“That’s alright,” Painter replied. “Wren’s muh-muh-mentioned you en-en-nough, I forgot we hadn’t.”
“We’re ready to see the girl,” Cass said, her voice even and cool.
“Sure,” Mouse answered. “Wren, why don’t you wait here with Able?”
For a moment, Wren felt relief at the idea of avoiding seeing the dead girl again. But if it really was Snow, if it really was Painter’s sister… it just didn’t seem right to take the easy way out. He knew he’d regret it if he didn’t stand there by Painter’s side.
“No, I want to come too,” Wren said.
“You d-d-don’t have to, Wruh-Wren,” Painter said.
“I want to.”
“Alright,” said Mouse. “She’s this way.”
Able waited in the front room while the others followed Mouse through the clinic and into a room in the back. Wren had never been in the compound’s morgue before. It was small, and there were a couple of steel tables and some things that looked like tools, but not the kind of tools Wren would ever want to have to use. He didn’t know what they were for and really didn’t want to.
There was something under a white cloth on one of the tables, and Mouse moved next to it. He put his hand on the covering and paused. Wren took a deep breath, tried to prepare himself. Painter nodded, and Mouse drew back the cover.
She was there, the girl that had attacked Wren, looking calm and peaceful and lovely, and so very young. Apart from her absolute paleness, it was hard to believe she was dead and not just sound asleep. The breath caught in Wren’s throat and everything came flashing back, and it seemed so impossible that such a beautiful and fragile creature could have ever tried to do him any harm.
Painter didn’t react at all. He just stared at the girl, emotionless, expressionless. They waited in strained silence for him to identify her, to acknowledge it was his sister — or to confirm that it wasn’t, to give some sign of recognition. Anything. But he just stood there.
Mouse watched him for a few moments, and then slowly slid his eyes over to Cass.
“Painter, sweetheart,” she said in soothing tones.
He rubbed his nose with the back of his fingers, and then abruptly turned and walked out of the room. Wren could hear him sit heavily down in the room next door. The three others stood in silence for a moment, watching, and then Cass finally turned to look back at Mouse. He covered the body again.
“What do you think?” Cass asked.
“I think that’s a confirmation,” Mouse said. “But someone ought to talk to him.”
“I’ll do it,” Wren said.
“We’ll go together,” Cass replied.
“No, Mama. Just me. To start.”
She chewed her bottom lip for a second, the way she did when she was nervous, or thinking, or both. But finally she nodded. “OK, baby. To start.”
Wren walked to the room next door, feeling hot and cold at the same time. His palms were all sweaty, and he felt a little bit like he might throw up. He didn’t know if it was from having seen the girl again, or from fear of what Painter might say. Or do.
When he entered the room, Painter was sitting in a chair with his hands on his knees, looking at the floor. He didn’t look up when Wren came in. Didn’t show any signs of knowing Wren was even there. Wren stood in the door, wondering what to do next. An empty chair was next to Painter, so eventually Wren just went over and lowered himself carefully onto it.
They sat in silence for several minutes. Or at least what seemed like minutes. Finally Painter started moving again, just running his hands along his legs, back and forth, like maybe he was trying to dry his palms on his pantlegs.
“That’s alright,” he said. “That’s alright. She’ll be alright.” And then he laughed, a short bark that made Wren jump. “I ffff-ffff… I forgot to bring her coat. I have a cuh-cuh-coat. She left it. I was suh-suh-ssss… supposed to give it back t-t-to her.”
“I’m so sorry, Painter. I was hoping it wasn’t her.”
“It’s not — it’s nnn — it’s not her,” Painter said. He was still looking at the floor, still running his hands back and forth, back and forth. “Not r-r-really.”
Wren felt a chill race down his back, felt vulnerable. He glanced at the other room where Mouse and Able were with his mama.
“That isn’t your sister?” he asked.
“No,” Painter answered, shaking his head, his voice calm and even. “No, Snuh-Snow’s not… she’s not… Snow dances, Wren. She’s a duh-duh, a dancer. Best dancer you ever saw. She g-g-g-glides. That grrrr — that g-g-girl, she’s just lying there.”
“Painter…”
“Just luh-luh… just lying there,” he said, still rubbing his legs. Wren looked down and inhaled sharply. Painter’s pant legs had grown dark and torn, his fingertips blotched and spattered. Wren only now realized that Painter’s claws were out and he was cutting into his own flesh.
“Painter, your legs…” Wren said, too terrified to move. Painter stopped and slowly lifted his hands, turned them over. He watched them as if they belonged to someone else.
“That’s my baby sister,” he said quietly. “My… baby… sister!” He flashed up out of his chair and in a single motion whipped it off the floor and across the room. The chair shattered against the wall, and Painter let out an inhuman howl of rage.
Mouse was there in an instant, grabbing at Painter, and Wren saw Painter’s hands flailing, thrashing in Mouse’s powerful grip. Able materialized seconds later and grabbed Painter from behind. Cass skidded into the room and put herself between Wren and the others, while the two men struggled to pin Painter’s arms down and control him. Finally their combined strength overpowered Painter’s, and he dropped to his knees, his fury giving way to bitter anguish. Able held on to him as he shook with soul-deep sobs.
“Snow,” Painter said, “Snow, Snow, Snow.”
Cass knelt next to him, and put her hand on his head, consoling him. Wren couldn’t stop his own tears, and no one seemed to mind. Gradually Able released his hold. Painter slumped further forward until his face was almost on the floor, his hands slack in front of him. Cass gently pulled him over until his head was on her lap, and there she held him like a child.
Able remained crouched next to them, ever watchful, but all the fight seemed to have gone out of Painter. