how his mother would not approve. Fresco found himself staring at the scars crisscrossing his hands and forearms, gratitude welling, winning over regret, that he barely remembered where they came from. When he twisted his right wrist, the bones twinged, nearly healed.

He shuddered, the vibration rising from his feet, engulfing him, like a dog shaking water from its coat. When it passed, he breathed deeply and met his own eyes yet again.

I'm clean and sober and there is food in my stomach. And I'm alive.

Fresco drew a breath and tried not to tear up again. It was a far cry from dying under an old bridge with nothing to lose.

The thought of the drug made the demand surge while the voice shouted at him.

Fool! Loser! Weakling! You should have died there!

It was fed by the hunger and hurt but was controllable. The battle for his body wasn't over, and so too the fight for his state of mind. He was grateful for this second chance and determined not to screw it up.

He looked at the door and paused, his heart flipping over. It sounded good in theory, this risk of exposing himself to the outside world again. But what if they did know? What if the girl who saved him knew what he had done? Would she hate him for it? The guilt hovered, laughing at him, taunting him. It felt like he finally found somewhere to be safe, to get answers. Like he was on the verge of getting some of his life back. But Justin wouldn't leave him be.

Fresco knew what he needed to do. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, shuffling to the door. With his heart and his mind battling still, he turned the knob, forcing himself to face his guilt.

***

# Chapter Fifteen

Fresco stepped out into a dark hall. His socked feet felt carpet. He looked down at the stained and threadbare runner running the length of the long hallway. There were many doors just like his, all closed. The murmur of voices remained, and he tried to figure out where they were coming from.

As he turned to walk down the corridor, he heard a door slam and the sound of running feet. Flinching back against the wall, Fresco watched two kids about twelve and thirteen run laughing past him, one chasing the other. The one in the lead, a boy, grinned at Fresco while the girl close on his heels threw him a wave and a 'hi' on the way by. Fresco held himself still, waiting for his heart to slow as he watched them race to the end of the hall and disappear down a flight of stairs.

He was troubled by his reflexive instincts. He was too long away from people, too long under the influence of the blue joy. He lost his innate trust of others and wondered if he would ever get it back.

"Weird, isn't it?"

Fresco spun, heart leaping again, this time to face the beautiful girl. She smiled at him, hands in the back pockets of her denims, belly button peeking out between her belt and the lip of her white T-shirt. Her glossy lips drew his eyes and he found himself staring at them. He pulled his gaze away, caught in the shine of her heavy black hair, curls tumbling forward past the restraint of her headband. Her golden eyes glittered in the dim light of the hall.

"Sorry?" Fresco was stunned to be seeing her again, and a little embarrassed as the wheels in his head started to turn. Who took care of him? He felt a blush rise as he remembered finding himself in only his underwear.

"Coming out of the fire," she said. "Being reborn. It's weird."

He nodded. He agreed with the image. He felt new. "Yeah. Kind of. But better."

Her smile lit her whole face, perfect white teeth shining against her darkly polished skin. "You'll be fine," she said, and he got the impression she wasn't just talking to him.

She came closer, offering her hand. He saw she changed her nail color to light yellow. "I'm Parker. Nice to finally meet you for real. When you can remember me, that is."

"Fresco. Fresco Conte." He shook her warm hand, feeling an electric thrill at the touch, not telling her he hadn't been able to forget her, actually. In her presence, the voice fell silent and he welcomed it.

Meanwhile, Parker shook her head. "No last names," she said. "Not any more. Our folks don't own us. They never did."

He wondered what she meant, a flash of memory waking, of his father standing at the back of a dark van, staring at him with something much like hatred. He held the memory down and the whispers of the voice telling him he got what he deserved, that his parents never loved him, while Parker smiled at him with understanding in her eyes. Not sympathy. He had the feeling she didn't feel sorry for anyone. But understanding, yes. Definitely, yes.

"I'm happy to see you up," she said in her husky voice. "We like to give our newbies a chance to come out on their own."

"How long?" He paused, licked dry lips. "Since..."

"Since the bridge? You gave us quite a scare. We almost lost you, you know. It took forever for me to track you down, then I find you full of Wasteland. I'm sorry it went so far. I should have gotten to you sooner."

Her regret was almost physical. It came off her in waves. As it rolled over him, the longing intensified so much he needed to clench himself for a full minute and wait for it to pass.

Parker said nothing while he got himself under control. When Fresco sagged as the attack eased, she went on as if nothing happened.

"We managed to get you back here, but we had to let the blue joy work its way out on its own. Lucky for you, they kept you under for most of it. It was touch and go for a while, but you made it."

"How long?" His world spun as he repeated the question, needing to know and not wanting to at the same time.

"Since you've been here?" Her eyes said she knew what he was asking, but needed to be sure he really wanted the answer.

He hesitated, not sure he did after all. The voice waffled back and forth between demanding he find out and telling him he was too weak to take the truth. Fresco shook his head at last. He wanted to know after all. Parker sighed a soft breath, shoving her hands back into her denims, her golden eyes locked on his.

"Nineteen days," she said. "Since I was forced to leave you on the park bench. Thirteen days in the arms of the blue joy. And six days before you stepped through that door to freedom."

He held down his own regret and nodded, unable to speak. Almost three weeks of his life gone.

_Could have been worse,_ he thought. _Could have been forever_.

_Should have been_ , Justin said.

Fresco looked up and saw Parker's smile. Amazing. She understood. The voice faded to silence.

"You too?"

She nodded. "All of us, Fres. All of us. I was tricking for a sugarpop just to get lost in the blue ocean. It didn't hit me as hard as you, though." She seemed thoughtful, studying him. "We've been wondering about that. How hard you fell, how fast. It usually takes months to build up to the kind of need that drove you from the first day."

"How do you know?" Fresco's desire for answers woke up again to the sullen quiet of his guilt.

"We followed your trail." She shrugged. "You acted like an ancient, not a newborn."

Fresco remembered those terms and the boy who shared his Wasteland, flinching away from the memory of killing him. _Murderer_.

"From the first dose," he said in a whisper. "I was... _different_. All that mattered was Wasteland." His insides twisted with the urge. He pushed it down as Parker spoke.

"Well, we'll want to figure out why," she said, pulling her hands free and starting down the hall toward the stairs. She paused when he didn't follow. Fresco hesitated, paralyzed by indecision. He wasn't sure he wanted to face people after all.

Her golden eyes shone at him as she held out her yellow-tipped hand. "We're all the same here, Fres. You're home."

He heaved a deep sigh, relaxing him and freeing him from the fear. He felt the presence of his false friend fade to the background and hover at the edge of his mind. Justin wouldn't be dislodged so easily, but for now he left Fresco in peace.

Fresco reached for her hand, sensing yet again the slight shock of electricity when his fingers slid over hers. Warmth filled him, a content he never knew before. He actually smiled at her.

Together, they went downstairs.

As they walked, Parker spoke, Fresco just enjoying the sound of her voice.

"This place is a haven for us," she said. "The only place I know of where our kind can find shelter. It's tough, though," she tossed back her glossy black curls as they bounced around the edges of the headband. "Every so often one of us slips back and we have to choose."

"Choose?" He prompted as her face clouded.

"If they are a repeat offender, sometimes we have to decide if it's worth it," she admitted. "There comes a time for all of us when we don't want to live, Fres."

He knew the feeling. She continued.

"Plus, we spend so much time looking for newborns, we don't always have the people to search for the fallen." She stepped aside, pulling Fresco with her as the same two kids from earlier ran squealing past, back up the stairs. She smiled at them before moving on.

"How many?" Fresco wondered if he'd ever feel like laughing again.

She shrugged, reaching the ground floor, pulling him to a stop. "No one knows. But there are a lot, and more every day. If we don't get to them, the Garbagemen do."

"Garbagemen?" Fresco's heart skipped a beat, the image of a man in a diamond embroidered ball cap and navy blue coveralls bending over him filling him with fear.

"That's what we call them," Parker said. "Remember the night you broke out? The ones who came for you in the coveralls? That's the Garbagemen. They get us hooked and supply the sugarpops with Wasteland to keep us at it. And they are there in the end to clean up the mess when one of us finally falls. They're like scroungers, cannibals, scooping up our dead in their vans and taking them away." Parker faced Fresco. "We're going into the kitchen," she told him, changing the subject so quickly it took him a moment to register. "There are a bunch of people in there. Don't freak out, okay? I'm right here."

He nodded. Parker was obviously satisfied by his response because she turned away and pushed open a door.

Fresco's senses flooded over with noise and smells and bright, bright light. His fear surged. Getting control back was a gigantic effort, but he did it. Numbing to the overwhelm, Fresco walked into the room next to Parker. It only took a few heartbeats for him to become accustomed to the light, but the chatter of voices and the curious stares made him shake.

The room was quite large, almost a cafeteria. The walls had been painted a horrible yellow-green color reminding Fresco of a hospital. Paint chipped away in places, water stains running across the far wall from ceiling to floor. The air vibrated, full of chatter, humming with the cumulative energy of a dozen kids. He tried not to meet anyone's eyes, his own gaze skimming over them as he followed his guide. They were all dressed more or less like him in worn jeans and T-shirts, the odd hoody or jacket in evidence. The sea of faces had one more thing in common. They were all marked by the drug they were addicted to. Not in an obvious way like a scar or a tattoo. But Fresco could identify one of his own by sight alone anywhere, anytime. Wasters had a look about them, a feeling beyond the pale skin and sunken eyes, cheeks. They shivered with it, set fire to the air with it. The feeling of Wasteland was everywhere.

Parker took a tray from a small table and went to the stainless steel counter of the large, industrial kitchen. A young Latino man stood behind it, a white apron wrapped around his waist. He nodded to Fresco, a tiny diamond in his left ear winking. He started loading up the tray.

"You can come get food anytime you like," Parker told him. "Martin is usually here and, if not, help yourself to the fridge."

Martin flashed a smile. "You look like you need to come here often, bro," he joked to Fresco. "You got that concentration camp look happening."

Parker laughed with Martin and Fresco finally joined in.

"It's all the rage this year," Fresco said. Parker smiled at his effort at normal.

"I like my guys with more meat on their bones," she said, before walking away with the full tray. Martin winked at Fresco and whistled low. He ducked his burning face, unable to stop grinning.

He joined Parker at a long table, sliding over the bench across from her. The smell of the food seemed quite suddenly marvelous and he helped himself to his bowl of hearty stew and a chunk of bread to dip in it.

As he ate, the other kids eased their way over. Now that the initial shock had worn off, he was amused by their careful approach. He sat back from inhaling his food to find a small girl perched on the bench beside him. His heart clenched as he glanced down into her wide, sea green eyes. She couldn't have been more than nine years old.

"Hi," she whispered in a tiny voice.

"Hi," he whispered back.

"I'm Apple," she said, tilting her head to the side, her thin, blonde hair falling over her cheek.

"Fresco," he answered.

"You're cute." She giggled, pressing her fingers to her mouth. Her nails were the same bright yellow as Parker's.

Fresco laughed and found he could, after all. Even enjoyed the feeling of it. He carefully broke his chocolate chip cookie in half, offering her one of the soft pieces. She accepted it gravely and settled down, her little body pressed to his side, nibbling on the edges with her small, white teeth. He slid his glass of milk toward her, catching Parker watching as he did. Her golden eyes brimmed with tears. She quickly looked away.

"You're new," a young man said, his brown hair buzzed as close as Fresco used to keep his.

"What was your first clue?" Fresco winked.

They all laughed.

"You made a lot of noise," Apple told him seriously.

"I did?"

"When you first came."

"Sorry," he said.

She shrugged, popping the last of her cookie in her mouth. "No worries." She hugged him very hard and unexpectedly, her little arms tight around his waist, face pressed into his arm. At last she let him go, and her smile was the light of the sun coming up.

"See ya," she said. She slipped off the bench and took the boy's hand firmly in hers, leading him away. He grinned over his shoulder at Fresco as they left the kitchen.

Fresco never did well with little kids in his old life. In fact, he had no time for the annoying monsters. But after all he went through, the simple hug of a child was enough to choke him up.

He wondered when he started compartmentalizing his life as _old_ and _new_ , but let it go. Hadn't Parker called it being reborn?

"You have no idea," Parker said to him. "Apple doesn't talk to strangers, Fresco. Peter's her best friend, so she's latched onto him most of the time, but he's it. She barely talks to me. And yet, she trusted you from the first time she saw you."

He shrugged. "Guess I'm that loveable," he quipped.

She grinned at him with a gleam in her golden eyes making him blush again.

"Guess you are," she said.

"How does a kid that young get hooked?" Anger rose for the first time.

Parker shrugged, eyes reflecting her own burning emotion, something she visibly held inside. "She was lucky," Parker told him in a careful voice. "According to them, they knew each other in their other lives. Apple went first, but must have triggered Peter because their breakouts happened at the same time. They had each other when they were dumped on the street. We found them before they took their first dose from a sugarpop."

Fresco shuddered, trying not to picture what would have happened to the happy, innocent pair if Parker hadn't rescued them.

"How many kids are here?" He took another sip of his milk. He never tasted better and wondered if it was the drink or the fact his body was starved.

"Depends." She shrugged. "We have room for fifty or so, but it fluctuates between twenty and forty."

Fresco loved how she talked. She used none of the slang of his generation. Her husky voice flowed smoothly, her words almost formal, more like she was telling a story than having a conversation. He found himself getting lost in the cadence of it.

"Where are you from?"

"Why?"

"You just seem... different. Than other girls, I mean."

"Wasteland will do that to you." Her amber eyes emptied, reflecting the light in the room, but giving away nothing else.

It wasn't an answer, but he got the feeling it was all he was going to get.

"Now," she brushed the crumbs of lunch from her hands, "if you're feeling up to it, there is someone you need to meet. In fact, I know he is very anxious to meet _you_."

Fresco stood up when Parker did, following her to the door where she dealt efficiently with the dirty dishes from lunch before leading him out. He waved at Martin who waved and winked back. Feeling stronger and now full of food, with a firm grip on the other hunger within him and the guilt leaving him alone for the moment, Fresco went out into the hall behind Parker.

"Who's the guy you want me to meet?" Fresco asked.

"The man who saved me," she told him. "He started this house, rescued the first of us and has been doing his best for our kind since the beginning." She stopped at a door. "He'll ask you a lot of questions," she said. "Try to answer as completely as you can. We're working on ending this thing, and anything you can tell him will help." She knocked.

Fresco heard a soft male voice call, "Come."

Parker stepped away from the door. He looked first at it, then at her, feeling panic rise, knowing it was from his days with the drug and the remains of his fear of being rejected for his actions.

"You're not coming in?"

She shook her head. "You'll be all right," she said. "I'll see you after."

Parker turned and walked away. He watched her go, heart speeding.

_I am not afraid_ , he told himself. _It's the drug's effects. I am not afraid_.

_Sure you're not_ , Justin whispered. Fresco ignored him.

He settled into the calm facade of his old life, repeating the encouragement to himself like a mantra, and walked into the room.

***

# Chapter Sixteen

Fresco closed the door behind him before turning to look around. He felt instantly overwhelmed. The large, high-ceilinged office was crammed with stuff. Piles of old newspapers and magazines and books were everywhere, bowing the bookshelves and stacked in unsteady piles in corners, often leaning against each other for support. The rug on the floor, what was visible of it, used to be a rich red, but was faded with time to a pinky-orange with a heavy shag pile. Across the mountains of paper he spotted a path to a large wooden desk and a gray haired man hunched over it.

The man looked up through his round glasses, long hair falling around him, squinting at Fresco.

"Yes?" His voice emerged in the quiet, warm and rich. "What is it?"

Fresco took one step forward, toes encountering the shag rug. Even through his socks it felt marvelous.

"Parker told me you wanted to see me?" Embarrassment tweaked when his voice broke. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm Fresco."

The man's face lit up. He surged to his feet, easing around the stack of books next to the desk, the space between them just enough for him to make it. He held out his lean hand, his tall, skinny frame slightly slumped from years of reading. He smiled a big, genuine smile, contagious. Fresco found himself grinning back.

"Yes, of course, well now, nice to see you up and around," the man said, one hand on Fresco's shoulder, guiding him to a chair. He sat on the edge of it, the only space remaining from the pile of papers stacked on the cushion behind him. The man perched on his desk, long arms crossing over his faded plaid shirt, worn denims brushing his bare toes.

Despite his new untrusting ways, Fresco liked him immediately.

"Thanks," he said. "I feel..."

"Not exactly better, right?" The man nodded in sympathy. "I understand. But with any luck, you will. You _all_ will." His eyes drifted away as he lost himself in a train of thought. Fresco waited for the man's attention to return.

"Sorry." He shrugged with a grin. "Lots on my mind. You too, I bet. Questions and more questions." He shook his head. "Serves me right, getting myself involved with a bunch of kids. All you _have_ are questions." He laughed.

"I do have a few," Fresco said.

"Fire away." The man threw his arms wide. "I'm all yours."

"Who are you?"

The man stared at him, arms dropping. For a moment, Fresco worried. Then, the man laughed with his whole body, making Fresco grin again.

"I'm sorry," he said, eyes sparkling as he continued to chuckle. "Of course. I know who you are, but you have no clue except what Parker has told you. We'll get to that. John Garris. But please," he spoke with some pain in his voice, "if you ever address me as mister, you and I will have words. Just call me Garris. All the other impudent children do."

"Garris," Fresco said, trying it out. "Okay."

Garris grinned and pulled off his glasses, examining them before beginning to polish them on his dangling shirttail.

"Now, Fresco my friend, ask your questions." He settled the glasses back on his nose and crossed his arms over his chest again.

"What is this place?" Fresco shied from the tougher questions, deciding to ease his way into it. Garris didn't comment on it, but plunged in.

"We call it Last Stand," he said. "The only stop between you kids and the blue enemy. I bought this place about ten years ago, been trying to save you all ever since."

"Trying?" Fresco slumped slightly, the hope built from the refuge of the house fading a little. "Failing?"

Garris sighed, his shoulders slumped. "The honest truth? Every single kid I've rescued has ended up back in the arms of Wasteland before turning up dead, and there's been nothing I've been able to do to stop it." His voice sounded very sad, but Fresco wasn't with Garris. He was thinking about lying under the bridge with eight vials of the drug in his system, trying to smother the horror of ever ending up in that place again.

_Might as well just go back there now_ , Justin's cruel voice whispered.

Garris obviously saw where Fresco's mind was going. "I'm not giving up," he said, soft but firm. "Every day we make inroads, improvements on a possible treatment. We're going to beat this thing, Fresco, and I'm hoping you can help."

Fresco pulled himself out of the dark and fought to focus. He needed to know everything.

"Why is this happening? Why us?"

Garris retreated and collapsed his long frame into his chair, stretching his legs out under the desk.

"I don't know," he said. "That's one of the big questions. But let me ask you this first. Before, in your old life, did anything weird happen? Like, right before the shit hit the fan?"

Fresco hesitated before nodding. Garris waited for him to pull the memories together.

"An accident," Fresco whispered.

the blaring of the radio, Justin answering the text

Garris listened. Fresco concentrated, trying to remember.

"I should be dead."

time slowing down in the gray, the terror of the woman, the toddler in the back seat

"I couldn't let him die..."

his mind reaching for the boy

"I did something. With my mind. There was a headache, and fire. We were on the sidewalk. Watching the accident I already saw happen. But we were safe." Fresco rubbed his temples with shaking fingertips. "How did I save us?"

"The impossible, unrepeatable, is often the trigger." Garris didn't offer more information, instead asked another question. "That wasn't the only incident?"

Fresco shivered as the reality of it crawled down his spine, followed by a jab of the hunger.

"They were whispering," he said.

the girl with the damaged life who was going home to kill herself

"I saw them, who they really were."

Justin's truth superimposed over his mask of friendship

"They were all around me."

the man and woman, so loving on the outside, so full of hate on the inside

"And I dreamed of the City."

the gorgeous City, his home, how he loved its glittering streets

"Then it all went to hell."

the attack, the seizure, feeling the pressure build, Daniel calling to him

Fresco hugged himself, hunkering down on the edge of the chair. He looked up at Garris. "They came."

"The Garbagemen," Garris said in a breath.

"My parents!" Fresco slammed both hands down on the arms of the chair, fury surging, making the need worse. "They let them take me! My father _called_ them! He knew them, knew this would happen to me..."

He trailed off as Garris nodded, not a trace of surprise on his face.

"I'm not the only one," Fresco said, knowing it. "You've heard this story before."

Garris sighed. "Versions of it. Please, go on."

Under the steady, gentle gaze of his savior, he finally went where he was so afraid to go.

The City. The glory of the Diamond City. The man with the honey smile behind the shining glasses. His sweet voice.

The pain.

painandpainandpainandpain—

Fresco was shaking by the time he was through. Garris said nothing, offered nothing. At long last, Fresco straightened a little. "I woke up in the park near my house. The yearning was there, but I didn't know what it was. I went home. My parents were gone. I tried to find out what happened. My best friend, no," Fresco stopped himself, the hissing hum of his guilt haunting him as he thought it through, "he was never my friend. Justin told me my parents were dead and that everyone thought I killed them. That I was a junkie and killed them. Did I?" Tears threatened, but understanding what he was capable of, how Wasteland consumed him utterly, he needed to know.

Garris shook his head. "I highly doubt it," he said. "Those who made you this way created that story to isolate you."

Fresco so wanted to believe. Chose to. Garris must have seen it in him because he shrugged. "Can you see them releasing a murderer back into the streets? No, this was a ploy, my young friend. So no one would trust you, force you to turn to Wasteland and the street."

Fresco stilled inside, relief washing over him, the truth of it penetrating his deep self-doubt. It left room for the anger to return. Anger was definitely better.

"Why? Why would my parents do this to me?"

"I hate to have to tell you this," Garris said, "but it's quite likely they weren't your parents at all."

As soon as he heard it, he knew it was true.

tell him this is the last one we'll take... we're done doing his dirty work... either the plan works on what he's done or it fails

Ray's voice was so clear in Fresco's head. He repeated what he heard to Garris who sat up in his chair.

"Did he say who?" He was suddenly intense. "Think, Fresco. This is very important. Did he mention a name?"

Fresco shook his head. Garris fell back into his chair again, his disappointment obvious on his face.

"Sorry," Fresco whispered.

"Not your fault, kiddo," Garris said. "I've been trying for years to get close to this bastard. Years!" Garris climbed to his feet and began to pace in the short corridor behind his desk, the only area free of papers and books.

"Why are you helping us?" Fresco's need to trust was as powerful as his fear of it, his faith in his whole life shattered and crumbling around him. Garris stopped pacing, resting his hands on the back of his chair, leaning into it.

"My daughter," he said. "Gina. One day she was a beautiful, wonderful young woman with dreams and a life and the next she suffered a psychic breakout and disappeared. She came back to me Wasted."

Fresco waited while Garris pulled himself together and went on. "As far as I can tell, she was the first. I've tried to figure out how they modified her, but it could have happened anywhere."

"Modified?" Fresco shivered at the term.

Garris nodded. "You and your psychic abilities aren't natural, Fresco," Garris said. "Yes, humans have them, but they are latent, unused. I think we will evolve to a point where everyone has them, but someone has been augmenting them artificially, using Wasteland as a trigger."

"So, we're an experiment?" Fresco's anger shifted focus from his fake parents to the Garbagemen.

"Yes," Garris said. "But to what end, I have no answers. They are trying to create some superhuman, Fresco. But so far, all of their efforts accomplished only the death of you kids."

either the plan works on what he's done or it fails

Fresco looked up at Garris. "They modify us somehow, wait for our first psychic breakout and get us hooked on the drug. But, what does Wasteland do? Build up our power just to have it kill us?"

"You have a firm grasp of it, my friend." Garris sank back into his chair. "From what we can tell, Wasteland is a test of some kind. Trouble is, everyone who goes through it ends up dead. No one survives. At least, no one has _yet_."

It was supposed to make him feel better, but it didn't. Still, it kept the guilt away so he'd take it over the alternative.

"What happened to your daughter?"

Garris shrugged. "She died," he said. "Horribly and in great pain. I tried going to the police, to the authorities, but no one would listen. I knew she wasn't an addict, not a real addict. I witnessed her psychic outburst. I knew something more was happening, as huge and improbable as it was."

"So why do you think my parents weren't my parents?" Fresco and Daniel had played at such a scenario years before. Did they know somehow it was truth even then? "If your daughter had it..."

"My daughter died fifteen years ago, Fresco." Garris's eyes brimmed with tears. "She was sixteen. This program has been running for a quite a while. How old are you now, eighteen?" Fresco nodded. Garris removed his glasses, rubbing his fingers into his eyes, the traces of moisture leaving imprints behind. "They must have realized early on it would be much more convenient to put kids with fake families so when it came time for their change there would be no one for them to turn to and no pesky parents to ask questions.

"I tried to help her, but the hold of the drug was so strong, hit her so hard. They've made refinements to it since those days. The old Wasteland tore the kids apart. I went looking for help, but instead found more kids and a wall of silence. Finally, I pushed so hard, they pushed back." Garris adjusted his glasses as his voice cracked. "My daughter disappeared one last time, and I was personally and professionally destroyed. My wife left me shortly after they found Gina's body in a dumpster." He sighed again. "I had no one and nothing. But there were you kids. The least I could do was try to help you all where I failed with Gina."

"Thanks." Fresco pushed it out around the lump in his throat.

"You're welcome. In the mean time, I've been studying Wasteland and its effects. In my former life, I was a research scientist. Biology." Garris made a face. "At least I know my way around a microscope. I've been at this so long, I'm an expert. That is, as much of one as I can be on the outside of it." Garris's face was filled with sympathy. "I've been around Wasted kids forever, I forget sometimes what normal kids are like. Not nearly as fun, I bet."

"Not hardly," Fresco said. He was amazed at his ability to joke, even a little.

Garris chuckled.

Fresco thought of one last question. "What about the Diamond City? Where does it come from? And why do we all dream about it? End up in it?"

Garris started nodding as soon as Fresco mentioned it.

"Yes, it's one of the common threads, something every one of you knows, talks about. In fact, it's the same for each and every one. I've sat down with ten kids and had them draw a map of the City, and they are all identical." Garris shook his head. "I don't know, Fresco. It's obviously important, but I don't have an answer."

They both fell into silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Fresco was the first to shake himself free.

"Will they come after me?"

"No. More likely, the hunger will take you over again and you will go to the blue enemy. But," Garris held up one hand, "I plan to make sure it doesn't happen. I don't know who is responsible," Garris stood and came around his desk to sit in front of Fresco. "CIA? FBI? Aliens? But I _do_ know this is a created thing and if it is man made, it can be unmade by man. And I plan to do everything I can to make sure it is."

"How long? Can we survive?"

Garris didn't answer right away, but when he did, his voice was careful.

"It depends. Why?"

"My brother, Daniel," Fresco said. His parents lied to him all along. Did they lie about Daniel, too?

"And he was taken...?" Garris left it hanging.

"Two years," Fresco said, watching Garris's face. It was too long. The man's look confirmed it. But Garris just shrugged.

"I'll have some of the kids ask around," he said. "But, two years... Fresco, I've never met a kid that lasted so long. I'm sorry."

He nodded, knowing Garris was probably right.

"In the meantime, you need to rest up and eat up." The man stood. "I'll have you back in the morning, do some blood tests and see if we can find out any more about you."

Fresco stood as well, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. He went to the door and opened it, but paused when Garris called after him.

"By the way, for my records, how much time are you missing?" Garris sat back down, looking at Fresco over his glasses. "From your breakout to finding yourself on the street."

"I was told it was three months," he said.

Garris gasped, pulling off his glasses to stare. "Are you sure?"

"What's the date?"

Garris glanced at his desk and the calendar there. "March 15th."

Fresco paled, realizing Justin told him the truth about his extended disappearance.

"I was taken November 24th," Fresco said before closing the door behind him.

***

# Chapter Seventeen

He intended to seek out Parker, but when Fresco's feet found the hall, the weariness returned. Instead, he dragged himself back up the staircase. With a jolt of dismay, he realized he couldn't remember which door was his. After a few false starts and embarrassed apologies when he peeked in where he wasn't wanted, Fresco stumbled upon the ancient, dingy bathroom. He made a mental note to remember its location, the smell of pine cleaner making his head swim. He found his door and hid behind it. A new tray appeared in his absence, loaded with a fresh sandwich and a large bowl of chocolate pudding. He took it to bed with him, able to stay awake long enough to finish before tugging the wool blanket over himself and falling asleep.

***

Fresco hovered over the City. His heart leaped as he saw the shining streets below him. He strained to reach it, but he was floating so high and it was too far. He finally gave up, taking the taste he was given with gratitude, his heart breaking when he floated higher and higher and out of sight of home.

And then the pain came, and he was lost.

***

Fresco spent the next several weeks in a spinning cycle of craving and want, peppered by waves of guilt so strong they were almost as crippling. There were times he felt great, punctuated by hours of screaming at them to give him Wasteland. During those times, Parker would get her you'll-thank-me-later look in her eye and lock him in his room. No amount of pounding or threatening would make her open the door.

After one particularly nasty bout, when Fresco fell into a sweating puddle of pain and self-hate, Parker came to him and held his hand for the rest of the night. He tossed and turned, torn by nightmares about the agony while also being taunted by the City and Justin's incessant voice. Every time he woke, gasping in the dark, Parker was there beside him, helping ease him back into sleep.

If the day was good, Fresco learned the jobs of the house and helped out. He found if he stayed busy, it was easier to fight off the hunger. It also made him feel worthy, like pulling his weight meant he wasn't the monster he still felt he was. Garris made a comment one afternoon how he didn't know what the media was talking about, Fresco's generation were the hardest workers he'd ever seen. Fresco wasn't the only one who found work eased the pain. Last Stand was usually spotless.

He gladly gave his blood to Garris for testing, as did all the kids in the house. But when Fresco asked about using his power, Garris warned him against it.

"It won't work," the older man told him, taking yet another vial of blood while the sun streamed in the dirty office window, dust motes dancing in the beam. Fresco was having a good day, a drowsy day, but didn't want to rest until he dug up answers of his own.

"But I have them," he said. "From what you said, I'm a telepath and a telekinetic, right? Hear and see stuff? Move things with my mind?"

"Yes to both," Garris said, removing the rubber strap from Fresco's arm. He pushed a cotton ball into the tiny hole the needle left. "Put pressure on that."

Fresco bent his arm, fingers securing the cotton while Garris marked the tube of blood and filed it in a beat up old minifridge. Someone painted a happy face on the front so long ago the color was chipped and faded, the smile's missing gaps turning it into a demented clown grimace.

"I think that may be the point," Garris told him, tearing open a Band-Aid. "Wasteland feeds you. Without it, you just hurt when you try."

Fresco nodded in understanding, but spent the whole rest of the day turning it over and over in his mind until, unable and unwilling to cast away the simplicity of the idea, he collapsed into bed that night. Alone in his room in the semi-dark, Fresco decided he needed to know for himself.

He made himself comfortable, closed his eyes, and reached out with his mind to the rest of the house.

***

painandpainandpainandpainandpain—

***

Groggy and aching all over, he woke up two days later, shaking, head screaming in agony. Parker stood over him, arms crossed over her chest, eyes flat with fury.

"The next time you try something so idiotic," she informed him in no uncertain terms, "I will personally kick your ass out onto the street."

He registered the tears on her face before passing out again.

That ended Fresco's psychic experiments. It didn't stop him from wanting answers. When Parker would speak to him again, he tracked her down and asked her about it.

She toyed with her fruit cup in the bright kitchen as she considered her answer. "Some kids can use their abilities to a small degree."

"Like you," Fresco said.

"Like me. We don't know why." Clearly frustrated, she tossed her spoon to the tabletop. "There is so much we don't know." Her golden eyes lifted to his. "Most can't access what's inside without being crippled by pain. And worse, bringing the hunger back."

Fresco nodded, remembering.

"It can cause blackouts," she told him. "Kids have been known to go insane. Or run right back to the blue joy. It's not worth it. Ever."

He agreed with her and let it go.

The problem was, Fresco's power didn't want to be ignored. He found himself more and more often catching the feeling of it rising in time to shove it down, fear gripping him at the thought of going through the agony all over again. He struggled to learn to control his power, winning battles but losing the war. Being able to sense the rise of his abilities was his only defense.

Garris and Parker, meanwhile, watched him with deep concern.

Finally, one night as he lay in his bed, struggling between his body's demand for Wasteland and his power's need to be free, Fresco had an epiphany.

_It's not just about feeding what's growing inside_ , he thought as his body shook the cold sweat from him, _it's about keeping us from_ using _it once it comes out._

His last thought before curling back into a fetal position was, _Is_ this _the test?_

When Fresco was able to drag himself to the office the next day, Garris agreed.

"I've had some suspicions," he said. "There has to be a reason for Wasteland beyond the addiction and a source of fuel. And that explanation makes as much sense as any."

"Maybe that's why we can never break free of it," Fresco said. "Until we can use our abilities, Wasteland controls us."

"I see where you're going." Garris nodded. "But it's impossible. No one has won free of the blue enemy. It's not worth the risk. Look," he squeezed Fresco's shoulders between his hands, "we're really close to a cure, I can feel it. Once we develop a viable treatment to counteract the blue enemy, this will all be over and you can play around with your newfound powers all you want."

"Will we still have them?" Fresco wasn't sure why he cared. After all, the power inside him was a living reminder of the horror his life had become.

Garris seemed troubled. "I've never thought that far ahead." He laughed. "Let's do everything we can to find out, shall we?"

Fresco met Medley for the first time that same morning. Parker pulled him from the kitchen with a mysterious smile and led him, still chewing, back to Garris's door. Inside, he came face-to-face with a small, round woman with white hair and an expression full of laugh lines whose pale blue eyes looked right into the center of him.

"This is the one with the marvelous blood and grand ideas," she said in her firm, no nonsense voice.

Garris smiled. "Fresco, meet Medley, our genius chemist. Medley, Fresco."

He nodded to her as she winked at him.

"Garris tells me you think you can solve this all on your own," she said. "Even tried, stupid boy. Hmmmm?"

Fresco shrugged and grinned at her. "Well, not like you're making much progress."

She laughed at him, bobbing her head. "Give me a little time with that blood of yours and we'll see who finds the answers." She pulled up a chair, dumping the papers to the floor before seating herself on it with a huff of breath.

"Now tell me," she said.

"Tell you what?" Fresco liked her already.

"Why, everything, boy. Everything."

Fresco spent the next several hours having his brain prodded. He felt wrung out when Medley was through. It was Parker who led him away, back to the kitchen where she loaded him up with food. When she sat across from him, she was grinning.

"So? What do you think?"

"She's kooky," he said around a bite of pasta.

"She likes you, Fres," Parker said. "But better, I know her well enough to see she's excited. Were you really gone three months?" Fresco had the impression Parker wanted to ask for a while, but hesitated to bring it up.

Fresco nodded and swallowed. "Why is it important?"

"Because," she said, stealing a soft ravioli. "As far as we know, the longest one of us has been in their hands is a couple of weeks. There's something about you the Garbagemen liked. And that might be good news for us. If we can figure out why they were so interested in you."

He didn't say anything, but he shuddered as a cold thrill ran down his spine. What did they do with him for so long, and why?

That night Fresco drifted, the question still in his mind. Not realizing how close he was to doing the forbidden, as he passed into sleep, his mind reached out for an answer on its own, finding a doorway to the truth through the thoughts of another. He didn't know the mind or how he connected to it. But in a shock of absolute clarity, Fresco knew the truth about _everything_.

Only to be pushed back, the door locked behind him, the understanding lost, the pain taking him all over again.

His body felt dipped in liquid fire, every muscle and bone, every drop of blood searing with intensity, stilling his heart for two beats before letting it pound back to life. Fresco felt himself lift from his bed, and the memory echo from the night he broke out was so strong he cried out in silence, his throat unable to move.

Daniel!

But his brother wasn't there or his parents or even the Garbagemen. There was only the pain and the fire and the endless spiral into molten magma and death. His body spasmed over and over again, liquid hot lightening jolting from his toes to the tips of his fingers and out through every pore of his body. He was sure if he touched down he would set fire to his bed and the entire house, but his body never encountered the blankets, only hovered there, suspended by his power, as it fought for dominion against the snarling, savage hold of Wasteland.

It clawed its way through him, pulling him close and tight, refusing to let go. He wanted to die, needed to, just to have the pain end. It was like nothing he ever felt, and took him back to the sweet faced man in the Diamond City with his dagger of glass. Only this time, it wasn't just his heart but every cell making him up pulsating with agony.

He couldn't take another instant, and yet it went on and on. When he thought his heart would finally give out he was wrong and there was no blessed release, no ending.

painandpainandpainANDPAINANDPAINANDPAINAND

and

One final, enormous spasm drove his spine backward, his feet thrashing in midair, breath a superheated cloud locked in his chest. His mind splintered, fragmented, shattered into a million shining pieces, each of them its own slice of death.

It was over. His body fell to the bed. He felt nothing, numb and empty. It was ironic the last scraps of his mind to remain were the ones he hated the most.

_That's all folks_ , Justin whispered. _Have a nice death, loser_.

Fresco let himself embrace his end with gratitude it was finally over, happy at last to die.

***

# Chapter Eighteen

Fresco woke up in his bed, his heavy wool blanket on the floor, sheets a sodden mess twisted around him. A massive headache took his head in its hands and squeezed so hard that when he rolled over his stomach rebelled and he threw up. He pressed his face into the stiff mattress when his nausea passed.

_Thought I was done with this_ , he complained to himself. _Why the hell am I still alive?_ He looked down at the floor, seeing a puddle faintly tinted blue. The skim of Wasteland was thin, more of a film over bile. And instead of being hit with a surge of longing as he always did at the sight of the drug, all he felt was revulsion.

It took him a while to get accustomed to the idea he would, in fact, live. At last, Fresco kicked himself out of bed. Getting moving helped his headache. By the time he went to the bathroom down the hall and back, his mind was clear and he was feeling better than he had in a long time. Even the cravings were dull, like the ache of an old injury.

_Guess I'm glad to be alive after all,_ he thought, though he shuddered away from the memory of the night before. He wouldn't wish such an attack on anyone. And it made him wonder what the hell happened. Fresco needed to talk to Garris.

First things first. He cleaned up his mess before decided to get clean himself. Someone, probably Parker, left him fresh clothes on the end of his bed. Ever since his arrival, the idea of being clean and staying that way had great appeal. He gathered up the clothes and went to the bathroom.

A bank of dented gray lockers lined one wall, liberated from some abandoned gym, each with a boy's name written on masking tape. Fresco went to his. He took out soap, a fluffy towel, shampoo, and his toothbrush and toothpaste. He hesitated over the disposable razor, running fingers over his face. Around the corner were the showers, three stalls separated by thin plastic sheets. Across from them stood the urinals, toilet stalls, and two sinks, none of which matched each other let alone anything else in the room.

He took full advantage of the shower, spending a long time making sure he was clean, the hot water reddening his thin skin. He noticed his ribs didn't stick out quite so much any more and his body was filling out again. Fresco toweled dry, brushed his teeth, and proceeded to scrape off most of the soft, wispy hair from his face. He took a moment when he was done to check his reflection. The bruises and dark circles had vanished. Even his cheeks were starting to flesh out. Satisfied with his progress, recognizing himself for the first time in a long time, Fresco dressed in the fresh clothes before going to the hampers at the door. He dutifully sorted as his stomach started to growl.

Starving, Fresco headed for the kitchen. At the top of the stairs, he paused with a jolt. Not only did he make it through his entire routine without once having to deal with the hunger for Wasteland, the horrid voice plaguing him with guilt was also silent. In fact, the aching demand felt even more distant, a far off thing overshadowed by the rumble of his belly. And Justin's nasty whispers were nowhere to be found.

Wondering what the difference was, Fresco combed his memory. He recalled nothing out of the ordinary, although scrap of a memory tried to surface. It eluded him so he shrugged it off.

Satisfied to at least be feeling good, not knowing how long it would last, Fresco decided to just enjoy it for as long as he was able.

The kitchen was packed with kids. He spotted Parker and two of the other older teens seated at one of the tables, talking. She waved to him. He waved back, going first to Martin for a fill up.

Martin's eyebrows shot up as Fresco filled his plate to overflowing and winked at him. Fresco made his way to Parker and her seatmates, now familiar faces, and squeezed in to join them.

He liked them both. Kimberly was sixteen, a tiny girl, barely over five feet, with long, reddish hair and lots of freckles. She made a face as Fresco started shoveling.

"Boys." She rolled her eyes at Parker. Parker winked back.

"Gotta keep up our strength right, Fresco?" Chad leaned back on the bench, rubbing his flat belly. The seventeen-year-old still had a haunted look in his green eyes and too much gray in his dark hair for someone his age. But he was great at covering with jokes and often sent the rest of the kids into laughing fits.

"You bet," he answered, devouring a pancake whole.

"Are you okay?" Parker watched in fascination as Fresco barely chewed and swallowed, stuffing in a half piece of toast.

He shrugged and grinned at her, making the girls roll their eyes and say "Ew!"

"Dunno," he said, chasing the toast with a gulp of milk. "I haven't had an appetite like this since football." The thought of football was too hard, linked to so many memories. Fresco refused to kill his good mood with the past. He dove back into his breakfast.

Parker's expression stilled, but not before he saw a flicker of fear pass through her eyes. "I was thinking now that you've been with us a while you might like to get out of the house," she said.

Fresco glanced up, hopeful. He didn't want to admit the refuge was closing in on him, but the idea of going outside was suddenly very appealing.

"Where are we going?"

Parker exchanged a moment with the other two. Chad chewed his lower lip, deep in thought. "Scouting," she said. "Time you learned what to look for."

"Besides," Chad told him abruptly, "it's a good test."

"For what?" Fresco asked, seeing Parker shoot Chad a hard glare.

He ignored her and leaned forward, face serious.

"For you, Fres. We need to know when it's going to take you again."

Fresco froze mid-chew. He looked at the others as he finished the mouthful and swallowed. A long drink of milk ran its cold way down his throat as he drained his glass with deliberation. When he set it down, it made a soft thunk in the silence. Kimberly jumped.

"I think I'd like to know myself," Fresco said.

Parker nodded to him. "Great," she said. "Let's see if we can find some kids to rescue today."

"Hopefully I won't be one of them," Fresco said.

He had no doubts, however. He saw the truth about himself. For some reason, the hold the drug had over him was dimmed. He didn't say anything to Parker or the others as they marched to the office to report in, nor did he comment to Garris. He wanted to be sure, absolutely sure, before he told them the call was diminished. He still anticipated the attacks would return, but if they were in line with the intensity of his want, he could handle them without breaking a sweat.

He was brought up short by his favorite shadow on his way out the door. Apple sat at the bottom of the stairs, clutching her teddy bear, staring at him with huge eyes. She set her toy aside and held her arms out to him. Fresco lifted her into his embrace, amazed how light she was and how strong he was becoming.

Apple placed both hands on his face, looking deeply into his eyes. She was there, the feeling of her and he knew she felt him, too. A soft glow shone around her, like a sparkling halo in her hair. Fresco, fascinated by the light, grinned at her.

She laughed and hugged him.

"You're okay," she whispered in his ear as Parker waited for him, a little smile on her face.

"Don't tell," he whispered back, hope surging. "I don't know for sure."

Apple leaned back. "Okay. Be safe."

He set her down. She retrieved her bear and went back upstairs, the glow fading just as she reached the top.

Fresco watched her go, an impossible hope growing within him. Was she right? Was he okay? He turned to Parker and couldn't help but beam a smile at her.

"Ready?" Her blank expression worried him. Instead of asking what was wrong, Fresco nodded and followed her out the door.

His first breath of fresh air tasted like heaven. He stood on the stoop and inhaled completely, letting it out in one gust.

"When you're done playing," Parker said, "we have a job to do." Her scrutiny was starting to make him uncomfortable.

Hoping to distract her, he checked around for the other two. Kimberly and Chad were gone.

"Teams," Parker said. "I'm yours."

Despite the strange looks she was giving him, Fresco wouldn't have it any other way.

He spent the day learning more than he wanted to know about drug culture. When he was in it, there was no time to gain information, only action and reaction. Parker, however, was an endless fount of knowledge. She seemed to know about every single drug on the street at any given time, who was selling it, what the street slang was, how most kids reacted to it, and how to tell the difference.

By the time the sun was falling from the sky, staining it a glowing red over the city to the west, Parker had shown Fresco most of the haunts of the sugarpops who supplied the Wasters. They were forced to watch as a handful of kids bought their blue joy, unable to do anything about it. Fresco was aware Parker still watched him closely for his reaction. To his delight, he felt only pangs of need, easy to handle. Euphoria grew within him.

Parker was visibly nervous by then. She spun around and confronted him.

"You're not all right, you know," she said, the words hitting him like blows.

"I feel great," he told her. "Parker, I'm fine! Really."

"It's the lull, Fres," she told him, hurt in her eyes. She cursed under her breath, looking away from him. "It's too early, but you don't seem to be following any of the rules."

"Lull?" Confusion warred with irritation. He was kicking this thing, why couldn't she be happy for him?

"Wasteland isn't like other drugs," she said. "You can't get clean." She sighed. "I didn't want to tell you about the lull until I was sure you might have one. Everyone is different. Some kids never lull and blue hit you so hard I was pretty sure you wouldn't. But, Fres, I've been watching you all day. You're in a lull. It's another phase. The cruelest one."

Fresco didn't want to believe her. He shook his head, angry, knowing she was wrong.

Parker stepped back from him. He felt her distancing herself, not just physically. "I'm sorry, Fresco. It's like they designed it this way. To torture us. Hit us hard with the need, then give us a lull to make us feel like we might break free to have it slam us ten times worse." Her face twisted in agony, eyes huge and rimmed with moisture. Her voice came in a whisper. "Usually a lull comes right before a kid gets taken by the blue joy again."

He put all his conviction into his words. "I'm not going back to it, Parker," he told her. "I'll never go back."

She stared at him, not speaking, but the sadness in her face hurt him more than her lack of faith. He understood, of course. She was used to dealing with Wasted kids. All he had to go on was what he was feeling. Even Apple sensed it. Fresco realized the only way Parker would believe him would be to show her.

Before he was able to say anything else, however, Parker turned and walked away. Fresco let out a breath in exasperation and started to follow her when something drew him up short.

Someone nearby was using Wasteland, and his power lashed out.

Fresco gripped his head in his hands, fighting the surge of energy hitting him. He staggered from the blow, looking up as he felt a hand on his arm. It hit Parker, too.

"Go home," she said to him, grimacing a little as the wave of psychic power affected her. "Let me handle this."

"I'm not leaving you here," he said, still struggling with the pressure of the kid's mind.

"You're not trained for this," she snapped. "Go _home_ , Fresco."

Not bothering to see if he obeyed her or not, Parker went into the dark alley alone. Refusing to stand aside, he followed her.

He found her bent over a boy in filthy rags who lay twitching on the ground. Fresco felt one final surge before the attack eased. The boy groaned. Fresco's sneaker scuffed against a broken bottle, sending it tinkling across the dirty pavement. Parker glared up at him, golden eyes flashing with fury.

"He's come down," she said, voice calm despite her anger at him. "We have to get him to the house."

Fresco bent and lifted the filthy bundle of bones into his arms. He barely breathed through the stench of the kid, but held him cradled like something precious, knowing this was him only for Parker and Garris. Her rage was gone, replaced by a tender expression.

"We have to go," she said. Fresco nodded and followed her out of the alley.

It was pure bad luck they stumbled into a beat cop the second they hit the sidewalk. He took one look at them and reached for his cuffs. Parker spun on Fresco.

"Run!" She took her own advice an instant later, headed away from him. The cop looked at her and over his shoulder at Fresco. Not stopping to think any further, Fresco took off in the opposite direction.

The cop's shoes pounded on the pavement behind him, but luck turned back to his favor. The officer was on the portly side, the victim of a few too many good meals. From the huffing sound escaping his lips, he was audibly losing his wind.

The uniform puffed a report into his radio as Fresco carried the boy at a flat out run around a corner and into another alley. Knowing the police would now be looking for them, Fresco spent the next half an hour winding his way through the maze of streets, waiting for dark before trying to get home with his charge. The cops were out in full force, whether because of him or because this wasn't the best part of town, he had no idea.

When he was almost cornered by a pair of beat walkers, Fresco tucked into an alley near an abandoned building, realizing he was familiar with it, but not knowing how. It occurred to him he spent thirteen days in alleys exactly like it, with a backdrop so similar it made his heart skip. He lowered the groaning boy to the dirty pavement to catch his breath.

"Need more," the kid whispered at him, his sunken, bloodshot eyes opening for the first time. "You got some, man? I do whatever, you know. You pick. Just gimme some."

Fresco looked down at him with pity, grateful he was no longer in a place where he resorted to the more hideous acts the kids fell prey to for a fix. He heard enough stories in the house to know what the boy was offering when he put his hand on Fresco's knee and squeezed.

Fresco moved his hand away. "Soon," he told him. "Rest a minute."

The boy groaned again, face twisting.

"I _need_ it," he said, tears making tracks through the filth on his face. "Please, man. _Please_."

There was nothing to say. He held the boy still until he passed out.

When the frail bundle collapsed into unconsciousness, Fresco leaned down to scoop him up again. As he did, his heightened senses from two weeks on the street warned him he was being watched. Fresco spun around, prepared to fight for the boy if necessary. Heart in his throat, Fresco came face-to-face with the last person he ever expected. Wide eyed, he whispered the name.

"Daniel?"

***

# Chapter Nineteen

Fresco couldn't speak past his brother's name. He stared, overwhelmed by the sight of Daniel standing not ten feet from him.

The two years had not been kind, although according to what Garris said and Fresco's own condition when he first came to Last Stand, it was a miracle Daniel was still alive at all. Fresco wasn't sure how he knew it was his brother. There was very little about Daniel he recognized. But, even though his outward appearance would have fooled others, Fresco knew it was him to the core of his being, without a doubt in his mind.

Daniel's face was aged past his twenty years, lined with the hardship of life given over to the blue joy. His hair hung long and ragged, but his clothes seemed clean. He either had someone looking out for him or managed to keep a semblance of humanity, some shard of reality. Stunning really anyone could spend so much time in thrall of Wasteland and still be functional. A part of Fresco wasn't surprised to find his brother standing there. His soul was linked to Daniel's for so long he understood he'd know if his brother was dead.

Daniel's body trembled rhythmically as he stood there in the dim light.

"Fres." His voice sounded harsh. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Fres, baby bro."

Fresco went to him, not knowing what to do, but needing to be near him. Daniel backed away a step when he held out his arms. The older brother shuddered violently before settling, going back to his constant tremor.

Fresco backed off, but his heart swelled. "They told me you were dead." The words came out in a guilty whisper he even considered it might be true.

Daniel barked a laugh, the deep lines in his face etched with bitterness, old scars pulling his skin askew.

"Not yet." His statement shivered and hissed, sand over glass. "Done their best, Fres. But not yet." He looked closely at Fresco, swaying a little as the tremor got the better of him. "They get you, too?"

Fresco nodded. "Yeah, it happened to me. But I was lucky, found some folks to help."

Daniel's trembling became more aggressive, his left knee buckling and popping over and over. "Mom and Dad?" Fresco felt Daniel's hunger, and he ached to help his brother.

"They weren't," Fresco told him. "We were right, big bro. We _are_ special."

Daniel choked out that horrible laugh again. "Damned special," he said. He coughed, a tearing sound deep within him, heavy and wet. Fresco wanted to help, but sensed any move on his part would send Daniel running. His brother seized control of the heaving cough and sagged.

"Been worse," he muttered to himself. "Been better."

Fresco waited for Daniel to come back to him. His brother lifted his head eventually. He took one shuffling step forward, coming further into the dim light. It did nothing to improve his appearance. Fresco wanted to look away, but couldn't.

"You got any?" Daniel's voice was low and tired, but there was a longing in it Fresco knew all too well. He saw the twitching in Daniel's fingers, the thumb miming popping the top of a blue tube. He wondered how much of Daniel remained and how much was pure Wasteland.

Fresco shook his head, suddenly tired. "No. I'm done. I don't do it anymore, Danny." Fresco smiled a little at the old nickname. Daniel insisted he lose it when Fresco was ten. "You can stop too, you know."

Daniel's laugh was a howl of misery. "Can't be done, baby bro," he said, madly staggering from one foot to the other in a hopping dance. With a twinge of horror, Fresco noticed his brother's eyes, once chocolate brown, now glowed blue, the exact color of Wasteland. It triggered a memory of another, a man in a diamond embroidered ball cap whose eyes were like that.

_Strom_ , his mind whispered.

Daniel, oblivious to Fresco's revelation, continued his dance. "It has me," he told Fresco. "Has you, too, you just don't know it. Don't see it. Might think it's let you go then, BAM!" Fresco started as Daniel slapped his hands together and lunged forward, clutched in madness. "But I'm smart. Don't fight it no more. Bring it in. Use it for _my_ reasons." The cough returned, gripping Daniel for a long minute before letting him go.

Fresco feared the madness, but Daniel was his brother. He didn't entirely understand, either, but pushed on, trying to keep him talking. "Is that how you stayed alive, Danny?"

Daniel shrugged. "Am I? Are you? Is any freaking body?" He laughed again, choking off into a huge sob. "This ain't living, baby bro. No kind of life at all..." His face fell still.

Fresco had to do something. He reached for Daniel. His brother broke out of his Wasted daze and backed away.

"Thought it was you," Daniel said, voice soft. "Felt you sometimes, tried to keep you safe. Thought I could." He looked down at the dirty ground, tremors shaking him. Amazed gratitude washed through Fresco.

"It _was_ you!" He almost laughed. "They said you died, but I saw you, Daniel. I heard your voice when I was in the City..."

"Lot of good I did." Daniel's voice rang low and edged with anger. "No damned good. Thought I could trick him, Fres. Beat him. Thought _I_ was the strong one." His chuckle was deep and bitter. "Learned _that_ lesson." Daniel shuddered, locked in a memory.

Fresco racked his brain for a way to pull him out of it, but before he spoke Daniel looked up. There was a tear on his cheek, tracking through a nasty scar.

The tear ran blue.

"Had to know. Now I do." Daniel's face twisted into a rictus of a smile, more corpse than man. "But I think I beat him after all," he said in a whisper. "Found a way in, Fres. Going to the City. Get there soon. Just need one more key, then I'm going and never coming back."

Fresco had so many questions. He saw the hunger taking Daniel. In desperation, he reached out and grabbed him.

A pulse passed between them, a line of fire linking their skin. Fresco pulled away in shock. Daniel stared at him, face utterly blank, devoid and empty. Even the tremors stopped. Daniel stood as if frozen, unblinking, unseeing. Fresco felt the presence of an awareness ease itself into his brother's place, as though someone else looked through Daniel's glowing blue eyes. Fresco froze himself, terrified of that presence. Daniel then shook like a wet dog and the presence was gone. He turned and muttered something under his breath. He swayed toward Fresco, as though to speak again and shuffled away a step, still muttering, swatting at an imaginary something with his left hand.

Fresco desperately wanted to go after him, to drag him back to Last Stand by force if necessary, but a soft groan from behind him spun him around. He forgot the rescue. The kid was stirring. Fresco turned back to find Daniel gone. Torn between his sense of responsibility to his brother and his new family, he made the hardest decision in his whole life.

Turning his back on Daniel, swearing to find him again, Fresco lifted the boy back into his arms and carried him home.

***

# Chapter Twenty

As he walked up the front step of Last Stand, the door flew open and Parker was there. The moment Garris freed his arms of the boy, Parker took his place, hugging Fresco hard. She clung to him. He was acutely aware of the scent of sweet lemon on her mocha skin. Something inside him stirred in response.

"Where have you been?" She pushed back, dashing tears from her smooth cheeks. "We were worried," she added, pulling herself together.

"Dodging the man," he said. He hugged her again on impulse as his hope returned. She embraced him back, but when they parted, she was frowning.

"What happened?"

He knew exactly what she was thinking. "I'm still okay," he said. "But I... Parker, I found Daniel!"

Parker's eyes flew wide. "Fres..."

"I know, I know, but Parker, he's alive and he spoke to me. He's messed up," Fresco pushed past the image of his Wasted brother, "but he knew me. He _knew_ me!"

Parker stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you going to do?" Her face set, a closed mask.

"I'm going to find him," he said, refusing to let her attitude take away the joy of seeing Daniel again, "and bring him back here."

"You can't save him," she said, bitter, even nasty. "You can't even save yourself."

Shocked by her response, Fresco reached out to her, but Parker spun away from him and stormed back inside without another word.

Determined to prove her wrong about everything, Fresco turned and went in search of his brother.

He went back to the alley and spent a good half hour searching for signs of Daniel's passage, but with no luck. The dirty pavement gave up nothing. Choosing a direction instead, Fresco headed out into the streets.

He spent the rest of the night growing more and more frustrated as the slim chance of finding Daniel turned colder and colder. His search became a lesson in frustration of unplanned and emotionally charged backtracking as he made choices only to second guess himself.

Fresco refused to give up. He was so caught up in his search, he rounded a corner and stumbled right into a pair of cops. Fresco pulled up short as Len's familiar face glanced up from the kid he was talking to and spotted him.

He froze, not sure what to do. His mind was so fogged by the search for his brother he considered running. But Len was already moving toward him with Jakey close behind. Fresco saw relief in the face of the kid they abandoned for fresh sport. He took off into the dark, leaving Fresco to deal with the two officers.

Len looked him up and down as Jakey stuck his thumbs in his belt and smirked his nasty smirk at Fresco. Len whistled low.

"Well, well," the cop said. "If it isn't our old friend. How you been, boyo?"

Fresco shrugged, remembering the cop didn't like it when he didn't get an answer. "I'm fine, officer," he said. "Much better, thanks."

Len shot a glance at his partner who hocked up a wad and spit on the street. "Hear that, Jakey?" Len asked in a friendly voice. "Boyo here says he's fine. You buying that?"

Jakey shrugged, smirk growing wider. "Dunno, Len. Seems he looks okay. Clean and all. Shakes seem to be gone. Still."

Len was nodding while Jakey spoke. "Still. Seems he's out here pretty late for someone who's got himself clean. You still chasing the dragon, boyo?"

Frustrated by their interference, but knowing he risked a lot showing it, Fresco fought to keep his emotions under control. "No, sir," he said. "Just looking for my brother."

"Is that so?" Len took another step closer. "He a Waster too?"

Fresco refused to meet his eyes, knowing the defiance he felt would show and serve to feed Len and Jakey's desire to teach him a lesson.

"Yes, sir," Fresco said.

Len grunted, his surprise showing. Fresco risked a glance out of the corner of his eye. The cop's face actually softened.

"Leave him be," Len said. "Nothing you can do for him if that's so, boyo. You just stay clean yourself, hear? I don't want to see you on another park bench with the sapphire fire pushing you around. You got me?"

Fresco nodded, shocked. Len's eyes held sympathy.

"See you around, boyo," the cop said. "Let's go, Jakey."

Fresco badly misjudged the man. He found himself struggling to shift his perceptions. Could he trust him? Maybe here was someone in authority they could confide in? Help him find Daniel, even?

Fresco shook his head, shattering his own fantasy. A beat cop had little chance of finding out more than Garris. And Len pretty much told Fresco to give up on his brother. He would find no help there. He pushed aside the small hope the conversation created and refocused his attention back on Daniel. Everyone else in his life might have written him off, but Fresco was determined. He rejected his brother once, judged him for what Fresco discovered was done to both of them. But now that the shoe was on his own foot, it was time to right the wrong no matter what it took.

He lifted his face to the brightening sky and took a deep breath. One thing was true. He chose to be smarter about it. Less running around without a plan. No more wasting time on overreaction. He had to get his crap together.

Fresco returned to the house exhausted. He collapsed in bed, sleeping the day away before beginning another night of searching in what became his new life cycle.

Unable to focus on anything else, Fresco became a hunter of a different kind. He also became a bit of a legend among the Wasters. Night after night he searched out his brother, using the streets as a grid, crossing and recrossing the city in a careful sweeping pattern. And night after night he encountered kids who needed his help and more often than not returned home with one of their kind only to drop them on the other residents and go back out again.

Fresco checked in with every pusher, addict, and streetwalker he came across for news of Daniel, even the regular dealers and their customers for heroin and crack. It didn't take long to know their names and faces and for the more timid of them to come to trust him. They dropped leads on him, some obviously false, others hope worthy, but none panned out. He became so hyper focused on the hunt, he missed the connections he was building in the Wasteland organizational network.

Frustrated after another night of nothing, Fresco eased himself into the house and hit the stairs, desperate for sleep, but more so for real news of his brother.

"Fresco." Garris must have been waiting for him. His voice spoke from the dark of the hall, tall, lean shadow still. "We have to talk."

Fresco paused, sighing heavily. Trouble was coming. He managed to avoid Garris since his hunt began, but the owner of the house wasn't about to let him get away with it forever. Fresco nodded and followed Garris to his office door.

Fresco took a seat, rubbing his burning eyes with his fingertips as Garris perched himself on the edge of his desk. Fresco braced himself for a lecture.

"I wanted to thank you," Garris said.

"Sorry?" Gratitude was the last thing he expected.

The older man smiled a little. "You have single-handedly rescued more kids than anyone else in this house." He shook his head. "I know it wasn't your intention, but somehow you have managed to make them trust you. You have no idea how rare that is."

Fresco thought back over the nights of his hunt and realized Garris was right. He shrugged. "They know I'm looking for Daniel," he said. "That I don't want anything from them. That I'm not trying to save them."

Garris nodded. "So they follow you home." He grinned.

"They do?" Surprise woke inside him, shock. "Really?"

Garris crossed his long arms over his chest, eyes shining behind his glasses.

"We have a stuffed house, Fres," Garris said. "Almost sixty kids. We're filled to the rafters with more coming every day. They are sleeping two to a room where there used to be empties."

Guilt pinged at his relief for some reason he didn't have a roommate yet. After his long nights of roaming, he needed quiet, but felt like he should offer.

"No worries," Garris said without prompting, as if knowing what Fresco was thinking. "At least, not yet. Yours will be the last we fill up, okay?"

Fresco nodded and shrugged. All that mattered were they were helping kids.

"The young ones started trickling in around the third night you went out," Garris told him. "Said you told them about this place. Said you told them it was safe."

Fresco barely remembered the conversations with the kids he encountered. He used every tool he thought of, even drawing on his memories of Coach and how he treated his players, to get the kids to talk to him.

"Cool," he murmured to himself. "You're welcome," he said.

Garris chuckled before he sobered. "Any luck?"

Fresco tried not to show his frustration and shrugged. "Leads now and then. Mostly crap, but I keep looking. I'm going to keep looking," he repeated himself, voice firm, expecting the fight to start.

Garris nodded, surprising him again. "I know I can't keep you from it," he said. "Nor would I want to. If you can find him, Fresco, bring him here. If what you say is true, Daniel has survived somehow, longer than any other Wasted kid. We'd like to know how. Just promise me you'll be careful."

Fresco relaxed in relief. "I promise."

"Any other news?"

Fresco thought back over the last several days. "Probably stuff you already know," he said. "The sugarpops are Wasters like us, only they don't have as strong a gift or something, I guess, because they don't need it as much as others."

Garris frowned, going around his desk to take notes. "Interesting theory. We did know the dealers were Wasters, but I never considered it had to do with the strength of their power." He jotted for a moment while Fresco yawned behind his hand.

"Anything else?"

He was about to shake his head when his eyes fell on the cover of a book near the desk. It shone vivid blue. Abruptly, he remembered Daniel.

"His eyes," Fresco said, half to himself. "His eyes were blue."

"Like yours?" Garris's pen hovered.

"No," Fresco shook his head. "Daniel's eyes were brown. But now they're blue. Wasteland blue."

Garris stared at him.

"He cried," Fresco went on. "The tear was blue, Garris. Like it's his everything now."

Garris nodded slowly, making no effort to write it down.

"You knew?"

"No, but it makes sense," the older man said. "The only time a Wasted kid died here and Medley was able to do an autopsy, his organs were stained blue. And he was hooked for just a couple of days."

Fresco shuddered, wondering what his insides looked like, realizing he hadn't thought about or been troubled by his cravings for days.

"That's not all," he said, trying to push down his elation, ignoring it for now until he was able to examine it himself more closely. "There was a man, one of the Garbagemen who took me. The leader called him Strom."

Garris wrote it down with an excited grin. "Awesome, Fresco. A name, not the big dog's name, but a name to chase."

"Strom," Fresco went on. "His eyes were blue, Garris. Wasteland blue."

Garris dropped his pen. "What? You're sure?"

Fresco nodded, seeing the face of Strom bending over him. "Positive. I remember thinking how weird it was his eyes were that color. And here." Fresco leaned in, retrieving the pen as it rolled across the desk and turned the page toward him. He sketched the embroidered logo and turned it back to Garris, dropping the pen to the table.

Garris turned instantly grim. "Where did you see this?"

"It was on Strom's hat," Fresco said. "Sorry, I'm just remembering now, but all that stuff is still pretty fried."

Garris didn't say anything. He continued to look down. Fresco shuffled his feet, wanting to get to bed. Finally, Garris looked up, his eyes shining.

"Thank you for this," he said. "It's more valuable than you know."

Fresco perked a little. "You recognize it, don't you?"

Garris shrugged and closed the notebook. "I've seen it before. Other kids have sketched it for me, but I've never been able to place the logo. The fact the Garbagemen are Wasters is new. Although I suppose it makes sense. First generation? Maybe they are the only ones who can keep the kids in line. If so, how long has this been going on?" Garris seemed lost in his own world, leaning back to swing in his chair.

Fresco, knowing Garris was off for a while, muffled another huge yawn in his fist, feeling his jaw crack with the effort. "If you don't mind," he pulled himself to his feet, "I'm bagged."

Garris was pulling himself up in response when Fresco felt psychic power slam into him like a fist of pure energy, driving him to his knees. He peripherally caught the commotion in the hall outside Garris's office as he struggled to protect himself from the surge of energy pinning him to the floor.

He felt Garris beside him, knew the man was speaking, but didn't release his focus. Instinct took over. Fresco's mind did its best to protect him, blocking him off from the surge. He felt weightless with the release while the other mind continued to batter itself against his fragile defenses.

Fresco drew a deep breath and lifted his head as Parker ran into the room.

"We need help!" She then turned and ran out again. Fresco pounded down the dark hallway after Garris, weariness forgotten as he held onto his own control.

They burst into one of the treatment rooms where injured Wasters were kept. Three older kids tried to hold a boy down, Parker included. Two others had collapsed on the floor, one unconscious, the other bleeding from her nose and ears as she clutched her head and screamed without sound, mouth a gaping "O." Fresco watched Garris absorb the event in a heartbeat, time still for the new boy's power to send the other two kids flying, with only Parker left to hold him. Garris bowled over under Kimberly's weight, catching her as they both hit the floor.

Momentarily frozen by the scene, Fresco reacted without thinking. He leaped to the kid's side, pinning his chest while Parker grabbed his legs. The closer contact made it harder for him to block the surge coming from the kid. And, when his bare hand brushed against the boy's wrist, his mind's desperate protection dissolved. Fresco and the boy were linked.

He almost pulled back. His first instinct was to run, to hide, to let others deal with this. The madness sweeping over him from the boy's mind vibrated, horrible with darkness and fear, and held too many memories. But something within him refused to let go. Instead, Fresco held on, doing his best to rebuild his own safety, only to have it knocked down again and again by the surging attack of the outbreak.

Fresco felt the boy weakening, but they were all still in danger. The attack came at him in surges, making his bones ache, concentration almost impossible. And yet, he needed to try something, anything. When the rippling power fell off in preparation for the next wave, Fresco slammed up a shield, encasing both of their minds inside.

As soon as Fresco's defenses encased him, the boy's power shut off.

Dull silence fell around him as though the real world had been wrapped in cotton. Fresco felt bone tired, but the threat was over. He drew a breath, easing himself off of the boy, hearing the first sobs from the other kids as they reacted to the shock of the attack. Fresco blocked them out, ignoring the feeling of Parker's hand on his wrist as he looked down into the familiar haunted eyes he thought his madness closed forever.

Joey smiled up at him, tears leaking down his face. The boy's hands grasped him and pulled him down again as he hugged Fresco so hard his bony arms dug into Fresco's ribs.

"Thank you," Joey whispered.

Fresco pulled back, tears of his own threatening. "I thought I killed you," he whispered back.

"I'm tougher than that," Joey said.

Fresco grinned at him. He glanced up at Parker who stared with genuine shock.

"It can't be," she said, barely louder than an exhale. "You can't be... you _can't_ be!"

Parker shook, her golden eyes huge. She backed away a step. Fresco saw her stumble against Garris who also watched him with awe. In fact, everyone wore the same floored expression. The kids he knew, cared about, looked at him like he just grew another head. Everyone but Joey. The boy gazed up at him with absolute adoration, his face, for the first time since Fresco met him, calm and at peace.

"Fresco," Garris said, voice low and controlled. "Did you do that?"

He nodded. Garris pushed his glasses back further on his nose with one finger, clearing his throat before speaking. This time, there were tears tracking down his face.

"I don't believe it," Garris said, voice husky. "This is amazing. Amazing! I have to call Medley." Garris rushed from the room as the rest of the kids pulled themselves together and gathered around Fresco. An uncomfortable feeling pressed down on him, fed by the way they watched him. When Kimberly reached out to touch his hand, he flinched back from her wide, hopeful eyes.

"What the hell is wrong with all of you?" He couldn't stand it, didn't want them near him all of a sudden. Their voices were so loud and getting louder. The flimsy thing he built to protect his mind was failing fast, tearing his gift open wide and exposing him to them.

"You're clean," Parker said, her deep, velvety voice soft and subdued. There was a terrible desire on her face, paired with jealousy and something else he didn't recognize slamming into his heart and mind. "For the first time, ever. A Wasted kid is clean."

Before Fresco could respond, he felt them surge toward him, desperate for what he had. It proved too much for his overloaded senses. A sudden wave of exhaustion sent him crumpling to the floor, lost to the dark.

***

# Chapter Twenty-One

Fresco woke in the stillness of his room. While he struggled to understand what happened, he felt his mind stretch out like a sore muscle feeling better with use. With wonder, he embraced the house with it. His awakened gift, now free of the pain of Wasteland, took the initiative and spread its wings. Fresco felt his mind wander through the corridors and rooms of Last Stand like a ghost, touching gently the traumatized souls of the kids he shared his life with. Like a breath of fresh air, he wound his way from top to bottom until, satisfied with the exploration, his power retreated and settled back within him, humming in satisfaction.

Fresco drew a great breath and released it in a sigh. For the first time in his entire life, he felt whole. The part of him he never knew was missing was complete and at peace. He could have stayed there forever, the happiest he was in his whole life, happier even than when he was in the Diamond City. Those memories paled beside the joy of his healing. As he lay there, wrapped up in the afterglow of his freedom, he understood what happened was too precious to keep to himself.

Fresco got up and dressed, his body feeling weightless, mind sharp and clear, senses more in tune than he ever felt them. Apple just woke from a nightmare, and he took the time to slide his mind into her room and send her a soft lullaby, easing her back to a restful sleep. He was aware of Garris pacing in his office and the man's need to speak to him. He was also keenly in touch with Joey, dead to the world in a room close by, dreaming of running in a meadow. Fresco found he, too felt the rush of dreaming air, the warmth of the unconscious sun. And, when the sky in Joey's dream started to darken, Fresco was able to raise a wind and chase off the clouds, leaving the boy in happiness again.

When he returned to himself he felt like laughing.

Fresco made his way down the stairs and to Garris's office door. He didn't bother knocking. The man looked up as he entered and blew out a loud breath when Fresco smiled at him.

"I'm free," Fresco said.

"Tell me."

The pair spent the next several hours examining in detail everything that happened to Fresco from the time his power first appeared. They combed his memory, uncovering some forgotten bits he was able to dig up, but nothing new or useful about his kidnapping.

Garris finally sat back, crossing his long fingers over each other and pressing his palms to his stomach.

"We've always believed pushing was harmful," he said, shaking his head. "But from what you've told me, we've been wrong all along." Garris slammed both fists down on the chair arms. "Damn it, we've been keeping the kids hooked and didn't even know it!"

"You did what you knew best," Fresco said. "And what the creators of this wanted you to do. Wasteland resists tapping in and causes pain," he shuddered a little at the memory, "making you think you needed to teach the kids to block their gifts to protect them. It's the only way they had to keep us from the truth, Garris. Wasteland was given the means to protect itself."

The man watched Fresco carefully. "You called it a gift," he said.

Fresco smiled, still floating a little in the new sensation. "It is," he said. "It really is. That's the saddest part, honestly. This thing was put in us or triggered in us or created for us and we aren't ever able to use it or feel it in the way it was intended."

"Do you think this will work for the other kids?" Garris seemed hesitant. "We already know you were a special case, for some reason. Maybe you were a different evolution. We know they are trying to perfect the process and Wasteland is the test."

"I think so, too," Fresco said. "But it should work. If we go slow."

"We know the Garbagemen take Wasteland," Garris said, "but they can use their power. So it has to be a different kind of drug."

Fresco nodded. "What they take and what they give us... there must be an addictive quality added to the street version. To keep us in line."

"And a part of the experiment." Garris stood up and started pacing. "They must have been the first subjects." His bare feet made little sound on the shag rug. "But they obviously aren't good enough or the experiments would stop there. Maybe there is something about the addiction that makes you kids stronger or better... or they assume it is the case, that's why all the tests. It makes no sense." Garris's pacing stopped. "Why waste all of you this way? Why the addiction?"

"I think it's pretty obvious, don't you?" Fresco felt sick again, this time because he needed to be right. "They are trying to find someone who can break free of the need and use their abilities without the blue enemy." He shrugged. "Still, you wouldn't think it would matter. I had my first outbreak before Wasteland. I had my gifts prior to the addiction. There has to be more to it."

"You're suggesting it's just about control?" Garris shook his head. "No, I think you're onto something."

"Maybe it makes us stronger." Fresco saw a flash of his brother shaking in the dark alley, eyes glowing blue. "What if we're like the Garbagemen, with the same abilities. And this new Wasteland is a test after all, but more so to see how much stronger we can get."

"We have to stop this, Fres," Garris said, voice tired. "From what you're saying, if they succeed, they will be able to build an army of telepaths, empaths, and telekinetics who are custom designed to their own purposes." Garris regarded Fresco, not wanting to speak what he was thinking.

Thanks to Fresco's gift, he didn't have to.

"I know I'm in danger," he said. "If they find out I'm clean, they'll come for me."

"You are their goal," Garris agreed as he collapsed back into his chair. "Or at least the next stage in their plan. You're not safe anymore."

"Not unless we can find them and shut them down first," Fresco said. "There has to be a way. Especially now," he added. "I should be able to find them, don't you think?"

Garris frowned, clearly troubled. "Dangerous," he said. "You have no idea what kind of resources the Garbagemen have. Or if they are able to track you. Hell," Garris ran his hands through his shaggy hair, "they could be on their way here now for all we know."

"Maybe I should run." Fresco didn't want to risk the other kids, a wash of protectiveness for their wellbeing sending pins and needles through him.

"Thanks for the offer," Garris said. "But you need to stay right here. You're the only one we have to model the kid's recovery after. Without you, I have no idea if we can replicate it. No, our next step is to figure out a treatment plan. First things first," he pulled himself to his feet again, "and I don't think it can wait. I need to get you to Medley right now."

Fresco should have argued, but the thought of leaving Last Stand to go out on his own again was more than he was willing to handle. Instead, he focused on Medley.

"If you think she can help," Fresco said. "But I don't know a vaccine or a cure is possible outside of the power."

Garris guided him to the door. "Even if we can come up with something to kill the pain while the kids burn off Wasteland," he said, "every little bit helps."

For the first time since the whole thing started, Fresco felt entirely optimistic.

A ten-minute ride in Garris's beat up minivan ended with Fresco standing in front of the ancient chemist and wondering if he was wasting his time. Medley greeted his revelations with very little interest and treated him as an aberration. He struggled with his growing annoyance as the small woman fussed and contradicted everything he said.

"There's no cure," she said. "Not that way. Now, hush and let me work."

"How do you know for sure?" It was the first time he really questioned her. Up to that point he simply trusted in Garris that Medley was there to help. But he had no idea how or even why she cared. It was obvious from her rundown little house he wasn't paying her much, if anything at all.

The look she leveled at Fresco was meant to shut him up, but he wasn't afraid of her.

"I just know," she said.

Fresco glanced at Garris, but found the man grinning to himself and trying to hide it. Garris refused to speak, holed up in a corner, leaving Fresco to deal with the eccentric woman on his own.

Medley reached for Fresco's arm with another vial, but he pulled away. "Not until you answer two questions."

Her sigh was so deep and loud he found his own lips grinning. But he held his ground until she cocked her head to the side, the syringe lowered, waiting.

"Tell me why you think I can't be cured of the addiction."

"Because, boy, it's in your pores, your organs. From what I've seen it's attached itself to your very cells. Do you have any idea how impossible it would be for you to eliminate all of it? Because that is what it will take."

Fair enough. But he knew how he felt. "I say it is possible," he said. "That's what the power does, I'm sure of it. Burns up the blue joy like fuel in an engine." He caught Garris nodding out of the corner of his eye. Medley didn't move or speak, but she was listening. "I'm right, aren't I? It hurts to use our gifts because it's in our whole bodies. It's like we're eating ourselves alive."

Medley's second sigh was more natural. "Yes," she said. "That's why it's impossible."

"Except I did it." He was certain of it. There was a point in the pain where the drug let go. That was what he felt, the final surge. The release of Wasteland. "And you'll see it."

She rolled her eyes and raised the needle. "Not if you don't let me test your blood." The sharp tip went in, a little harder than necessary. He watched with fascination as the first vial flooded with his blood.

"What was the second question?" She didn't look up, just kept popping new vials into the tip of the needle.

"Sorry?" It took him a moment to remember.

"You said you had two questions. We debated the first. What's the second?"

He was surprised she brought it up and thought more of her for it.

"Why do you care?" It was fair to ask. He knew about Garris and Gina and the man's need to keep them safe. But Medley was a mystery. From the way Garris perked up, she hadn't been very forthcoming with him, either.

She was quiet so long the last vial was full and she was pulling the needle out before she spoke.

"Sometimes you do things you aren't proud of and there's only one way to make it right. I can't fix what I did wrong, but I can work on helping other people." The rubber band snapped against his wrist as she swung it at him. "You understand penance, don't you, boy?" Her eyes met his, so guarded he just nodded. She nodded back. "Now, let's see what's going on inside that body of yours."

Fresco got the hint. No more personal questions. But it troubled him she still doubted his word. He needed to prove it to her. He found it hard to be rude to the grandmotherly woman. Despite her gruffness, he knew she cared. So instead of losing his temper, he decided a nice demonstration was in order.

As she turned away, muttering to herself about kids and their impatience, Fresco tried a test. He reached out with his mind, but not to touch hers. She was as blank to him as ever. Instead, he focused on the vials of his blood clutched in her hand.

It was surprisingly easy. His mind felt like a net of fingers. Fresco experienced the cool edges of the glass, sensed the warmth of the thick liquid inside. He made a mental fist around hers and liberated the tubes from her loose grip.

Medley's fingers went slack with shock. She turned slowly on her heel and watched, eyes huge, as Fresco focused. He found himself reaching with his hand, his mind mimicking the action with his gift. He heard Garris gasp, but ignored them both.

Fresco was just as shocked. He was telekinetic, at least in theory, but the only other time he used it was in the accident and he had no idea how he did it. This time, the experience was entirely different. He wanted the vials to move and they did.

Fighting for focus and curious about the extent of his ability, Fresco opened his fingers. The small glass tubes bobbed as a unit, his blood washing back and forth, sunlight glowing crimson through them. He slowly drew his hand back and his power obeyed the action, floating the glass tubes toward him as easily as if he was moving them by physical force. He closed his fingers and they settled in the air in front of him.

Fresco plucked them from their place like picking an apple. He considered lowering them into his hands, but thought better of it. His ability was so easy to use it floored him. But he was uncertain of his control and never used his gifts in a focused and conscious way before. The last thing he wanted was to drop his hard-earned blood on the cold tile under his feet.

Medley approached him, round face full of awe. She looked down at his hands filled with vials then up into his eyes. Her expression changed instantly. She snapped her fingers.

"Again," she said.

Fresco repeated the performance, returning the vials to her by raising his hand until they floated in his mental grip. He gestured with his fingers, his power sending them gliding smoothly toward her. She took them from the air without a hint of hesitation and beamed at him.

"Not too often I'm wrong," she said. And laughed.

Fresco grinned at her.

Despite her newly kindled optimism, however, Medley was unable to find anything unusual about Fresco's blood.

"Except," she told him, Garris now hovering close by, "I can confirm your system is clean of Wasteland." She shifted her gaze to Garris, blinking rapidly behind her glasses. "It's true, it's really true."

Garris slapped Fresco on the back and nodded.

Overwhelmed by emotion, they grinned at each other, unable to speak for a long time.

***

# Chapter Twenty-Two

Garris was determined to begin immediately, and in the short drive from Medley's to Last Stand, he and Fresco hammered out a plan.

"We can convert one of the basement rooms." Garris tripped over his own words and drove too fast. Fresco hung on as they took one corner so sharply he felt the seat belt lock against him. Garris continued on, totally oblivious. "We can block it off with old mattresses just in case we get tossed around again." He grinned, sunlight reflecting from his glasses as he glanced at Fresco. "This can really work!"

Fresco grinned back and held on.

Garris's excitement was contagious. By the time he ran up the seven steps to the front door and bellowed a summons for everyone to meet in the kitchen, the whole house buzzed with hope. Fresco took a seat behind him as the kids piled into the room, stuffing themselves between counters and appliances, perching on benches and even the tables so everyone had a place. Garris warned him how many kids there were now, but he was still shocked as he saw them all crowded together in a pack. He tried to push away the waves of desperation struggling to smother him as the kid's vibrations filled the room. He cut himself off. It was getting easier to do, thankfully, with conscious effort, though he shuddered at the emptiness and sudden silence in his head. He hated the feeling of being closed off again, but not enough to put himself through the compression of all the emotion around him.

Instead, he focused on how he was changing. His power continued to grow, almost a live thing within him with a mind or understanding of its own. It was like there was no learning curve, only the desire for something and the execution of it. The blocking of the other kids, for example. As grateful as he was, Fresco wondered _how_ he knew. He weighed the possibility it was part of the experiment, a built in safety so kids who won free didn't accidentally kill themselves or others. He shook his head, knowing the answers were with the Garbagemen and in order to get them he would have to face down the beast.

A part of him, the angry, resentful part, was looking forward to it.

As he came back to awareness of the room, he avoided the curious attention of the others, noticing while he did so Parker hid as well, her arms crossed over her chest, face pinched with misery. He considered reaching out to her, but he didn't know how to filter his touch to just her and the idea of having to face the gathered emotions around him made him change his mind.

Garris held up his hands as the last of the kids settled into place and fell silent. Fresco couldn't see his face, but felt the tall master of the house beaming. The smile hadn't lessened since they left the bemused but cheerful Medley.

"I'm sure you've all been wondering about what happened this morning," Garris said. A ripple ran through the kids, but no one spoke. "I wanted to talk to everyone together so any rumors could be taken care of now before the truth becomes twisted."

Fresco made the mistake of looking up. Kimberly stared at him with adoring eyes. The intensity of her gaze almost broke through his concentration. He blushed and looked away.

Garris, oblivious, went on. "This morning, one of our new recruits," he gestured at Joey who grinned and nodded, head bobbing on his thin neck, feet swinging beneath him from his perch on the well-worn counter, "had a bit of a breakout." The kids giggled, even though it wasn't funny, a reaction to their anxiety. "It was a close thing, but we had a great stroke of luck." Garris turned to Fresco. "Using your powers can help you free yourself from the blue enemy."

A sigh of disbelief flowed around the room, followed by rapid chatter. Garris waited a moment and held his hands up again. As they fell quiet, Apple made her way to Fresco and climbed into his lap. He hugged her while they both focused on Garris.

"Thanks to Fresco, we now know Wasteland can be used to feed your gifts."

Chad snorted. "Gifts. Yeah, right."

"I know," Garris said, "but from what I understand, that is what they were intended to be." He turned to Fresco for confirmation. "At least, that's what we've come to believe."

Fresco shrugged, blushing again, kicking himself for his lack of control.

Chad, however, glared at Fresco with something akin to hatred. "What the hell makes you so special?" The boy vibrated in his chair. The deep seated hurt and rage buried under his comedic facade fell away, crumbling under the stress of living with the hunger for so long.

The intensity of his anger was shocking, but the sentiment wasn't. In a way, Chad was right. What did make him so special?

"I guess that's what we really need to find out," Fresco said. "So you all can have it, too."

Another murmur ran through the kids, this time a cross between hope and derision.

"You'll kill us all." Chad's face clenched tight with anger and fear. "Garris, you know what using our abilities can do to us. You've seen it. Hell, we've _all_ seen it!" Chad surged to his feet, gesturing wildly, cheeks glowing red from emotion. "How do we know he's not some freak? Or maybe the Garbagemen sent him."

Fresco's heart crashed as he felt the kids around him sway toward Chad. The surge of emotion made it possible for him to feel their panic through the block.

"Maybe they planted him here as a trick." Chad seized their complete attention. "So they can wipe us out." He spun on Fresco. "Is that it, traitor? Come to end it? You won't trick me." He advanced through the crowd. Kids parted for him until he stood in front of Garris. Waves of emotion spilled over the walls of Fresco's defenses, crumbling around the edges. This skill was too fresh to stand against a direct assault. Apple released her hold on him and clapped her hands over her ears in an effort to shut it out.

"Enough!" Garris said. "Pull yourself together." He looked out across the sea of young faces now taken by Chad's overriding empathy. Fresco understood at last. Chad's gift, or at least one of them, affected the emotional state of those around him. Garris went on. "You need to get control. All of you. This is insane!"

"Is it?" Chad snapped back as Apple started to cry. "I say we toss his ass back out there. Let him prove he's clean. Or better yet," Chad leaned close to Fresco, "let's give him some blue joy and see if he can do it again. Freak."

Fresco eased Apple onto the bench behind him, never taking his eyes from Chad. He needed to stop this. Fresco felt the tension building in the room, his wall now so thin even he was being affected by Chad's power. He felt his will start to crumble under the strain of holding off the pressure of so much emotion and braced himself to drop his block all together. He let Chad in, let them all in, so they could see for themselves.

The surge of rage and terror rolling over him almost drove him to his knees. He saw clearly Chad was barely tapping into his own limited access to power, and still it was enough to influence the others. Fresco shuddered at the understanding of how powerful his friend's gift really was. He reached out with the last of his energy, felt along the lines of force to Chad and showed him everything, throwing his power at the other boy like a weapon.

Chad got the message, and his anger crumbled in front of it in a wave of sadness.

It was like a waterfall stilled. A cry of release rippled through the kids. Apple stopped weeping and even Garris wavered a little as the grasping energy let him go. Chad crumpled, tears pouring down his face. Fresco reached out and supported him as the other boy looked up into his eyes, naked emotions tearing Fresco up more completely than the accusations.

"Is it really true?" Chad asked him in a whisper. "Please, Fres, don't hurt us. Let it be true."

Fresco felt like the inside of his head had grown way bigger than it was meant to be. The kids filled him up with their own stuff, leaving so little of him behind. With great care, Fresco detached himself from them, struggling for control. He helped Chad to his feet, his own strength returning with his sense of self.

He faced the kids, this time reaching out to them, knowing the blocks he created frightened them and made them doubt. Fresco tensed for the impact of their minds, but the edge was gone, their intense need dulled with Chad's collapse. They slid their minds around his with a more gentle touch, and he found he was able to allow it without having to fear for his own sanity.

They were all so special, their gifts unique, but all from the same roots. Telepaths, telekinetics like him, empaths like Chad. Some had more abilities than others. Strengths varied. He could tell who was fresh from the street and those for whom Wasteland's grip was weakest from the power in their minds. It was fantastic and amazing and he never wanted it to end.

"I don't know how many of you can do what I did," he said, regretful as they slowly retreated from his mind, one by one, "or if there is something in me you don't have. But we need to try." He looked up at Parker as he felt her mind leave last. "I'm tired of being controlled. Of being dictated to by the Garbagemen. Of being afraid. I'm ready to do something about it." He swept his gaze over the crowd of hurt and hungry kids. "Are you?"

Their answer was a deafening roar.

***

# Chapter Twenty-Three

Little work managed to get done the rest of the day as the kids thrummed with excitement and fear. The house vibrated with it as plans were made, promises sealed. But no one had the courage in those first hours to do anything about it.

Garris was fine with that. "It will take time for them to adjust to the idea," he told Fresco as the gathered kids chattered excitedly together in small groups, the kitchen slowly emptying. "I'm as anxious as you to get started, but let's give them a bit to realize this can work."

Fresco instead ventured down to the basement with Garris to choose a treatment room where they would begin the testing. They dismissed using the room where Joey suffered his attack. Even as Fresco entered, he shuddered, feeling the residue of what the boy released. But more, the memory of what happened there was too fresh for everyone.

"We have to find a way to clear the power out after," Garris said. "The last thing we need is to have what's left behind affect the kids. Their fight is going to be hard enough."

Fresco barely understood his own fight, relieved at least some of it was instinctual. He had no idea what would happen if a Wasted kid got access to such a raw and damaged source. As he followed Garris to another room, he shook off the flash of fear triggered when he wondered what would happen if the instinct was missing.

They settled on a smallish room with no windows, interior for structural support. Fresco and Garris spent the rest of the day hauling old mattresses in and screwing them into the wall studs.

"Not sure if these will work or not," Garris said. "Might be safer, might be stupid. We'll see."

Fresco grinned at him and went back to work.

The rest of the kids avoided him that night at dinner. Fresco felt hurt by it, even though it wasn't personal. He was in touch with them, all of them, known their fear. They wanted to believe. They needed time to process the possibility of their own freedom. Knowing it didn't help him feel less isolated.

Fresco toyed with the idea of going out to look for Daniel, but was so exhausted from everything that happened, he decided instead to crash for the night.

Despite his day of heavy labor, he found he was unable to sleep. He tossed and turned for a few hours, struggling between physical weariness and his endlessly running mind. He felt good, great in fact, little used muscles aching with the welcome burn of pushing himself. But his brain would not let him rest.

When his fantasy of turning the house full of Wasted kids into a kickass football team reached ridiculous proportions, Fresco hauled himself out of bed with a resigned sigh, in search of the ever calming midnight snack.

He padded through the house, reaching out to each kid as he drifted past, making sure they were okay. He wasn't sure why he did, only that it was right. He was feeling more than a little protective of the family he fell into, especially since he won his freedom. He wanted nothing more than for all the kids to be like him.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts and in the residents of the house around him, it wasn't until he hit the kitchen door with an open palm he realized he had company in the sleeplessness department.

Parker perched on a bench near the counter in the dim illumination over the stove, stirring a cup of something in front of her. The soft tinkle of the spoon against porcelain seemed loud in the stillness of the darkened kitchen. She ducked her head when she saw him. Unsure in the faint light, he thought she was blushing.

He approached, but didn't sit down, shoving his hands into his back pockets. He watched her fingers nervously grip the spoon again and return to stirring. Absently, he noticed her nail polish glowed green.

"Hi," he said. "Mind if I join you?"

Parker shrugged, pushing away her cup of what smelled of hot chocolate.

"I was just leaving," she said, half rising. He reached out with one hand needing to stop her.

"Please," he whispered, not wanting to ask her to stay, but wishing she would more than anything. Parker froze. For an endless moment, he was sure she was lost to him. To his relief, she sank back into her seat, face blank.

Fresco slid onto the bench across from her, folding his hands in front of him. He tried reaching out with his mind, but hers was an imposing wall rejecting entry with its very presence. He retreated, sad he wasn't welcome.

"Why are you angry?" He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but wanted her to face her own fears. Parker gave up nothing. She retrieved her cup and spoon and went back to her endless stirring.

"I'm not," she said in a flat voice. "I'm happy for you." She refused to look up.

Fresco sighed and sat back. "You can be free, too," he said.

Parker's face snapped up, golden eyes full of fury. "How do you know?" She snarled. "You don't know _anything_."

"I know what happened to me," he said, keeping his guard up so her anger wouldn't affect him. He would get one chance with Parker. The hurt and fear and pain she lived with since her own encounter with Wasteland was written on her face for the first time since he met her. He was determined not to screw it up.

"Do you?" The clinking of the spoon grew louder, more aggressive. "Do you really? Maybe Chad was right. Maybe they planted you here to get to us."

"You saw me," he said. "You rescued me. I would have died, Parker, if you hadn't found me. How does that make me a plant?"

"Whatever," she said.

Fresco suppressed a sigh. "You kept me going, you know," he said, truth he never meant to share with her. But, it seemed important she know, now. "I had no idea who you were. But I knew I wasn't alone. That the beautiful girl with the golden eyes knew about me and was like me. You saved my life, Parker, but more than that, you helped me keep a part of myself the blue joy tried to take away." Fresco rested his face in his hands. "When you found me under the bridge, I was so sad. Thinking I would die not knowing your name." He looked up to find her staring at him, eyes blank, fury drained away. "I never thanked you."

Parker stopped stirring and clenched her hands together, tiny sparkles in her nail polish catching the faint light. "You're welcome," she said.

"I want you to have this, Parker," he said, fighting the intensity rising within him, trying to keep it from spilling over to her, not wanting to frighten her away. "I want you to feel this freedom, the gift as it is meant to be felt." He drifted off, unable to find the words to express himself, his soaring emotions easing. "It's amazing. And you would be so good at it. Better than me."

"Good at what?"

He threw up his arms. "Everything. Helping the others. Showing them it isn't scary. Pulling them through the pain. Explaining it. I have no idea how I'm able to do the things I do." He dropped his face back into his hands. "I suck."

Parker laughed, making a face. "Stop that," she said.

"What?"

"I'm mad at you," she said. "For leaving me behind," she added in a whisper. "Don't you dare make me like you again."

Fresco held his breath. Parker sighed deeply, as though releasing something she had held onto for too long. When she stilled, she reached out and took one of his hands away from his face, holding it in hers. He felt the connection between them open as she let him in, only a glimpse, but enough for him to see they felt the same way about each other.

Fresco's heart soared.

Parker released his hand and smiled a crooked, beautiful smile, golden eyes open and glowing. "Fine," she said. "I'll like you again. But on one condition."

"Name it," he said.

"Help me get free." The desperation in her face deepened as she leaned closer. "Help me, Fres. I need... I need to have what you have. I'm so afraid..."

"Why?" He reached for her, feeling her terror, wanting to take it away. She pulled loose.

"I'm overdue," she whispered. "For a lull."

Fresco sat up, stunned. It all made sense. Her anger, her frustration with him.

"Trust me," he said. Parker's golden eyes filled to the brim, but she did not cry.

"I am," she said. "For the first time since this happened to me, I'm trusting completely." She laughed, a bitter sound. "I used to trust so easily."

Fresco nodded, feeling a little glum himself, remembering how easy his life was, how all his trivial problems were so pathetic compared to what he lived now.

She went on. "When the attack came, I was sure my parents would help me. My dad and I were so close, Fres. Best buddies." Her throat worked as she struggled with sadness. "He was the one who threw me to the wolves. Looked at me like I was garbage."

Fresco remembered his own experience, but remained silent.

"I have a baby sister," Parker said. "I'm afraid for her, that this will happen to her. But they took her away and I haven't been able to find her." Parker swiped at her face with her sleeve. Only then did Fresco notice the tracks running down her mocha cheeks. "What if I find her someday?" She gazed into his eyes, begging him for an answer he didn't have. "What if I come across Becca full of Wasteland and I can't save her?" Parker choked on a sob and stilled. "I couldn't handle it," she said. "That's why I didn't want you to go looking for Daniel. What will it do to _you_ , Fres? When you find him and bring him here and it turns out it's too late and you can't help him?"

"I'll deal with it," he said.

Parker shook her head. "I couldn't," she said. "I could barely deal with being Wasted."

"You're the strongest person I've ever met," he argued.

She shot him a smile as she wiped more tears. "Funny," she said, "I was thinking the same thing about you. I was weak," she told him, body sagging as she gave in, something he was sure she never did. "It didn't take long for the blue joy to take me over. Fres, I did things, terrible things..." She drifted off as he reached out and took her hand. A flash of images passed between them as she allowed him to see what she couldn't say.

Parker hunched over the dregs of a vial as the laughing sugarpop did up his zipper

bruised, battered, wanting to die, wanting the blue joy more, enough to shut out the smell of a strange man's breath, the pain he caused when he forced her to her knees over a dented garbage can

beating a crying child almost to death, caught in an all-consuming rage, when the girl she recruited wouldn't trick for money

shaking, raw emotions stilled as she stood over the dead body of her pimp with a smoking gun in her hand

Fresco absorbed it, let it all in, and did his best not to judge. He knew, intimately understood, how completely Wasteland took her over and none of what she did was her fault. As he held the connection between them, offering understanding where she expected disgust and rejection, Parker's eyes widened and refilled with crystal tears.

He never saw her so beautiful and, because of their connection, she saw it too. And felt through her gift, her power of telepathy and empathic touch, how he felt about her more clearly than if he spoke the words.

With solid conviction and his power for support, he gripped her hand and told her the truth.

"We all did," he said.

Parker choked a soft sob. She shuddered, pulling back from her memories, but not from him. "I guess," she whispered. Cleared her throat. "Still."

Fresco let her recover. She wiped at her nose with her sleeve. "I wanted it to be over. I don't know if I was lucky or not Garris found me that night. Part of me wonders if it would have been better if he had just let me go."

Fresco was about to protest when she held up one hand. "Think what you want, but sometimes I doubt. I'm allowed." She smiled at him, a real smile.

Fresco nodded and held his tongue. He knew what she meant, felt the same thing, thought the same thing when he woke in the house after she rescued him from himself. Who was he to deny her?

Parker went on.

"He found me on the edge of a bridge with my veins full of Wasteland and my heart shattered. I wanted to die. I knew what I did, knew I had... I took a life, no matter how despicable that life was. I sold my body and my soul for the blue joy. Garris talked me down and cleaned me up. I felt better. I had hope. Was almost able to forget what I had been. What I had done." She hugged herself a little with her free arm, still clinging to his hand with the other. "I even started helping him with other kids, you know? Moving forward, catching his fire to rescue us. Then the lull hit and I was ecstatic."

She went back to toying with her mug and spoon. "Garris tried to warn me, but I was so sure I was okay. The hunger hit me, so bad, worse than ever, and I was back on the street. He came for me again," she told him, "refused to let me go. Dragged me back here, cleaned me up, got me straight. I was more determined than ever. What I didn't know was I'm rare. He told me later, much later, only one kid in ten survives a lull. I was lucky. I worked harder, helped more kids..." There was so much sadness in her voice he knew what came next.

"The lull came again," he said.

She nodded, swallowing over and over as new tears threatened. "The lull came again. And again he rescued me. Brought me back. My spirit was almost broken that time, Fres. I didn't want to go on anymore. But he convinced me I was special, they needed me. That I survived and survived again was important. So I stayed and helped and feared. And now, here I am, a year after being Wasted for the first time, waiting for the lull to take me." She shuddered, lower lip trembling. "I can't do it again," she admitted so quietly he leaned closer to hear her. "I can't, Fres. If the lull takes me again... I'm done. I know it."

Fresco caught her other hand, pushing away the mug and spoon, joining her fingers together between his. Parker looked up at him, soul exposed and raw through her golden eyes. He reached out to her. This time he felt no resistance. He wrapped her in his essence and held her there.

"I won't let you go," he said. "Not ever. We're going to kick this thing's ass, Parker, and you'll never have to go through it again."

"Promise?" She asked that question in a sweet little girl voice as she smiled at him through tears.

"Promise," he said.

Fresco held her hands as Parker broke down and cried.

***

# Chapter Twenty-Four

Despite Parker's desire to be free, Fresco found her evasive. He knew right away she wasn't in the house when he woke the next morning and a trip to the kitchen confirmed she was gone.

"She went hunting," Kimberley said around a mouth full of oatmeal and milk. "With Chad. Said she'd be back really late."

Garris was impatient and didn't want to wait, so they chose someone else to run the first test.

Garris posted a schedule on his door after breakfast. Fresco found himself peering over smaller heads hovering and whispering around the list of kids and their appointment times in the treatment room downstairs. He heard a few groans and the odd soft sob, but for the most part the energy in the house remained positive.

He wanted to support Joey, the first on the list, but Garris disagreed.

"Let's see how they do on their own first," the tall man said. "I don't want to wear you out. If they can manage, they manage."

So, Fresco was forced to watch as Garris and Martin strapped the frail boy to the table. Joey gave Fresco a trembling smile and a thumbs-up. He did his best to copy it. Garris and Martin retreated, joining Fresco at the far corner of the room.

"Okay, Joey," Garris said. "We're going to start slow. You've already had an outbreak and we're hoping you've burned off a fair amount of the drug already. Don't push too hard, but see what you can handle. Got it?"

He tried to nod, but the leather strap over his forehead prevented it. Instead, he gave another thumbs-up.

"Got it," Joey said.

Fresco tensed himself, prepared to help on a moment's notice. For a handful of heartbeats, there was nothing. Fresco felt Joey release himself, his powerful telepathic ability beating against the shield Fresco built around him to protect the rest of the house. It staggered him for a moment, but he held on, knowing he was the only defense between Joey and the other kids.

The boy cried out and started to twist and writhe on the table. Fresco's blocks bucked in protest, but stayed firm. But it was hell to watch. Joey screamed with abandon, barely stopping to breathe. His whole body convulsed over and over as waves of power and fire and pain shuddered out of him. Fresco winced in sympathy. He knew exactly how the boy felt. Exactly. He wanted to turn away, but made himself witness it, the only way to support the boy without interfering. Fresco moved to help, but Garris held him back. The man was right. Joey needed to go through it, to do what he himself had done, but the sight and feeling of the boy in so much agony broke Fresco's heart.

At last, Joey shut down, but not because he was successful. It was obvious he simply had no strength left. Joey collapsed on the bed, groaning, semiconscious. The three watchers rushed forward, Fresco getting to him first. The boy looked up at his hero with eyes streaming tears of pain. He managed that same twisted smile Fresco remembered from the cell where they met.

"Did I do okay?" Joey barely managed a whisper, voice hoarse.

"You did great, kiddo," Fresco said, patting his shoulder. Joey whimpered in pain.

Fresco stayed at his side as Martin and Garris freed him from his restraints.

"How are you feeling?" Garris tossed the leather straps aside.

"I'm okay," Joey lied. "Can do it again right now if I have to."

Garris chuckled and shook his head. "That's lots for now," he said, audibly choked up. "You're a trooper. Time for rest." Martin pulled up a creaky old wheelchair someone scrounged. Mindful of the boy's pain, they eased him into the seat, drawing gasps of agony from him. Joey held himself stiff in the seat while Martin wheeled him away. Fresco and Garris watched him go.

"This is going to be hard," Garris said. "But if it works..." He smiled at Fresco, his hope still strong. "If it works, it will be worth it. How about the room? Can we use it again?"

Fresco felt around himself. The memory of Joey's pain was there, but faint. The controlled experiment and the walls Fresco built left less residue than the spontaneous outburst the day before.

"All good," he said. "Let's keep going."

Garris clapped him on the shoulder. "Thank you, Fresco. For the first time in ten years I feel like we can actually beat this thing once and for all."

Fresco ducked his head to avoid the steady glow of gratitude in Garris's eyes. Together, they went in search of the next kid on the list.

Fresco thought enduring his own addiction was hard. But watching an endless stream of kids suffer was way worse, he decided. Knowing their pain, feeling it, being connected to them but unable to help was agony. By the end of the first day, he developed a terrible migraine, sending him to bed before the sun went down. Garris appeared with Medley at his side to give him an injection of painkiller to ease his suffering. Fresco wanted to turn down the dose, but Medley offered him little choice as she pinned his arm and jabbed in the needle before he spoke.

"You need to let go of them," she said. "Too much sympathy will kill you, boy."

Fresco wanted to answer, to deny she was right, but the drug she gave him smoothed out the edges of his world and dropped him into darkness.

When he woke, his headache was gone, but his pain was still fresh.

"There has to be a better way," he whispered into the dark. And, while his mind grappled with questions and answers, he fell back to sleep.

The next morning he went looking for Parker. He spotted her in the kitchen, but she managed to evade him and disappear out the front door before he could talk to her. They shared so much, he worried she now closed herself off to him out of fear and embarrassment. He let her go and went back to work.

That day was much the same as the first, although Fresco did his best to keep himself detached from the pain of the kids being tested. They made little progress, although Garris and Medley were both optimistic.

By the time the last kid was wheeled out of the room, Fresco acquired another headache, but this time was able to ease it himself before Medley jabbed him with a syringe.

"Better," she muttered at him with a grin.

On impulse, Fresco leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

Her wrinkled hand flew to her face. She flushed before smiling at him.

"Good boy," she said.

Garris laughed.

"Did we do any good?" Fresco asked them out of need to know they were doing the right thing.

"Yes, I think so," Garris said. "If nothing else, these kids have hope again, Fres. That's enough for now, don't you think?"

Fresco wasn't so sure. "There has to be another way," he repeated what he had been thinking since the night before. "This seems..."

"Too hard?" Medley said, one eyebrow shooting up into her silver hairline, wrinkles deepening to cracks. "Too easy?"

"Like the long way around?" He said, not sure why he said it. "I'm wondering if we're missing something, that's all." A frustrated part of him knew he was right, but he had no idea what it was.

"Follow it," Medley said. "Hunt it down, boy. You'll find it. It's in you." She poked him in the chest with one of her gnarled fingers. "In the meantime, I may have something we can use."

Fresco felt Garris tense without even trying as the man's mind jumped

a slender girl shuddered, screaming silently, blue tears and snot running down her face as she struggled to breathe

a teenaged boy clawed out his own eyes, his blood splattering outward in a mist of red

a tiny girl stabbed herself in the stomach over and over again with a shard of glass while her hands shredded to ribbons and she spewed her own blood

a round-faced boy pounded his head against a cinder block wall, too strong for the hands holding him to keep him from killing himself

Fresco jerked himself free of Garris's memories. He drew a shuddering breath, sweat standing out on his forehead and upper lip as the horror of what they did to those kids reached him loud and clear. He dabbed at his mouth with his sleeve.

"So this isn't going to end well, is it?" Fresco's voice cracked around the bile rising up to choke him.

Garris shuffled his feet, hands deep in his pockets. "We've experimented with a lot of things over the years," he said, quiet and sad, but unapologetic. "Not all of them did what we expected."

Fresco felt another surge of memories attack him from the man's mind and, in desperation, shouted _NO!_ inside his own head. A wall slammed itself between Fresco and Garris and he was safe. He trembled from the effort, but was grateful for the new skill. Self-preservation could be a wonderful teacher.

" _None_ of them did, you mean," Medley said with a snort. "If they had, the kids would be clean and I'd be out of a job. But... this one, maybe? We never know until we test them."

Fresco felt grateful for whatever reason Medley's mind was closed to him. Neither of the two seemed to notice his distress, probably because they were reliving their own.

Garris nodded, staring at the floor. He finally looked up, resigned. "You're right," he said. "Tell me."

Fresco wanted to stop her. Surely they weren't going to try something else? But Medley bobbed her head in return, shuffling to her bag and rooting around. She pulled out a syringe filled with clear liquid.

"Isolated it from the blue enemy," she said. "Tested it on a sample, looked good. Best I can say is, either it will clear them up, or..."

"Or?" Fresco finally pulled himself together enough to challenge the chemist. There was no way he was letting her test that on the kids. No way.

Medley shrugged her thin shoulders. "Or kill them."

"What?" She wasn't joking. Fresco saw it from Garris, but the fact she admitted it horrified him.

"It happens," Garris said. "Not always." Fresco wasn't willing to see what those 'not always' memories looked like. Garris went on, oblivious. "But the kids know it's risky. They volunteer, Fres. I know," Garris held up one hand. "Not much of an excuse. But we have no way of knowing otherwise. The problem is when we test this stuff against blood samples, they seem to work fine. But when they are introduced to real kids... for some reason, they react differently."

"More often than not, nothing happens," Medley said. "Sometimes, they get sick. But we've lost three since this all started and have no idea why. Two ran off as soon as they were dosed. But the last one, we kept him."

"The autopsy you managed to do," Fresco said. "What about the kids on the street? The ones who die? What happens to them?"

There was no way to stop it this time. The memory was just too focused. Garris's mind went to the image of a small and fragile boy, his body pale in death, cut open on a slab in what looked like the kitchen. Fresco forced the wall up again, but too late. It was burned in his mind and would stay there forever.

"Garbagemen," Garris said. "They know, somehow. Beat us to them. By the time we find out one of the kids is gone, the Garbagemen scoop up the bodies and carry them off."

"So we _are_ connected to them somehow? They know when we die." Fear returned for his own safety, for that of the kids in Last Stand. "If they can sense that, they must know about me."

But Medley was shaking her head. "No, I don't think so," she said. "When you first break out, your keepers have to call them to come, remember? It's only when you die they know, somehow. And who knows, maybe there is nothing gift oriented or mystical about it. Maybe it's as simple as the sugarpops letting them know. Whatever the reason, I'm sure they would have come for you as quickly if they knew you were clean. Your little trick, kicking it, evaded them. Another riddle." Medley bounced the full syringe in her hand. "More riddles than answers."

"Do they know about this place?" Fresco could only believe they had to. The Garbagemen had grown to supernatural boogeybeasts in his mind and, considering they were also Wasted, his estimation was likely right. "About Last Stand? You two?"

Garris and Medley exchanged a look. "We don't know," he said. "But if they do, they don't seem to care."

"The kid that died here. Did they come for him?" Fresco struggled with an idea, but it wasn't clear and he only had access to the edges of it.

"No," Medley said. "But I did take the child to the morgue after. And my friend there said the body was claimed by someone he was sure wasn't the boy's father."

"They must know you are trying to help us," Fresco said. "So why aren't they worried?"

"We have no idea," Garris said. "Unless there isn't a hope in hell after all and they don't _have_ to worry." None of them wanted to believe it, but Fresco knew it haunted Garris most of all.

"Are you going to test that?" Fresco pointed at the syringe in Medley's hand. He wanted to rip it free from her and destroy it. Her fingers closed around it. But it was Garris who answered.

"Yes," he said, "Of course. Any chance. And maybe if we try it on one of the kids we've been pushing, someone who has less of Wasteland left in their system..." His hope was returning. "What do you think?" He turned to Medley.

"Maybe," she said. "Only one way to know for sure."

Fresco saw a flash, his brother in a dirty alley, impossible blue eyes weeping tears of Wasteland, tremors taking his whole body as Daniel tried to communicate with his brother.

"Daniel," Fresco whispered. He shut it down immediately. The treatments meant death or a return to Wasteland. _He's already there_ , Fresco's mind whispered to him. _How could it hurt? Either it will work or just return him to his addiction._

_Or kill him,_ Fresco argued with himself.

_Don't you think after all he's been through Daniel is probably better off dead?_ Hard to argue with his own mind when he admitted if he had the chance to free his brother from his suffering, he would do anything.

"Fresco," Garris said, his excitement at the idea obvious, "your brother is deeper into the addiction than anyone I've ever met. You're absolutely right. He's perfect."

Fresco shook his head. "I can't. What if..." Fresco couldn't say it. He didn't need to. But Garris didn't give him a chance anyway.

"Think about it," he said. "Daniel has to be near death by now. Two years, Fresco. How much longer can he possibly last? If we can get answers by testing it on him, it will be worth it. This might save him." Garris's hands gripped Fresco's arms. "I know that's what you want. Just like I want... wish I was able to save Gina."

Medley didn't try to sugarcoat it like Garris. "We'll only be risking someone who is lost anyway."

They were right. He hated to admit it. Fresco wanted to argue with them, to turn on Medley and make her take it back, but he couldn't. And the thought of having his brother back whatever the risk made his soul sing. The chance to save Daniel...!

"The chance to test him... not just test him, but sample his blood..." Medley focused her intensity on Garris. "We need to find that boy."

Garris nodded and looked at Fresco. He glanced back and forth between them, wanting to object, but unable to come up with a viable reason not to, knowing it was selfish and horrible. And yet, his own excitement rose by the moment. Daniel was tough. He would survive the treatment. Fresco convinced himself of it in that moment. He had to believe it. He nodded once.

"Find your brother, Fresco," Garris said. "Find Daniel and bring him back here."

***

# Chapter Twenty-Five

Fresco didn't make it far. He was halfway up the stairs when he ran right into Parker. The look on his face must have told her something because the shock of crashing into him faded to concern.

"What happened?"

Fresco fought with the push and pull of his emotions, but she caught more than he wanted her to.

"Medley," Fresco said. "She has a new treatment to try."

Parker made an unhappy face. "Who volunteered?"

"I'm going to get Daniel," he said.

Her reaction flashed immediate fury. Her golden eyes flared fire as she balled her hands into fists and glared at him.

"How dare you?" It came out of her like the snarl of a cornered animal.

Fresco was taken aback. He expected resistance, but her pure rage overwhelmed him.

"Parker..." He reached out for her. She swayed away, almost backing into Chad who came to a stop behind her.

"He's your brother," she said. "Your _brother_ , Fresco."

"I'm trying to save him," he said, struggling to keep his voice low and calm, wanting her to believe it. But her challenge made his doubt rise again, his fear. And her. Her anger was contagious.

She barked a laugh. "You can't. Period. All you're doing is putting us all at risk."

"How's that?" Fresco felt Garris and Medley come up behind him.

"What if they know about you?" Parker's anger attacked him in full force. She glared over his shoulder, addressing the two adults observing their conversation. "What if they are using Daniel as bait? Did you ever think of that?" She returned her attention to Fresco. "If they catch you, we're all screwed."

"They would have taken him by now if they knew," Garris said.

"Not if they have something else in mind," she snapped back. "We have no idea who they are, if they are watching us. You're a fool if you think they don't know about this place." She waved her arms to encompass Last Stand.

"So why are we still here?" Fresco couldn't help challenging her.

"Who knows?" She vibrated with emotion. "Who cares? None of you seem to."

"Of course we do," Garris said, voice soft and low. "All I care about is you kids, Parker. But I don't know what else to do. We can't keep going on this way." His shoulders sagged. "I'm tired of fighting a losing battle. Fresco has shown us there _is_ a way. And I for one am willing to do whatever it takes to end this."

His words made her angrier. "You have no idea," she said. "You aren't one of us. You lost your daughter, boo hoo. I've lost my whole _life_! And now you tell me you're willing to risk the life I've fought so hard to keep on a chance some deadhead Waster might survive one of your damned _tests_?" Flecks of saliva flew from her raging mouth. "You're right when you say we're losing the battle. And this _freak_ ," she gestured at Fresco, "who may be the very thing these bastards have been trying to breed waltzes in and you're willing to risk all of us for him?"

"What else would you have us do, girl?" Medley's flat tone sounded harsher than Parker's raging.

The beautiful girl's fury settled as it started to burn itself out. Fresco tried to reach her mind, horrified by her reaction and wondering what changed. But he was clumsy still, his power fresh, and she held him off and shot him a look of pure venom when she realized what he was doing.

"There has to be somewhere we can go," she said. "Somewhere safe. Where they won't find us."

Fresco wasn't happy Chad nodded behind her. A small group of kids gathered at the top of the stairs, drawn by her shouting. Some of them nodded, too.

Garris shrugged. "Where, Parker? What city? What country? Shall we find a cave, the top of a mountain maybe? How about the North Pole, would that do it for you? Or the Moon?" Fresco never saw the older man angry, but his pent up frustration rose with the run of his words. It shook in his voice. Medley set her hand on his arm, but Garris shrugged her off, pushing his glasses back on his face more firmly than normal. "There is nowhere to hide. They will find you no matter where you go. And if the hunger takes you and you can't get the blue enemy, what will you do to keep from running back to it? Have us tie you up? Maybe a prison? And what about all the others, Parker?" Garris mounted the first step, drawing toward her. The crowd of kids stilled, holding their breath. Chad backed off as the two challenged each other. "Will you have me abandon them, the ones we haven't found, the ones yet to be triggered? And if we do leave, what happens when the Garbagemen succeed in their goals? How do we stand against them? Tell me, Parker." He reached for her, big hands gripping her shoulders, shaking her a little. "Tell me what to do. Because I'm out of ideas."

The total silence in the stairwell lasted a heartbeat.

Two.

Three.

Fresco felt time slow down, stretch out as the pair faced off, golden rage versus pale blue frustration. Without warning, Parker crumpled, body and soul, into Garris's arms.

And time exhaled.

The collection of kids dispersed while Parker sobbed on Garris's chest. Chad shrugged at Fresco before retreating upstairs into the house. Medley wound her way past the pair and disappeared as well, leaving Fresco to wait while Parker regained her composure.

Garris pulled her back as her sobs choked off. He looked down at her with resigned sorrow.

"The lull," he whispered.

"The lull," she said. She glared at Garris, rage turned to terror. "I can't!" She wailed those two words, hurt and small. "Please, I can't..."

"We have to hurry," Garris said.

"I'll find him," Fresco said, this time full of conviction. If not for Daniel, for her. He brushed his fingers over Parker's cheek. "I promised. I intend to keep my promise."

Fresco ran the stairs two at a time without waiting for a reply.

***

# Chapter Twenty-Six

Despite his best intentions, Fresco's search left him empty handed once again. As he prowled the city all afternoon and well into the night, he felt something growing within him. It took him a while to recognize what it was, but when he did, it filled him with resolve. He understood the power of his rebellion against what was done to him, to all of them. As he tried to find his brother, Fresco instead rediscovered his own will.

When he dragged himself back to Last Stand early the next morning, his emotions were on fire with frustration, anger and desperation. But this time, instead of despair knocking him into bed, Fresco was more filled with determination than ever.

He found an empty seat in the kitchen to devour his breakfast. The food sat tasteless and dry in his mouth. He wanted to pound the table with both fists, roar out his fury at the injustice done to them all, find the Garbagemen and teach them a lesson they would never forget. He blocked out the kids around him as their fear and hope made it harder for him, driving deeper his desire for revenge.

He hunched over his plate, resolutely pounding back the fuel he needed to keep going, creating a bubble of isolation around himself the kids honored.

All but one. Fresco knew as soon as he felt someone slide onto the bench beside him who was brave enough to risk his mood. A small hand, nails multicolored, slid over his plate and stole a chunk of pancake. Apple solemnly munched, huge eyes focused on him as she licked maple syrup from her little fingers. They stared at each other for a long time. She continued to help herself to his food, eyes never leaving his. At first, he resisted her and the calm she radiated, the absolute love and acceptance. He didn't want to let go of what he was feeling. His rage drove him, his newfound sense of self and his gift as his fuel. But Apple's soft, gentle soul would not be ignored. And so, a bit at a time and with love, her little heart quieted his until Fresco came back to himself.

"Love you," she whispered before planting a sticky kiss on his cheek.

"Love you, too," he answered. Her smile was so worth it. She giggled and stole one last morsel from his plate before leaving him be.

Fresco felt his whole being relax. He pushed his plate away, weariness flooding back as his emotions leveled and steadied. He saw how close he came to letting his feelings take him over and push him into something stupid. The taste of what he almost became left a bad feeling behind, reminding him of Justin. He sent out a silent thank you to the little girl who somehow knew his need and saved his soul.

Still resolved, but back to rational, Fresco went to bed.

He allowed himself a few hours of rest before dragging himself to the shower. He ran over in his mind the places he needed to visit, the ones maybe he should try again while the hot water woke him and revived his confidence. By the time he dressed, he was ready to do whatever it took to find his brother.

He just hit the main floor on his way to the front door when he heard voices coming from Garris's office and felt rising emotions on the other side of the partially open door. Fresco eased himself into position to listen.

"We have to give him more time," Garris was saying.

"I'm ready and willing now," Parker's voice was insistent. "And I'm in the best position for this, Garris. You know it. Medley knows it. I'm in a lull. I'll get the hunger any second," her voice caught, but she went on. "If you're going to do the test, now is the perfect time."

Fresco almost interrupted when he heard Medley's answer. "She may be right," the old chemist said. "We've never tested a child in lull before, Garris. Never thought it would matter. But maybe it will."

"What if that was what saved Fresco?" Parker was on a roll now. "I'm sure he was in a lull before he saved Joey. What if that is the closest we get to being free?" She fell silent, giving the two adults time to consider her point. Fresco held his breath.

"And if it isn't?" Garris's voice was soft when he spoke. "Parker, we just don't know. And I'm not willing to risk you on this. I'm sorry."

"But you're willing to risk Fresco's brother? How is that different? If you don't trust the treatment, why are we considering giving it to anyone?" Parker sounded increasingly agitated, her anger rising again.

"We have no other options," Medley said. "We continue to do these tests or we give up. Pick one."

"I am," Parker said. "I pick being tested." Fresco heard the soft pad of her sneakers on the worn carpet as she moved through the room. "Please." She choked, her fear winning over her anger. "Please. I can't go through this again. Let me try."

Fresco heard enough. He entered the room. Parker stood in front of Garris, her hands gripping the front of his shirt. They both seemed startled. Only Medley appeared unsurprised by Fresco's interruption.

"I'm on my way out," Fresco said. "I'll be back with Daniel." He met and held Parker's eyes. "You need to trust me."

She broke his gaze, but not before he saw her guilt rise.

"We'll wait," Garris said. Parker started to protest, but he held up his hands. "We'll wait," he said again, "one more day." He looked up at Fresco. "If you don't have Daniel here by tomorrow morning, we'll have to choose someone else." He looked down at Parker. Her eyes shone, but she bent her head in acceptance. "You have one more day."

"I'll bring him back," Fresco said. "Just make sure you're ready with that concoction of yours when I do."

***

It took several hours for the desperation to return. As each lead fell flat, his search revealing nothing, Fresco found himself fighting to reclaim the calm Apple helped him reach. It was getting harder and harder to keep the despair from taking over again. Fresco forced the image of Parker from his mind, struggling between his desire to help Daniel and his drive to keep her safe.

He paused not long before dawn, exhausted and near the end of his emotional endurance, crouching beside a dumpster in the alley where he last saw his brother. He returned to that place, hoping somehow to find Daniel there, only to be met yet again with disappointment. Feeling his lowest since the horrible night under the bridge, Fresco fought to get himself under control. He didn't want to admit he failed. He refused to give up on Daniel and the hope it meant for Parker, but was at a loss. He pulled himself to his feet, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands as he at last gave in to the truth.

In desperation, knowing it was wrong and dangerous and quite possibly the stupidest thing he could do under the circumstances, Fresco reached for his power. He told himself it would be his last resort. He would risk exposing himself if it was the only way, if there was no other hope. He was in that hopeless place, not caring what happened to him or to any of the others. Thinking selfishly of his own need and that of his brother, Fresco opened himself and reached out with his gift.

It soared out joyfully, seeking, the psychic part of him a soft shadow of his soul. It was easy, so easy, to use his telepathy to touch minds both Wasted and normal, brushing over the thoughts and feelings of the sleeping city. He caught stray images, moments of lives, and memories long forgotten. The minds of the people around him lay unguarded for the most part, unprepared for the subtle kiss of Fresco's abilities. It was like he watched a million television screens at once, but focused on one to see what came on. Some of it he paused to observe, mostly from the minds of children, shining happy places welcoming him in, delighted he had come. Others he flinched from after a moment or two, either because they proved far too personal or heavy and dark. He had enough darkness of his own.

It was amazing and fascinating and he became lost in the experience, forgetting what he was doing in his search for Daniel. He didn't know how long he let it go, free to fly, to search. It was an incredible thing, to have it soar, unshackled by fear. A part of him wanted it to keep going, to leave his body behind, to exist that way forever.

But, Fresco was worn out both physically and mentally, and soon he realized needed to retreat. He recalled his energy back to him with regret, remembering the journey had a purpose.

In the last moment his power soared free, he felt it touch on something he didn't recognize, something foreign and overwhelming and, fearful he'd revealed himself, he flinched away from it and fled.

Fresco came back to his body collapsed on the dirty concrete, his shoulders pressed to the wall of the alley. His whole being shook with exhaustion and a little fear. But, more so, he felt overcome with loss and the knowledge nothing and everything was changed.

There was no sign or hint of his brother, no memory or glimmer. Daniel was lost to him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Fresco fought down the tightening in his throat as he made the admission to himself. The lie that what he was doing was for the good of the other kids shattered like cheap glass. He told himself in the silence of his soul at last his need for Daniel was purely selfish. He lay there in the dark and dirty alley, trembling with the sorrow. His heart mourned Daniel, constricting around the knowledge his brother was on his own and Fresco needed to let him go. His soul squeezed inside him, his love for his brother crushing him, like pressure in his chest. Fresco gasped for breath against the strength of his grief.

It eased as quickly as it came. The pressure pulsed and let go, leaving Fresco panting, but whole. He wiped his face with his sleeve and nodded to himself, gazing up into the soft glow of the just risen sun.

"Goodbye, Daniel," Fresco whispered. He allowed one more surge of gentle regret before pulling himself to his feet, brushing himself off and heading home.

***

Unseen, unknown, Daniel's glowing blue eyes watched him go.

***

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

Fresco collapsed onto his bed, fully clothed, and fell into a deep sleep. Instantly, he began to dream, of flying over the rough streets, watching the whole place coming awake with morning, he himself untouched by them, disconnected. He wondered if he was back on the street, still in the dirty alley, his power reaching, searching for Daniel yet. Those thoughts left him as he was drawn deeper into the dream.

He soared higher, exploring his freedom. He flew through the clouds, the cool, soft pressure of them like the brush of angel's wings over his face and hands. Fresco reached the height of mountains, skimming across their snow topped peaks. He dove back down toward the earth, encountering other fliers in the early morning, reaching out to touch the feather tip of an eagle as it hunted. Flashing further and further from home, Fresco shared the icy breath of a winter storm, buffeted and tossed through the raging, snow filled gale. And through it all, he laughed and shouted in joy of the freedom of it. He floated above the world, unrestrained and unshackled by his physical body.

Fresco never felt so happy in his entire life.

Through a bank of rolling clouds, brushing him with soft, fragrant moisture, he saw it. Up ahead, glittering like a precious gem, nestled in a green, green valley, cloudless sky the color of the blue joy.

Fresco flew to the Diamond City, his heart now soaring with his soul.

The City seemed smaller from above, more fragile looking, delicate and charming. It sparkled and glistened in the sunlight, always the sunlight. Fresco swooped and dove around the spire of the castle, seeing within the clear walls of the City, view distorted by the multifacets of the crystalline structures. His body reflected back, a glowing, shining star bouncing off the edges and planes of the City. He cried out in delight as, for the first time in his life, Fresco came to that magical place of his own free will.

As he landed lightly on a familiar street, Fresco was shocked to see people moving around. He approached a girl a little younger than himself and held out his hand to her. She kept going, as though she hadn't seen him. Fresco turned to speak to another, a boy about Joey's age, stunned when instead the kid continued on his way, walking right through Fresco as he did.

He understood. They were like he used to be. Pre-Wasteland kids, exploring the Diamond City, unable to see anyone else in their dreaming journeys, probably wondering, as he wondered, what it all meant.

Fresco processed his new knowledge before nodding to himself. The calm and joy of the City was the same. But his situation had changed. As far as he knew, he was the first one to return, and he meant to make the most of it.

Fresco went looking for others like him. He remembered the man with the glasses and the beautiful men and women who were with him. He approached the castle, knowing his answers lay inside. But the gates he remembered as always being open stood closed to him. Fresco approached them, so different from the rest of the City, dark and opaque, made of some stone, not sparkling gem. He reached out and touched them, feeling the cold beneath his fingers, and a pulse of some force. He pushed against them, searched for a way inside, but found nothing.

He took to the air once again, circling over the castle, enjoying the freedom of flight. Fresco went looking for a way in. His circuits became lower and tighter as he descended down the spire of the castle. As he neared the center of the tower, he spotted an opening, a window. Delighted and curious, he settled on the ledge and looked inside.

Daniel stood there, staring back at him. He was smiling.

Fresco's heart leaped as he reached for his brother. But there was something odd, strange, not right. Daniel didn't move toward him, rooted in one spot, and his eyes were blue, so blue...

Daniel reached out and grasped Fresco's hand, pulling him into the castle.

***

He woke with a start, heart pounding, drenched in a cold sweat. Fresco sat up abruptly, startled to see Parker sitting next to him. He reached for her, wanting to touch something, someone real. She reached back, embracing him as he rested against her.

"Nightmare?" Fresco shook his head and pushed back, shoving his shaking hands through his hair.

"The City," he said. "I was in the Diamond City and Daniel was there, in the castle and he..." Fresco trailed off, shuddering away the remains of his dream. "I made it back, Parker!"

Her eyes shone luminous in the faint light from the street reflecting through his window. She smiled at him, the glow of the sun coming up, and he instantly felt better.

"How was it?" Her voice lilted soft, wistful. But she smiled still, so he told her.

She listened, patient and calm, her eyes locked on his as he shared everything. He was unable to keep the excitement from rising in his voice, the joy of the telling of his flight and his discovery. When he finished, she turned her face toward the window. Tears sparkled as they tracked down her smooth cheeks. But when she looked back at him again, her smile remained, so gentle and caring, he couldn't resist reaching up and wiping her tears away with his fingertips.

She caught his hand and held it. "Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded, not knowing what else to say. She drew a breath in the quiet, held it, let it out.

"I should go," she said.

"Please stay," Fresco said. "We should talk."

She shrugged. "About what?" Her smile turned brittle, eyes bright with regret. "You have what we all want, Fresco. The tests you're running with Garris aren't working. And Medley's remedy... could mean death."

Fresco held her hand tighter. "We need to try," he said, feeling a sudden urgency. "With you, now. Push your power. Maybe you were right."

She shook her head, but he went on before she denied it out loud. "Listen to me," he said, his intensity getting her attention after all. "You're in a lull. As far along as any of them. At your lowest point with Wasteland. That's why the hunger comes back so strong, right?" She watched him with growing hope, but remained silent as he forged on. "If we can get you to push past your pain while you are in a lull... Parker, maybe that's how I did it." He laughed. "I'm not different, or special. I just hit on the right combination. It can work."

"What other choices do I have?" Her golden eyes shone. "Let's try."

The pair of them snuck down the staircase to the main level, not wanting to share their moment, both knowing somehow it was something only they could be part of. The made it to the basement stairs and down to the treatment room in silence, holding hands so tightly Fresco felt Parker had become a part of him.

She lay still as he strapped her to the table, trusting and pliant, looking up at him with her golden eyes, same smile touching her lips. As he tightened the last strap, he couldn't resist her vulnerability any longer.

Fresco bent and kissed those lips, that smile. Parker kissed him back.

Her eyes brimmed again when he pulled away, a tear sneaking down her temple into her shining black hair.

"I want to believe," she whispered.

"I know," he whispered back. "I'm right here with you, Parker. I promise I won't leave you."

She nodded and swallowed hard, throat working as she fought to control her emotions.

"I'm ready," she said.

Fresco opened himself to her.

Her pain was instant and shocking and staggered Fresco so badly he gripped the edge of the table to keep from falling to his knees. Parker cried out in agony, reaching for him, her soul naked and raw as the blue joy seared her every nerve in its fury at her rebellion. He struggled to support her, but she opened too wide, too soon, her emotions battering him, throwing all of her need into her attempt to be free.

Unrestrained, she fought Wasteland for her very essence while Fresco was dragged along, squeezed in between both, unable to do much but buffer himself from the battle her soul waged. The shining thing that was Parker fought back against the great glowing blue monster, his own light being drawn on by both sides as they fought for control. He clawed his way back to himself as Parker's strength gave out. She collapsed, sobbing on the table. He staggered a little as he sagged over her, trembling with the effort to remain upright. His eyes settled on her wrist and the trickle of blood running down her mocha skin. It pooled on the table beneath her. She fought so hard she cut herself with the restraints.

The utter despair in her swept over him like a wave.

"Let me go," she whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. Fresco undid her bonds as gently as possible, wincing at the blood and bruises. She was in pain, but her expression never changed, even when he reached out and helped her sit up.

She pushed him away, sliding to her feet, knees buckling. She held him off with raised hands when he tried to catch her.

"Let me go," she said again. He watched her, heart breaking, as she dragged herself to the door and left him there, sick with the knowledge he made things worse.

Fresco closed the door to the treatment room on her retreating back before taking his pent up anger out where no one would hear him.

***

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

It took a long time for Fresco to fall back to sleep, and when he did, his dreams were haunted by Parker. He tossed and turned for a few hours before giving up on rest. He stayed in bed thinking, turning the events of the previous night over and over in his mind. He was sure it would work for her. And she fought so hard... Parker's trust in him was now damaged. He hoped to convince her to try again and not give up. The thought of her being taken by the blue joy and having to join Garris in his hunt for her on the street made his heart ache.

His mind, however, wasn't just focused on the girl he admitted he was falling in love with. His thoughts also drifted to the Diamond City and his vision of Daniel. Fresco had no idea if the dream had meaning. He did know he accomplished what all Wasted kids longed to. He found his way back home. Not only that, he was pretty sure he could do it again any time he wanted.

He considered testing his theory. Seeing Daniel made him wonder if his brother was finally clean, too. But something about the whole situation felt wrong, off, as though he hadn't been entirely in control of what he witnessed once he reached the window in the castle.

_I need to tell Garris and Medley_ , he thought. _But I'd like some more proof, first_.

Decided, Fresco reached out.

He had the wind knocked out of him when a bolt of power drove him back to reality. Stunned, he lay panting on his bed while his staggered mind tried to comprehend what happened. Was he being attacked? Was the City fighting him? Or was he discovered after all? He felt the bed vibrate underneath him while his window pane buzzed an angry dance in its casing. It took him another heartbeat to realize the whole house shook.

And then the screaming began.

Fresco leaped out of bed and flew out of his room, down the hall to the stairs. He passed kids crumpled to the floor, clutching their heads, weeping. He felt the pressure building and managed to block enough of it out he remained in control. But the other kids he passed, still Wasted and without the ability to protect themselves, were being assaulted by whatever was happening.

Terrified the Garbagemen had come, Fresco searched for the source of the attack. He ducked as a picture frame hurled itself from the wall, heading right for him, just missing his head to smash into the wall behind him. Fresco made it to the first floor only to dodge a flying chair that smashed to a crumpled heap against the wall on his right.

His mind reeled when he felt the surge of energy coming from the basement as the house shook to its foundations, doors and windows shuddering from the telekinetic blast.

"Parker." He groaned. And yet, she wasn't a telekinetic and he knew it. He raced for the stairs, his fear driving him to leap the last four steps to the floor and run to the treatment room door. He pulled it open just as another wave struck, lifting him from his feet for a heartbeat before sending him sprawling.

He was greeted by chaos. Kids lay scattered in heaps around the room, most of them unconscious. The mattresses Fresco installed to pad the walls were shredded and their contents scattered. Chunks of plaster from the ceiling struck the floor after careening from the walls, sending a great cloud of billowing dust across everything, making it hard to see anyone clearly. Fresco climbed to his feet and staggered to the table. It shuddered and danced, trying to float, but not quite making it. He felt a surge of relief as he saw Kimberly's face staring at nothing, her mouth open in a silent scream as power poured out of her.

Fresco reached for her, fighting against her, but felt his own gift slide over hers. He took in the IV line and the needle in her arm and made the connection. She was chosen for the experiment.

Obviously, it hadn't gone according to plan.

Fresco grabbed the girl's arm, trying to get to the needle. Her power punched him in the chest, spinning him back and away from her. He gasped for air, dragging himself toward her again, his shields just holding her off. He got a grip on the needle and pulled it free, knocking over the IV stand as he did. But her veins were still full of the meds. He had no way of knowing how long it would take for them to burn off.

"Fresco." He spotted Garris and Medley crumpled in the corner. Medley held out a syringe.

"Hurry," she said. For the first time since Fresco met her, the old chemist looked afraid. No. Terrified.

Fresco couldn't risk using his own telekinesis in the billowing wake of Kimberly's. Instead, he slid on his bare feet across the dusty floor and retrieved the needle just as another blast hit. Fresco covered his head and neck with his hands as more of the ceiling swooped and dove, smashing to bits on impact with the walls and tile. He heard Medley coughing and tried shallow breathing in the dust.

"In her vein," Medley said.

Fresco went back to Kimberly.

The girl managed to free one of her arms at great cost to her flesh and bled heavily from a deep gash in her wrist. She seemed unaware, her arm flailing around, splattering blood everywhere as she fought to be free. Fresco was forced to go around the other side, slipping on powdered sheet rock and blood, pinning the desperately battling girl to the table, at the same time trying to hold her still, the needle ready to jab her.

Garris was with him before Fresco noticed he was there. The man winced while Kimberly fought, favoring one of his hands, but used the other to pin her down.

"Now, Fres!" Garris's command came from between clenched teeth.

He drove the needle in, hoping for the best, and pushed the plunger down all the way.

Kimberly collapsed, shutting off like a light switch. Fresco almost dropped himself. He was so carefully guarding he felt like the recoil gave him mental whiplash. He shook his head to clear it and looked up into Garris's pale blue eyes. They were full of tears.

"I guess that's that, then," the tall man said before breaking down into quiet sobs.

Fresco left Garris to tend to Kimberly and went to check on the others. Six kids were present, why Fresco didn't know, but they were all fine, if battered and mentally bruised. The only casualties were Kimberly's arm and Medley, who came out of the ordeal with a sprained ankle.

She gripped Fresco's arm in an iron hand. "Just help me up."

He pulled her to her feet and supported her as she surveyed the damage.

"Damn," she whispered.

Garris hovered over Kimberly. "She needs help," he said, hands shaking over her. "I don't know how."

Fresco got Medley to Kimberly's side as the treatment door opened and a pile of kids entered, led by Parker. They were all shaken, most of them still crying. Apple made her way to Fresco as though sleepwalking, her huge eyes so dark around the edges they looked bruised. He lifted her into his arms as Medley bent over the injured girl. The rest of the kids gathered around to hear the bad news.

Kimberly alternated bucking against the restraints, her eyes open wide and wild and panting for air, clutching at Medley, chewing on her lower lip so hard it bled. Fresco wondered if she was injured worse than he thought. When it hit him, his heart constricted.

"I _need_ some," Kimberly wailed. "Please, _please_ , I need to have it. I'll do _anything_." She started sobbing, trying to pull herself up while Garris restrained her, face blank and eyes flat. "Please _oh_ please _oh_ please..." She trailed off in a choking, hoarse cry closer to the call of a wounded animal.

Fresco made himself not turn away, though many of the kids did. Whatever treatment Medley gave Kimberly, it did what Fresco's method didn't. It triggered the hunger all over again to the point it consumed her.

Garris gestured to Fresco for help. He passed Apple to Parker before going to Garris's side. Medley fished in her pocket. Shock and fury met the sight of what she pulled out.

"No!" His own voice sounded hoarse, harsh as he watched the old chemist flip the top of a tube of Wasteland and offer it to Kimberly. He tried to get to it first, but was way too late. Kimberly pounced on the drug faster than Fresco reacted and tossed it back.

Every kid in the room groaned in sympathy and desire as her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed into the blue joy.

Fresco spun on Garris, his anger a physical thing backed by his power. The man didn't even flinch as it shoved him back a step. He stood there, shoulders hunched, head bowed as Fresco's rage engulfed him.

"WHY?" Fresco roared wordlessly a moment before speaking again. "Why did you do that?" He spun on Medley who watched him with guarded eyes and a smirk that had nothing to do with humor.

"What else were we to do? She had to have it. We made her. She would have died, boy."

"How do you know?" He glared back and forth between them. "How do you know anything?" He spun on Garris again. "You didn't have to give it to her."

"Give it a rest," Medley snapped. "We've been doing this for longer than you've been alive. We know the consequences."

"Do you?" He flung the words at her like a weapon. "Do you really? Do you know Kimberly will likely escape us and go back to the street and probably die because you gave her Wasteland?"

Garris said nothing, did nothing. It made Fresco angrier.

Medley, however, refused to back down.

"You're the one who wanted us to test this," she said to him, voice calm again, rational. "You were going to have us give this to your brother. Changed our mind, have we?"

He hated her so much in that instant if Apple hadn't touched his hand to distract him Fresco was sure he would have lashed out and killed her.

Instead, he looked down into the hurt eyes of the little girl and all the anger went out of him. He reached down and lifted her into his arms again, holding her close, realizing he was dressed only in his boxers, but way past worrying about it.

Shielding Apple's face from witnessing any more of the disaster, Fresco carried her from the room.

***

# Chapter Twenty-Nine

The rest of the day felt like living in a tomb. The whole house stood dark and quiet as each of the kids struggled with the despair of losing their hope yet again. Fresco put Apple to bed, sitting with her until she fell asleep, keeping his mind tuned to her to make sure she was all right. Then, he went hunting for Parker.

He found her with Chad and Martin in the kitchen. Despite his best attempts, none of them seemed interested in talking. Finally, frustrated by their sullen silence, Fresco went to Garris's office.

The door was locked and Garris didn't answer Fresco's repeated knocks. He kicked the heavy wood, pouring all his frustration into the blow, before stalking off.

The house stirred once, just before midnight. Fresco sat with Apple again as she slept out her pain. He felt the kids, their collective consciousness reach out, watching and waiting. Knew the progression of the Wasted soul as it slunk through the halls, shame and need driving it out.

The whole house sighed in sadness when Kimberly left.

He leaped to his feet, hitting the landing and the stairs like a crazy man, reaching the front door seconds after Kimberly. As he flung it open, he felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Parker looking at him, her golden eyes haunted. She didn't say a word, only held his arm. Her whole bearing held him back. He wanted to protest, to push her away, to go after Kimberly. He had time to catch her before she got too far. He wanted to chase her down, bring her home again.

Neither of them spoke. Their connection made it unnecessary. As surely as if she said it, Parker told him, no, _begged_ him with her whole being, to let Kimberly go.

"Why?" He pulled against her again. "We can keep her here, save her."

"It's too late," Parker whispered. "And her need, that strong... she would trigger the other kids. She has to go."

She was right. Of course. The strength flooded out of him and he did as Parker wanted. He climbed back up the stairs, his body as heavy and slow as an old man's. He made his way back to Apple and sat down next to her. She opened her eyes.

"I'm sad," she whispered.

"Me, too," he said.

Apple went back to sleep.

Fresco fought with himself many times those long hours. Struggled with pursuing Kimberly after all. Pushed against his own growing despair. All the while doing his best to ignore the pain of the rest of the house without blocking the kids out. In between bouts of his own self-pity, he eased the troubled hearts of the others, finding some consolation in that, at least.

Finally, tired and unable to cope with the weight of all of their remorse and fear any longer, Fresco fell into a troubled sleep.

He woke what seemed like moments later to the feeling of someone touching his power. He felt her pain. It took him seconds to reach Parker physically while his gift embraced her mentally. He cursed under his breath as he ran, knowing what she was doing and too late to stop her.

He found her collapsed on her bed, covered in a cold sweat, her crisp, white tank plastered to her, the brown bandage on her bruised wrist blending into her mocha skin. He crouched by her bed, holding her hand while she panted for breath.

"I have to," she cried. "I can't end up like her, Fres. I can't end up like..." She faded out into a sob. "I need to be free. Or... I need to be free."

Fresco knew the "or." They had both been there. And it was Parker who saved him from it.

"Then do it," he said. "Just hurry the hell up and do it."

He smoothed her hair from her damp skin as she opened up again.

Fresco did his best to support her, but there wasn't much he could do. Her gifts were different from his and they learned the hard way if he tried to interfere he just got in the way. They both understood what this was, how much it meant. That this was her last chance. If she failed, she would end up on the street, the hunger her only companion. The hunger and the blue joy.

There was no turning back, and Fresco wasn't about to let her anyway.

She fought the pain as he sent himself to her. She tried again to grasp onto him like a lifeline, pulling him along with her, but he pulled free, ready for her, and instead built his wall of protection around her, allowing her to do what she needed to do. He kept himself separate from her pain, wanting to share it, but knowing it wouldn't help. Fresco desperately wished he had more comfort to offer her while she screamed inside in an agony he hoped he would never feel again.

She crumbled, denying it, wanting to quit. He slapped her with his telepathy, pulling her wide open again so hard she gasped out loud. He closed the shields more tightly around her, slamming her back into the pain where she pushed against such punishment, trying to escape while he held her tight and forced her to face every single second of it. She fought him, and ultimately the battle did her more good than harm.

In fighting him, Parker found the strength she needed to win.

It was over as suddenly as that. Her gift swelled huge as it flushed the last of the blue joy from its place of dominance and forced it to leave.

Parker leaned over the side of her bed and threw up on the floor. She dry heaved several more times before pausing to look down into the face of what she had been. Fresco sighed in relief.

The faint skim of blue was proof enough.

Parker rolled over onto her back, her face reflecting her shock. And then, from deep within her, she started to laugh.

Fresco laughed with her. He pulled her up and hugged her hard, a hug she answered with incredible enthusiasm. He gasped through his laughter as her strong arms squeezed the air from his lungs in her excitement. She pushed him back and grinned at him, face more open than she ever allowed it to be. He saw the Parker who had been before the blue joy.

He loved her.

Parker, meanwhile, was shook and continued to laugh, her hands clutching at him as she absorbed the truth.

"Fres," she whispered. "Fres!"

"Yeah," he said, his heart in his eyes. "Nice job."

Parker's golden eyes glowed at him. "Piece of cake," she said. She sighed deeply, eyes closing. They flew open again. Her face settled into stunned awe.

"I can _feel_ them," she said. "All of them. All around us." Her empathy stroked him, warmed him from the inside out.

"I know you're excited," he said. "But I want you to try _not_ to feel them."

She seemed about to protest, but relented. "I get it," she said. "Better to figure it out now than when I have to and find out I can't."

"Quick learner," he said.

"You have no idea," she quipped back. "Show me how."

Their power was different, so it took him a few tries of flashing her images of what he saw and imagined when the walls went up before she got it.

"Oh," she said, her happiness wrapping around him, "like this!"

And she was gone. No more warm Parker making his blood heat up. He missed her immediately. But her sunny smile lit her eyes.

"Done," she said, her voice full of cheer. "Next?"

"Let's go have a look around."

She was back, the warmth and touch he would recognize for the rest of his life wrapping around him again, holding him close. He opened his telepathy to her and did his best to link them together, but it was like trying to grasp onto a cloud.

"Apples and oranges," she said. He regretfully agreed. It was enough their gifts touched.

Together, with him as a guide, they sent their minds out to explore the house. It wasn't long before Parker got the hang of it and was more often than not the one dragging Fresco along. Her empathy was a lovely thing to feel in action. Though he was able to enter the minds of those around him, her gift gentled their hearts. It was no wonder they loved her in the first place with a power like that. Now, there was no way to resist her.

Thrilled, he let her lead so he could observe. His relief her control was also instinctual made her laugh at him as she forged deeper into herself.

Her curiosity was boundless. They spent the next several hours wandering around not only Last Stand, but the city around them, all from the quiet of Parker's room. She was very strong, it was easy to tell, but he had no idea what it meant. Her power was so different than his at times he had a hard time understanding what she was doing beyond stirring emotion.

He coaxed her to return to her body at last. Parker emerged with a sigh of contentment and another laugh as she collapsed back onto her bed with a huge smile on her face. She scooted over and pulled him down beside her.

"You were so right," she said in a whisper, her breath tickling his lips. "It is a gift, Fres. It's amazing."

They spent the final hours of the night in each other's arms, her empathy holding him close while his telepathy shared the truth of who he was until the sun came up.

When morning came, seeming a lifetime later, they rose and got cleaned up before reuniting in the hall outside Fresco's door. They walked downstairs hand in hand, power in power, to Garris's door. Fresco knocked twice, but again there was no response.

"Garris," Parker called out. "We want to talk to you."

"It's important," Fresco said. "Please."

There was a long silence. Fresco felt the man in the room and knew when he dragged himself up and to the door. It swung open to reveal Garris. He looked horrible. The stress of the failure aged him by decades. The dark circles under his eyes made them appear hollow and sunken, as if the man was Wasted himself.

Parker reached for him an instant before Fresco did. She was smiling.

"We have something we need to tell you," she said, her power hugging him. Garris remained silent, waiting, though his expression softened at her touch.

Fresco looked at Parker who nodded at him. Together they faced the man who saved them and gave him the first good news he'd heard in a long time.

"Garris," Fresco said, "she did it."

Parker shivered with excitement as she pushed the door open the rest of the way and hugged the startled man physically, pouring her happiness into her power.

"It's over," she whispered into his chest. "I really did it!"

Garris's apathy turned to tear filled joy.

"Is it true?" Bewilderment twinkled in his eyes, the effect of Parker's emotions clear on his face.

Fresco nodded, unable to wipe the silly grin from his lips.

"It is," he said, voice vibrating with happiness. "Parker is free of Wasteland."

***

# Chapter Thirty

Parker sat far more patiently than Fresco while Medley drew her blood. Her smile was constant and gentle. Fresco couldn't help but smile back. He was certain his expression came across far goofier than hers. He felt a joy within him, growing stronger and stronger as the minutes went by, a joy fed by the knowledge that Parker was free.

From the lopsided grin on Garris's face, he was no more immune than they were.

Medley remained her usual stoic self, however, as she capped off the last vial of blood. She sat back while Fresco applied a bandage to Parker's arm.

"I'll have a look," the old chemist said. "But if the boy's blood is any indicator, I won't be finding anything in the girl's either."

Fresco barely heard her. Parker's golden eyes shone, her gift touching his. Fresco felt like he connected with someone else for the first time in his life and the sensation was more addictive than Wasteland. They ignored Medley as she gathered her things and when Garris escorted the small, round woman to the office door.

It wasn't until he interrupted with a well-placed throat clearing that Fresco was able to draw himself away, although a slim thread of Parker remained with him thereafter.

"You two have made me one happy guy," Garris said. "One very happy guy. You know what this means?"

They nodded together, their excitement as high as his. They did it. Not once, no fluke after all, but twice. And now that they knew how... the possibilities were endless.

"We have to get started right away," Garris said. "We've taken the first step with a lot of the kids, but we want to identify those closest to a lull so we can focus on them." He rubbed his hands together in obvious anticipation. "We'll need the two of you to take turns helping, of course. Fres, you said you shielded Parker in the end to make it work?"

"Me protecting her while she did her thing was the right way to go," he said. "Plus, I was there to force her to finish. Having someone there to push you to the end made it easier."

"I can't thank you both enough." Garris glowed at them. "And Parker," he said, moisture rising in his eyes again, "I am so very proud of you."

She rose to her feet and hugged the tall man. He enveloped her in his arms and held her for a long time. Fresco was uncomfortable being witness to their private moment, but knew from the steady emotional presence she held with him Parker wouldn't have it any other way.

She stepped back and grinned impishly. "Well? What are we waiting for? We've got kids to save."

Parker marched to the office door as Fresco paused, motioning to Garris. She raised an eyebrow at them, but Fresco blocked her from seeing what he was thinking.

"See you downstairs, then," she said, and left. Garris turned to Fresco, forehead creased.

"What is it?"

Fresco didn't want to put a dampener on the mood, but it was important. "Kimberly," he said.

"Go get her, Fresco," Garris said. "Bring her back."

Fresco was already halfway to the door. On the other side, he literally ran into Chad. The other boy was grinning.

"Parker!" He gripped Fresco's arms and shook him.

"Yes," he said.

Chad glanced over Fresco's shoulder at Garris who slipped past, patting Chad's shoulder with one large hand before disappearing toward the basement stairs.

Chad let Fresco go, an intensity in his face Fresco never saw before. "We have to find Kimberly."

"Where do you think I was going?" Fresco said. "Want to come?"

The smile Chad beamed lit up the world.

It took a few hours to track her down. The streets were growing dark, the deep red and gold sunset glowing in the west. Fresco knew all the sugarpops, but had no way of figuring out which one Kimberly would go to. At least, until Chad spoke up.

"She went back to him," Chad's voice was deep with emotion.

"Her usual," Fresco said.

Chad choked, unable to speak. Fresco knew what it meant. He didn't need him to explain. She went to the last person she should have. Kimberly went back to her dealer.

"Who?"

"EMZee," Chad said.

Fresco felt like his friend just punched him in the stomach. All the fear, the anguish, the guilt came rushing up from inside him and knocked out his breath.

"You know him?" Chad's worry for Kimberly warred with his concern for Fresco.

Fresco managed to nod while he pulled himself under control. He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to hide their shaking. "Yeah." He breathed out what little air he held. "I know him."

Fresco didn't want to go, but he had no choice. There was no one else. At least knowing who it was made the search easier. EMZee liked a few routes, but shifted without notice. Three of Fresco's contacts sent them in the wrong direction before the fourth got it right.

They came upon the dealer in a dim alley. Fresco froze at the sight of him, fear taking over. He would have run if EMZee saw him. But he had his back to them, bending over a collapsed body, his dark skin shining with sweat, eager hands at the girl's clothing while she begged for the blue joy.

"Anything," Kimberly's voice sobbed from the darkness, voice hardly her own, clutching the lean pusher's designer jeans. "I'll do anything."

EMZee laughed. "I know."

Chad roared and ran for the dealer. The pure rage in his friend snapped Fresco out of his terror and drove him forward. He was too late to get his hands on Chad before he tackled the dealer and flung him from Kimberly.

The sugarpop spun on them, snarling, a knife in his fist. "You asking for death, meat!" His dark brown eyes flickered back and forth between them. When they settled on Fresco, he saw the animal anger turn to vicious amusement.

"You back for more, Waster boy?" EMZee spit on the pavement at Fresco's feet and laughed again, the same cold laughter Fresco remembered from somewhere in his hazy descent into Wasteland. His blood ran to ice, whole body shaking, phantom bruises jabbing him with pain.

"I'm back for you," Fresco said before he thought better of it. It was true, though. As much as he cared for Kimberly, there was a score to settle, guilt to purge, and fear to banish. And standing there, staring at the sugarpop who caused him so much horror, Fresco felt the old anguish ease. He wasn't much to look at, really. He devolved in his own addiction, just enough he no longer looked terrifying. Now that Fresco was free, EMZee just looked pathetic. Fresco felt the agony he carried around with him spin downward, converting to fury. He wanted very much to hurt EMZee, to torture him as much as he himself endured.

"Your boys left you all alone." Fresco's hands clenched into fists, the shaking subsiding. He forced them to open, pushed down his fear and humiliation.

Chad didn't give him the chance to go on. "If you touched her, I'll kill you." He looked willing to do it.

EMZee snickered at him. "Yeah, I had her." His sneer was flavored with Wasteland, the blue joy crusted in the corners of his generous mouth, teeth tinted with it. "She lovin' it. She beggin' me for it. I gave it to her, nice and hard." He ground his skinny hips forward, winking at Fresco. It wasn't about Kimberly and he knew it. "She sweet, yes she is. Had her a _bunch_ of times already."

Chad vibrated with fury and was about to get himself killed. Fresco stepped forward, in front of his friend.

"Focus on Kim," he shot over his shoulder. "I'll deal with the trash."

EMZee waved the knife. "Come and get some, Waster boy. Time I finish you up."

It was too easy, really. A touch from Fresco's power sent the blade swinging away. EMZee froze, shocked.

"You... you can't! It don't work that way!"

Fresco's lips twisted into a smile. "Oh, really?"

Another jab brought the quivering sugarpop to his knees. Fresco stared down into those chocolate brown eyes, now full of fear.

"Don't kill me!" For the first time, Fresco saw the addict in EMZee, the battle the sugarpop fought within himself. He was no different than Fresco, than any of the Wasted kids, except his power was so thin and weak it barely fluttered against Fresco's mind. And as much as Fresco wanted to kill him, he paused.

_It would be so simple,_ he thought. _So easy to just reach out and..._ He got control of his desire. _That's not me. No matter what this scum did to me or to Kim, I'm not a killer. I'm not like him._

Instead, he gave the terrified pusher a shove, one hand gesturing as he released his gift. EMZee fell over into a pile of stinking garbage, Wasted eyes huge.

_Fitting,_ Fresco thought.

"I'm giving you a walk," Fresco said, voice sounding cold even to him. "But if I catch you taking advantage of other Wasted kids ever again... I'll be watching you."

EMZee shuddered, nodding so fast his lank hair flopped around his ears. Fresco felt a surge of pity after all. Despite the beating in the cell, despite the torture and torment EMZee and his boys put Fresco through, he was still a victim. Still, he did his best to encourage the boy's fear.

"You might want to consider running," he said.

EMZee scrambled for safety. As he stumbled from sight, Fresco felt the last of his self-inflicted torment lift from his heart and leave him in peace.

He sighed out the last of it and went to help Chad with Kimberly. They were doing fine without him, however. Chad cradled her, helping her to her feet.

"Time to come home, baby," he whispered. Fresco blushed at the intimacy of Chad's emotion. But, it was the very strength of it that reached Kimberly and pulled her partway back.

She cried out, clinging to her savior who scooped her up into his arms and held her close.

The look Chad shot Fresco was fierce.

"Thank you," he said, voice coarse and deep with emotion.

Kimberly touched his face with shaking fingers. "I need more," she whispered, but the desperate edge was gone from her.

Chad smiled at her and kissed her forehead. "You're going to be okay," he said. "Just hang on."

"I'm sorry," she wailed, "I couldn't stop it. I had to have it. Don't hate me."

Chad kept smiling at her and held onto her even when she tried to pull away from him, to cover her face in shame.

"I'll never hate you, Kim," he said, voice soft and caring. "I understand. We all do. But it's time to come home."

Fresco stepped aside and let them go, understanding why Chad so carefully used humor to hide his feelings. But there was no need to hide anymore. Not for any of them.

He almost missed the dark blue cargo van parked across the street. Fresco froze when his brain registered what he was seeing. Filled with an urgency he never felt before, he rushed at Chad and Kimberly and shoved them behind a parked car.

Fresco could tell Chad was startled and a little angry. He shook his head to silence his friend and pointed. Chad looked where Fresco showed him. His face registered shock and fear. His arms tightened around Kimberly.

"Garbagemen," Chad whispered. "Why are they here?"

Fresco shrugged, anger welling within him. He wanted to strike out, to do something horrible and permanent to the dark blue van. All the rage came flooding back. He swayed, his impulse driving him forward. A hand on his arm brought him up short. He turned to Kimberly. She was shaking.

"Please," she whispered. "Please, don't leave us."

Fresco bit his lip, shoving aside the fire of retribution. It would be so easy. But doing so, striking out when they were far from ready, would expose them and put them all at risk. His rational mind knew it. The hurt part of him screamed to do battle.

Had he been alone, he would not have hesitated. But feeling the two lost souls beside him, needing him, pulled him up short and reined in his selfish desire to hurt those who hurt him. Kimberly and Chad were terrified. He took them on as his responsibility, for good or ill, and he wasn't about to abandon them now.

Fresco managed a grim smile at the trembling girl "I'm not going anywhere," he said.

They watched from the safety of their hiding place as three large men in blue coveralls and ball caps emerged from a dilapidated building across the street. One carried a wrapped bundle about the size of a twelve-year-old. The tarp was old and torn, filthy. Fresco caught a flash of a scuffed sneaker as a skinny leg swung free. For some reason, the sight of that dirty wrapping, an insult to its precious cargo, made his rage flare higher.

The man loaded his burden into the back of the van as the other two climbed into the front. Fresco held himself rooted in his spot, his promise to Kimberly the only thing keeping him from unleashing his gift on the unsuspecting Garbagemen. It was risky and stupid, the worst thing he could do, but all he wanted was to tear them apart, to punish them for what they were doing.

Instead, he simply watched, fuming in fury, as the back doors of the van slammed shut. They drove off with their prize. Fresco cursed under his breath when they rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

"We have to go," Chad said, breaking through Fresco's murderous thoughts. "They might come back."

"They got what they came for," he said. "We have to get home and tell Garris. Come on."

He led them back out onto the street and toward Last Stand, his body running on its own as his mind conceived painful end after torturous death for each and every one of the Garbagemen.

***

# Chapter Thirty-One

The whole house rejoiced with the return of Kimberly. Fresco and Chad were greeted with cheers from the front steps of Last Stand as they brought her home. She was taken back into the fold as easily as she left and sobbed quietly as the other kids, her friends and family, embraced her and drew her inside.

Garris and Parker were both there, smiling. They waited for the rest of the kids to go back into the house before turning to Fresco. Parker's smile was gone. Her concern was clear.

"Did they see you?" She appeared calm, though he knew she was feeling anything but.

He shook his head, more in frustration than denial.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't think so. They didn't even look our way."

"They were too focused on the body," Chad said.

"Body?" Garris adjusted his glasses, fingers shaking.

"It was wrapped in a tarp," Fresco said, "about the size and shape of a kid. Looked like a pick up."

"You're probably right. It must have been a coincidence. Still," he motioned them all inside, checking out the street as he did, "we can't be too careful."

"Especially now," Parker said.

"Especially now," Garris agreed.

"If they know we're free, why don't they do something about it?" Fresco's feet felt heavy as he crossed the threshold. "I don't think they do, Garris. I think us being free is like leaving their little network. Maybe they know something is different, but I don't think they can find us like they do with the dead kids."

Parker nodded, emotions churning against him.

"I think Fres is right," she said. "But we still have to be careful." Even grim she was beautiful, he thought. Her shy smile told him she felt him. He blushed. Parker went on. "The more of us we free, the more obvious it will be they've lost control. No matter how hard we try to stop it, word will get around."

"We can't expect the kids on the street to keep this quiet," Chad said.

"We're asking for trouble any way you look at it," Garris said. "But we can't stop now. All we can do is free as many of you as we can so we can fight back when the time comes. You are willing to fight back, I take it?"

Fresco's grin mirrored his friends. It was vicious.

"Good." Garris grinned back. "Now, let's get to work."

Parker and Chad hurried away, Chad filling her in on the rescue. Garris motioned to Fresco. He hung back to hear what the man had to say.

Alone in the dark and quiet hallway, Garris removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his long fingers.

"I wish my daughter was here," he said. "You would have liked her."

Fresco didn't know what to say, so he remained silent. Garris returned his glasses to his nose and pushed them back a little more firmly than was necessary.

"I want to be sure you and Parker don't get overextended," he said. "She can be a real firecracker." He chuckled. "I'm sure you know what I mean."

Fresco grinned and nodded.

"You're not much better," Garris said. "Promise me you'll be careful when you are working with the other kids."

"Parker and I will do anything we need to do to get them free," he said. "No matter what it takes."

"I don't want the two of you to feel used by us," Garris said.

"We're already being used," Fresco told him in no uncertain terms. "We're done with that. This time we do what we do for us, not for them and their drug." He felt his anger rise again. "And it _will_ work, Garris. Parker proved it. It was no fluke. We can do it, over and over, for every kid here. I want you to trust us."

"I want to believe," Garris said. "It's been forever, Fresco. So many kids, so much loss, all that death... innocent kids hooked on crap that turns them into zombies. The Garbagemen have been in control for such a long time, I've been chasing behind them for so many years, it's hard for me to believe we're finally gaining ground." He set one large hand on Fresco's shoulder and squeezed. "But I do trust you two. If anyone can do it, it's you."

Fresco felt an idea forming in his mind as he listened to Garris. The idea swelled and grew bright. Fresco knew what he had to do.

The truth of it made him laugh out loud at its simplicity. They needed to stop waiting. It was time to track down the kids before they were turned in, before they got Wasted, and protect them from the Garbagemen. Maybe even teach them to use their power without the influence of the drug. The very idea made Fresco tremble with excitement.

Garris, however, frowned in curiosity through his smile. "Share the joke?"

"You just gave me the best idea yet," Fresco said.

"That being?"

Fresco considered sharing, but thought better of it. He had no idea if it would even work, let alone what he would do if it did.

"Let me figure it out," he said instead. "I'll let you know when I have the details down."

"Done," the man said. "Shall we?"

He led the way to the basement stairs. Fresco let him go ahead, his mind reeling with the possibilities. The chance to strike back at the Garbagemen by taking the kids before they reached their potential was mindboggling. There was more to it than simple kidnapping, but the beauty of the plan fired his imagination.

He hit the top of the stairs to follow Garris when he was brought up short by the brush of another mind on his own. It wasn't Parker. The mind was familiar, however, achingly familiar. Fresco's heart constricted as Daniel reached out and touched him.

Fresco reached back, but too late. Daniel's mind retreated before Fresco was able to find him. He stood there at the top of the stairs, his power flying out toward his brother, but found nothing. Long moments passed with no contact and Fresco admitted to himself that Daniel was shielding. There was no way to find him if his brother didn't want him to. But the very fact Daniel reached out gave Fresco hope.

A new passion burning within him, Fresco dashed down the stairs to change the world.

***

# Chapter Thirty-Two

Chad gasped over a puddle of bile tinged with blue as Parker sagged next to him, her face calm and smiling despite her weariness. It made sense for her to support Chad. The shared gift meant an easy link between them. It almost made Fresco jealous. Parker felt it, still open from Chad's journey and met Fresco's eyes, sliding herself back to him as she let Chad feel the freedom he won. Fresco's jealousy didn't survive the contact.

Chad's freedom caused the household no end of excitement. Those standing watch in the small room and crowded outside in the hallway and stairs swelled with cheering so loud Fresco forced himself not to cover his ears. Even Garris was yelling, doing an odd, awkward little dance, all long limbs and tapping feet. He lunged forward to embrace Parker as Chad met Fresco's eyes and mind.

_I'm here_ , Fresco said.

_So am I._ Chad's words were more like feelings, but Fresco's power interpreted them in translation. _All present and accounted for_. Green eyes sparkled, one lid closing in a wink. Chad's humorous side had clearly returned.

_Welcome home._ Parker joined them.

Chad spun on her, pulling her free of Garris to hug her himself. Fresco trembled at the wave of gratitude pouring over the both of them.

_You're welcome_. Parker glowed with happiness.

Fresco made a suggestion and Parker grasped onto it immediately. She pushed against the happy feeling, sending it out through the rest of the house, letting each of the Wasted kids feel the purity of it. And while any success was met with joy, the older boy was well loved and adored by everyone. Their hope joined his thankfulness and filled the whole house. The wonder and pure happiness she shared with them put an end to any rumor the treatment was a fluke.

Within moments, every kid who fit squeezed in, begging to be next. Garris pulled himself back together and held up his hands for silence.

Grinning, the older man let his arms drop as the breathless kids awaited his verdict. "This is a momentous day, momentous," his voice vibrated with emotion, eyes blinking rapidly behind his glasses. "There are now three of you free of the blue enemy." Another cheer filled the air. "Now we know what the Garbagemen didn't want us to find out," Garris went on. "We understand the truth, thanks to these brave souls," he gestured to Parker and Chad, his hand settling on Fresco's shoulder, "and because of them we are that much closer to you all being free."

Fresco didn't think any of the kids should have voices left but, if anything, the rousing cries were louder. He found himself grinning like a fool, unable to stop.

Garris sobered, heaving a huge sigh to calm himself. Fresco felt the hum of hope inside the man being tempered by years of failure. Not wanting the moment to be stained by the past, Fresco radiated reassurance to him. Garris's shoulders were unbowed for the first time since they met. He silenced them again with a gesture.

"This freedom comes at a price," he said. "The pain of clearing your body of the last of the drug is intense."

None of them cared. But Garris went on. "Some of you will never get to a lull. We know that. So we'll do our best to make sure you're as close to clean as possible before giving it a try. As for the rest of you, being in a lull is your best bet to succeed."

Despite the wave of disappointment, Garris continued. "A small thing," he said, "after so much waiting, to wait a little longer. Knowing in the end you will be free."

Fresco monitored each mind and was happy to feel the awareness of understanding fold over them one by one, reaching not just those in earshot, but traveling from mind to mind to the entire household.

"You will all be assessed," Garris said, "by either Fresco, Parker or Chad. Your time will come. Please, be patient and gentle with yourselves."

Garris left Fresco's side to start shooing kids off, leaving room for Parker to join him, Chad close behind. They came together in a circle, not meaning to exclude the others, but eager for the opportunity to be together. The sea of kids parted around them, leaving them alone.

_This is amazing!_ Chad adjusted quickly. Fresco was almost jealous. Having guidance obviously made a big difference in their recovery time.

The pressure on Chad's mind was incredible, and he should have been crumbling from it. Parker winked. Fresco realized she was shielding their friend's emotions until he was taught to do it himself. He mentally kicked himself he didn't think of it first.

_Naturally,_ Parker sent to him.

Fresco flashed her a very rude word, making her laugh.

_We have so much to show you_ , Parker felt to Chad, drawing Fresco in. She was getting better at forging the connection between their different talents.

_No time like the present_ , Chad said.

It was easier and harder the second time, Fresco decided. Easier with Parker to help him. He was now in good control of his own gift. That meant he was a perfect guide for Chad in building walls to protect his mind. But harder with his consciousness split three ways, stumbling over Parker's feelings at times so much he pulled back and let her lead. They would have to arrange a more structured means of teaching the others, but for this one time he let himself enjoy the process.

Several hours later, when they emerged from Chad's first round of exploration, they all had a better idea of how to improve what they did.

_We all seem a little different_ , Chad said.

_Yes_ , Parker said. _Some stronger than others. I can feel it in the other kids already, even though they are still Wasted._

Fresco was shocked to realize he could, too. He grinned at her. _I knew you would be better at this than me._

Her mental laugh was a caress.

_Might be good to keep track of who is better at what_ , Chad said.

_Agreed_ , Parker said _. I'll tell Garris_. She shuddered, a ripple of pleasure making Fresco's blood stir. "Shall we?" It was strange to hear her speak after so long within.

"Ladies first." Chad offered a bow and a grand gesture toward the door. Laughing, Parker took his offered arm on one side and Fresco's on the other. Together, the three returned to the real world.

***

# Chapter Thirty-Three

They found themselves in the middle of preparations for a party. Garris waded through the happy kids toward them, beaming, looking younger than Fresco had ever seen him. Chattering, laughing children flooded into the kitchen where Martin blasted his favorite Latino music so loud it still rumbled out when the heavy door swung closed.

Garris reached them, arms engulfing them before stepping away.

"We're celebrating," he said. "And you're all the guests of honor."

They followed Garris into the kitchen to the cheers of excited kids.

***

Fresco escaped from the clutches of some admirers and fled to the backyard. He planted himself on the top step at the back door. He rarely had the chance to sit outdoors and enjoy it. Being outside meant he was hunting Daniel and rescuing kids. He found himself relishing the cool calm of the nighttime air and the quiet sounds of the street beyond the tall fence guarding the yard.

Fresco looked up at the emerging stars and felt himself overcome with gratitude. Even after all he went through, after the pain and loneliness, the fear and hunger, he survived, more than survived. He won. And no matter what happened from that moment on, they could never take it away from him, no matter how hard they tried.

He was so deep in his thoughts he almost missed the soft touch of Parker's heart on his. He welcomed her as her power joined him. She sat beside him, leaning against his shoulder so it was entirely natural for him to slip his arm around her and hold her close. They stared out into the darkness together in silence, their touch denying any need for speech. Her golden eyes glowed in the light of the porch bulb shining behind them.

"I wasn't sure," she said, "if you wanted to be alone."

"Never," he said. "Besides, it's not like we have much of a choice anymore." He laughed to himself. The very concept of _alone_ was so foreign now he already forgot what being by himself in his mind felt like.

"As much as we love it," she said, "we have to decide on some privacy issues. I don't think I want anyone knowing how I feel about... certain things."

Her mocha cheeks reddened in the light and he felt his heart race.

"I guess you're right," he said, trying not to grin. She caught it, however, and laughed herself, punching him in the shoulder.

"Enough of that," she said. "Time you maybe got over yourself, Mr. Amazing."

Fresco did his best leer and wink. "But, baby," he said, trying to sound like Justin always had with the girls, "you know I only have eyes for you." He waggled his eyebrows, making her giggle.

"Idiot," she said.

He shrugged off the memory from his old life. "Yeah."

Without warning, shielding her intentions, Parker leaned in and kissed him.

As soon as their skin touched, Fresco felt the connection between them blow open, their power bonding as they were unable to before. He knew what it was like to stir the emotions of others and her gift understood how to read the contents of the mind. He felt Parker's arms wind around his neck and his own body's response of drawing her close to him as the touch of their lips seared into him like fire, drowning him in her.

He was sure things would have gone farther than perhaps they should if Parker hadn't gotten control back and pulled away, panting for breath. When their lips parted, he lost the connection to her as her power left him at the same time. Fresco felt a moment of desperate desire, his arms tightening around her, wanting her with him that way again. But she was laughing, her girlish giggle bringing him back to himself and sobering him up. He laughed too, more out of shock than humor.

"Well," she said. "I guess I was right, wasn't I? I don't think say, Apple, could handle that."

Fresco nodded. "Smart girl," he said.

She leaned close to him, arms still around his neck, her golden eyes inches from his. He was alive with the smell of sweet lemon and the warmth of her skin.

"Oh, you have no idea," she whispered over his lips.

"Any chance I'll find out?"

She released one arm, running her fingertips over his cheek and down to the collar of his T-shirt.

"I think that's pretty much a given at this point," she said, breathless. Without another word, Parker stood up and retreated into the house.

He didn't hesitate. He immediately got up to follow her.

"Fresco," Daniel's voice brought him up short. He was certain he heard it in his mind until he turned to see his brother standing in the backyard, watching him. Not in his mind. Right there in front of him. Everything went silent in Fresco's head.

He stumbled down the stairs to Daniel, all thoughts of Parker, of the others, gone as he reached for his brother. Knowing now how to save him, Fresco's heart grew to bursting as he grinned like a kid.

"Daniel!" He reached for him, wanting to hug him, to tell him everything, to set his brother free.

Daniel ran.

Without considering the consequences, Fresco ran after him.

Daniel seemed to vanish near the fence in the dark. It took Fresco seconds to find the loose board he used to sneak in. He grunted, scraping his arm as he battered his way through the opening. By the time he hit the street, he almost missed seeing Daniel dodge around the corner of a nearby building. Fresco ran after him, reaching for him with his gift as he did, trying to find a way through his brother's armor to get to him.

He caught whiffs and images, enough to keep him running. A block away, Fresco saw Daniel, or at least his feet, disappear into an abandoned warehouse window. He heard the clatter as the plywood covering it fell back into place. Fresco pulled the board free with his power and dove into the dark, drawing himself up short as his eyes struggled to adjust to the dim light coming in through the hole he made.

He waited before moving forward, but didn't have far to go. He saw the shape of his brother, a darker shadow surrounded by shadows just before he felt and heard him.

"Fres." Daniel's voice was still hoarse as it was in the alley, but he lost the wet, wrenching cough. He also seemed steadier on his feet, more stable and aware. Fresco took a step toward him, but Daniel backed off when he did, so Fresco froze. The last thing he wanted was to drive his brother away.

"You look better," Fresco said. "Than the last time."

"Do I?" Daniel's tone shivered, wistful. "Been worse. Been better." Daniel swayed, but stilled. "You have to stop hunting for me," he said. "Need to back off, baby bro."

"I can help you," Fresco said. "Daniel, if you come with me, I can get you free."

Daniel barked a laugh. "Been there, done that," he said. "Not all it's cracked up to be."

Fresco tried again. "You've felt the lull, yeah. But that's not freedom, Danny. That's waiting for the hunger again. I'm talking _free_ , man. No more blue joy, no more Garbagemen. Just the gift." Fresco reached out slowly, very slowly. "Let me help you, Danny."

Daniel fell still. When Fresco finished, he seemed to sag in on himself.

"Been there," he whispered again. "Done that. Then they bought me a new T-shirt." Daniel laughed, bitter, full of despair.

Fresco tensed. Something wasn't right. The silence he felt in the yard at Last Stand hadn't lifted, nor was it of his own making. He didn't notice in his deep focus on his brother until right then. He was alone again. Something blocked him from feeling Parker.

Fresco looked around, frantic, afraid. He was wrong. He wasn't alone. There was someone else there, someone besides himself and Daniel. Several someones. And they didn't mean him well.

Fresco backed up a step as Daniel went on.

"Made, not born," he was whispering. "Theirs, not ours. Owned, created. They take us and use us and when we do good they bring us home." His eyes glowed in the dim light with a life of their own, with the current of Wasteland. Fresco's heart was breaking for his brother, but more so for what he now knew Daniel had done.

"Why?" Fresco asked the question as the first of the blue coveralls emerge into the faint light. "Why, Daniel?"

"It's the way it is," he said.

Fresco stared at him while the Garbagemen closed in.

***

# Chapter Thirty-Four

Fresco's frantic mind leaped into action as three Garbagemen in their coveralls and ball caps emerged from the darkness. He recognized the leader. Strom grinned at him, that same grin he remembered from the back of the van the night they took him away. His eyes glowed as blue as Daniel's. Fresco felt the power coming from him.

He was right, after all. The Garbagemen were just like them.

"It's over, kid," Strom said, gentle voice and handsome face disarming. "Time to come home, now." He held out his large hand to Fresco, his wide shouldered body calm and still. He seemed completely at ease.

Fresco decided he needed to give the Garbageman something to worry about.

He gathered himself as he felt around the warehouse. Three more of the blue-clad soldiers closed in from behind. Fresco had only moments to act before he was surrounded, and it was too late. He focused his attention on Strom and lashed out with all the fury he was holding in.

Strom laughed at him.

Fresco's gift recoiled and left him gasping for air, doubled over with pain as the rage he threw at the Garbageman came back to him.

"Now, now," Strom said. "None of that. We're here to help you, Fresco. To bring you back to the City."

He got his wind back in time to answer. "You'll have to kill me first."

"I doubt it will come to that," Strom said. "And it would be a waste, my friend. You have what we've been waiting for, Fresco. There's a place of honor for you in the City."

Fresco choked out a bitter laugh, straightening up, trying to reach out with his power to feel around, wincing at the pain it caused. "Sure, right," he said. "Just like last time when you said everything would be okay."

Strom's eyes widened ever so slightly. Fresco counted it as a victory.

"You remember me?" Strom's voice rumbled soft. "How... remarkable." The man stilled. Fresco saw the intelligence of him freeze, his face going blank, eyes far away. He took the time to push against the pain and felt the three Garbagemen behind him moving into position.

Strom came back to himself a moment later. He refocused on Fresco, his gentle smile back on his handsome face. "They can't wait to see you," he said. "Time to go."

Fresco tensed to act when Daniel interrupted.

"Where's my stuff?" The whine in his brother's voice made Fresco flinch. Daniel groveled, pushing himself forward, drawing the man's attention.

Strom's gentle smile flickered to amused annoyance. "Sorry?" He turned to the trembling Daniel. "Was there something?"

The other Garbagemen snickered. Fresco ground his teeth in fury and vowed to kill them all, but not before hurting them very badly first.

Daniel was oblivious. "Please, you promised," he begged. "You said if I brought him here you'd get me all the stuff I wanted."

"And what stuff is that, exactly?" Strom's curious question sounded so genuine it made Fresco's skin crawl. Nothing they said was trustworthy.

"The joy," Daniel cried out. "My joy, my love, I have to have it and you wouldn't let me and now I have to." He panted and shook, almost hopping up and down on the balls of his feet in his anxiety.

Strom grinned at him before nodding to one of his men. The Garbageman unzipped a pocket on his thigh and withdrew a large plastic bag.

It was packed with tubes of Wasteland and glowed like a small, blue star.

Daniel lunged for it. Despite his addict speed, Strom was faster. His polished boot lashed out and took Daniel down. Fresco's heart broke as he watched his brother sprawl on his face in the dust and debris of the filthy concrete floor, wanting very much to turn away, but forcing himself to pay attention.

Daniel wept blue tears when he pulled himself to his knees. Strom laughed and motioned to his man. The soldier tossed the bag to Daniel who caught it out of the air and hugged it to him. Strom's smile twisted into a sneer before he looked up and caught Fresco's eye. And winked at him.

Fresco, back in control, winked back.

Strom's eyes narrowed in the heartbeat he had before the pile of crates behind him came tumbling down.

Fresco ran deeper into the warehouse, relieved he was right and oddly grateful to his brother for giving him enough time to figure it out. He was unable to attack the men directly, but he could still affect the objects around them. He intended to use them to his best advantage.

Fresco found a broken wall to hide behind and gather his thoughts. He reached out for Parker and the others, but the Garbagemen were still blocking him. To his frustration, they covered every exit, mental and physical. A dozen more surrounded the outside of the warehouse. A thrill of fear tore through him.

He had to get back to Last Stand.

"There's no way out of here, Fresco." Strom's voice sounded closer than he wanted, calling out to him as the Garbagemen started the search. Fresco felt pain radiating from him. Fresco's trick with the crates did some damage. He poured more power into his blocks. For some reason he only guessed at, the Garbagemen didn't feel him.

He slid further into the space, finding a darker place to hide. The bottom floor of the warehouse was a maze of half walls and concrete pillars, stacks of empty crates and old boxes and debris from the homeless people who squatted there on occasion. Hiding was a short lived option. He needed an escape route and he needed it now.

Strom, meanwhile, seemed relentless.

"Come on, Fres." His voice was silken, like honey, and very persuasive. "You have no idea what you're rejecting, here. You're a god, kid."

"How can you do it?" Fresco couldn't resist, knowing it was a mistake, hearing the shuffle of feet as they honed in on his position from the sound of his voice. But he was desperate to know.

"Do what?" He spotted Strom in a thin beam of light coming through a chink in the plywood covering the windows. He was gesturing to someone. The next time Fresco spoke he would be caught. If he was where they thought he was, at least.

"You're like me," Fresco said. "Like us. How can you do it?"

He watched from his perch on a low wall deep in the dark as two of the Garbagemen pounced on the corner where he threw his voice. He wanted to laugh at them as they stood up and shook their heads at Strom.

The amusement was leaving the tall Garbageman.

"This is getting old," he snapped. "And I'm done playing games with you. Time to come home."

Fresco almost cried out as Parker's emotions broke through to him. They only had a second before she was shut down. He got the message in a series of rapid jabs to his heart, sending it plummeting into his stomach.

Last Stand was under attack.

Fresco wanted to howl in frustration, to throw himself at Strom and tear the man apart, but he forced himself to calm. Breathing through clenched teeth, Fresco glared at the big man, eyes slitted and focused. Strom was the key, Fresco was sure of it. If he took him down, he could get away and help his friends.

He focused on the man, seeing the blood on his face, the way he favored his right knee. But he was tense and prepared for Fresco's next attack.

He slid himself closer as he threw his voice to the other side of the room.

"You make me sick." Fresco put all of his anger and disgust at the man in his words. "You and your vultures and your drug. Killing innocent kids, making us slaves for some stupid experiment before throwing us away like trash." Fresco watched as the other two Garbagemen approached his voice. "How can you sleep at night, you monster?"

Strom's face was black with rage. Fresco wondered why it was so easy to get the man's emotions churning. Unwilling to waste time thinking about it, however, he waited one more heartbeat for the other Garbagemen to be fully engaged.

Parker's desperate cry for help drove him forward. His anger fueled by desperation, he leapt from the darkness and tackled Strom to the ground. The big man was so shocked by the unexpected physical attack he hit the floor with a whoosh of breath and was slow, too slow, in reacting. Fresco planted one sneaker in the man's crotch, tearing a scream from Strom. He landed a strong field goal kick to his head from the other before running like a madman.

***

# Chapter Thirty-Five

Fresco threw caution and his own safety to the wind, tearing his way back through the warehouse toward the window he came in, trusting in blind animal instinct to keep him safe. Voices echoed, shouting from behind him, answered by more cries ahead. He dove into hiding as the three other Garbagemen who were with Strom pounded by on their way to help their fallen leader.

Fresco gave it only an instant for them to pass before running again. He made it to the window, so focused on it when his feet hit something soft in his way he fell sprawling on his face. Terrified it was a Garbageman, feeling hands clutching his ankles, he lashed out with his sneakered feet, pulling back at the last moment as he realized who he fell over.

Daniel's eyes gaped huge, his face covered in tears of Wasteland, a thin line of blue snot tracing from one nostril to drip from his quivering chin. Fresco reached instinctively for his brother, but Daniel cried out as he did.

"Here!" His blue eyes were lifeless even though they glowed from within. "He's here!"

Fresco gaped at his brother. Daniel was still trying to turn him in. His anger rose at last against Daniel, knowing despite the drug, his brother was a traitor.

"I hope you rot on that stuff." Fresco struck out with one sneaker, kicking the bag of Wasteland free. Daniel cried out again, this time in fear. He released Fresco from the iron grip of his Wasted hands to lunge for his prize. Fresco imprinted the horror of what his brother had become, searing it into his mind forever, so he would never forget, never forgive.

Without another thought for the brother he disowned for the second time and surrounded by enemies not of his own making, Fresco dove out the open window.

He heard a shout nearby and barely had time to make it to his feet when the pounding of boots on the hard packed dirt came right for him. Not even waiting to see how many or how close, Fresco hit top speed in seconds and ran his heart out for Last Stand _._

He staggered as he cleared the warehouse and the wall of silence the Garbagemen placed around him. Fresco felt the terror from the house like a blow as it rushed over him in a wave. He ran harder, reaching for them, desperate to help. He was too late before he hit the fence. Smoke rose from the roof of the old building as screaming kids tried to escape.

Fresco threw himself through the break in the fence in time to see the whole house engulfed in flames. He dodged back, arms over his face, sobbing for air from his run and the sudden rush of heat, hearing and feeling the panic of those trapped inside. He threw his power at the fire, trying to force it back, to save them, but it was no ordinary blaze. He touched the edges of the massive net thrown over Last Stand being fed by the Garbagemen, which in turn fueled the fire. He battered himself against them, but only managed to weaken himself until he was on his knees, the children's cries silenced one by one.

In a third-story window, a tiny figure screamed his name once before the flames engulfed her. There was no way to be sure, but his heart cried out for Apple.

Fresco collapsed in horror. He failed her, failed all of them and worse, brought this down on them. His need to save Daniel killed them. He would have remained there, huddled in a miserable ball, if Parker's mind hadn't latched onto his, her terror driving him to his feet and dragging him around the front of the house.

He felt her fear, her pain and clutched at her, feeling through her as she was shoved into a blue van, the doors slamming shut behind her. When they did, Fresco lost the connection and howled like an animal at the loss. He made it to the front of the house in time to see the van drive off down the street, taillights disappearing into the billowing smoke.

He would have run after it, chased it down, torn the van apart with his bare hands. But, as his body gathered itself to follow, he was struck from behind and crashed to the ground with someone on top of him.

Fresco struggled to free himself, hearing a grunt from his attacker as his flailing elbows met ribs. He rolled free and leaped up, spinning with his gift gathered tightly to him, ready to attack, catching himself at the last second as he realized the man on the ground was Garris.

The owner of Last Stand bled heavily from a scalp wound, his hair and clothing blackened and burned from the fire. He cradled both hands close to his chest. Fresco flinched at the sight of the charred and ruined flesh.

Garris sobbed openly.

"There was nothing we could do!" His desperate eyes locked on Fresco, glasses long gone. He held out his burned hands in an appeal. "They came so fast, too fast." Garris curled up on himself, continuing to sob. "They're all dead."

Fresco grabbed the older man, scanning around the street, watching for Garbagemen. For the moment, they were alone. The wail of a distant siren reached him. The fire department was on its way. He didn't need to look at the house to know they might as well not bother.

Fresco dragged Garris to a nearby alley and propped him up against a dumpster.

"I'm going to find who is left," he told the near comatose Garris. "As many as I can. Don't move."

Garris hugged himself, rocking and humming in shock. Fresco hated to leave him, but he needed to help if there were any survivors.

The brush of a familiar mind sent him running. It didn't take long for him to find Chad. The boy sprawled half a block away, most of his body burned beyond recognition. Fresco fell to his knees beside him, wanting to pull him close, but fearful of making it worse. Chad was slipping away. There was nothing Fresco could do to stop it.

Chad's eyes opened and fixed on Fresco. His lips moved a little, a whisper of breath escaping. Fresco leaned closer to listen.

"...fault..." Chad breathed. "...Parker... find... traitor..." The last of his life force surged into Fresco and made him hurt with the truth. Fresco choked on tears as the boy's fading words hit him like a hammer. Chad was right. It was all Fresco's fault. And Parker... "I'll find her," he swore savagely to Chad. "I'll save her, I swear. I'm sorry, Chad, I'm sorry."

Chad seemed as though he wanted to say more, his eyes trying to communicate where his burned-out gift could not. Whatever strength he had left in him was used up. Fresco held his cracked and bleeding hand as the light in Chad's eyes flickered and went out. The sudden loss of their connection shoved a red hot stake through Fresco, a physical blow leaving him shaken.

He left the body of his friend despite his weary need to collapse and give in. He staggered to his feet in time to see the first fire truck tear around the corner. Enough presence of mind remained to drive him to find a place to hide.

He collapsed across the street in a darkened cellar way and observed with impassive eyes, deep in shock, as the fire fighters struggled to put out the flames. Fresco waited there, forcing himself to watch as Last Stand burned to the ground.

He ignored the police cars and the milling people who came to witness the excitement, his heart gone out of him. Only the sight of a familiar figure emerging from the smoke made him sit up and take notice.

Strom lifted one arm and waved.

Not thinking or feeling or even aware he was acting, Fresco lashed out with the last of his power. The recoil hit him hard. Darkness engulfed him.

***

# Chapter Thirty-Six

Fresco fought consciousness, not knowing why staying in the dark was preferable to waking. His mind tried to pull him deeper, to submerge him in the quiet of sleep, wanting him to stay forever. He reached for the stillness and embraced it, feeling the cool and calm of it wrap him in a cocoon and shield him from harm.

But the light would not be denied. It tugged at him, coaxed him, tempted him with sounds and warmth. Until, at last, he sighed deeply and came back to the real world.

Instantly, he remembered everything and wished he hadn't.

He tensed as he realized he was in the back seat of a moving car. Heart pounding, he reached out with his power, but felt nothing from the front seat. Fresco lurched to a sitting position and grabbed the driver.

Medley cried out as she lost control. They swerved violently. Fresco pulled back, but not before the rocking motion of the vehicle knocked him back down.

"What the hell are you doing?" Her normally calm voice was a shriek as she regained control, the sound of car horns surrounding them as other drivers voiced their anger. She flashed someone her middle finger through the windshield before looking over her shoulder at him. "You almost got us killed!"

He pulled himself up again, blinking into the dark. Medley's face was covered in soot, her clothes also tinted with the stuff. The air hung heavy with the smell of fire and death. Fresco sagged against the passenger seat.

"Garris," he said.

"The cops found him. He's in the hospital."

Fresco's throat worked as he processed that one blessing. "The others?" He wanted to know and he didn't. Medley's flat expression told him he was right on the second count.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He almost gave in to grief, but instinctively channeled it to anger.

"They have Parker," he said. "Killed Chad and the others. They have to pay."

"We were stupid, Fresco," she whispered, surprising him by using his name, the first time she ever did. "Stupid and arrogant and thought they weren't paying attention."

"But they were," he said, his core hardening into a ball of fury.

A soft sob escaped her. "They were."

"What happened?" Again, he needed to know. But this time as fuel for his own fire.

"I was late. Garris called, told me about Chad, the celebration. By the time I got there, the house was on fire and the place was crawling with Garbagemen." She took a shaking breath before going on. "They trapped the kids in the house," she whispered. "Kept them in there and watched them burn." She wiped at her face with one hand before going back to her white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. "I couldn't find anyone, knew I had to stay hidden. I saw you with Garris, lost you in the smoke. Saw the cops find him. I spotted you again, you were out and the Garbagemen were coming." She shook, her lined old hands the only steady thing about her. "I wrestled you into the car and away before they reached you." Her eyes met his in the rearview. "That's it."

Fresco straightened in the seat and sat back. "So it's just you and me," he said softly, mind running through the kids he took on as his family. Martin, Kimberly, Chad. Gentle Joey. He fought the collapse of his rage when he thought of poor little Apple as the grief threatened to close his throat. He slid the rage around him again like a cloak and sank into it. "You and me against them."

She cleared her throat. "Not exactly," she said, voice hesitant.

Fear surged. The word traitor rang with him. Chad thought someone betrayed them. Surely after all of it, it wasn't Medley who would turn him in? He tensed as she slowed the car, taking the nearest exit from the freeway. He prepared himself to fight whatever came when she found a quiet overpass and pulled over. He felt nothing from her, oddly. She was blank to him. She turned off the car and got out, taking the keys with her. Her small body hunched as she limped to the back door, pulling it open, looking in at him.

"You need to see this," she said.

Still tense, Fresco climbed out and went with her to the trunk of the car, trying to reach her all the while and failing. Medley put the key in the lock, expression flat and eyes cold.

"I thought he might come in handy," she said before flinging the lid up.

Together, they stood in the dark by the side of the road and looked down into the trunk where Daniel lay.

A horrible hope took him over. Forgetting the curiosity of Medley's guarded mind, Fresco stared down at the whimpering pile of filth who had been his brother.

"Oh yes," Fresco said, a plan forming in his mind. "Very handy."

He ignored Daniel's blue tears and cries through his gag as Fresco slammed the trunk, sealing Daniel back up in the dark he deserved.

# # #

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About the Author

Everything you need to know about me is in this one statement: I've wanted to be a writer since I was a little girl, and now I'm doing it. How cool is that, being able to follow your dream and make it reality? I've tried everything from university to college, graduating the second with a journalism diploma (I sucked at telling real stories), was in an all-girl improv troupe for five glorious years (if you've never tried it, I highly recommend making things up as you go along as often as possible). I've even been in a Celtic girl band (some of our stuff is on YouTube!) and was an independent film maker. My life has been one creative thing after another—all leading me here, to writing books for a living.

Now with over 100 titles in happy publication, I live on beautiful and magical Prince Edward Island (I know you've heard of Anne of Green Gables) with my very patient husband and multitude of pets.

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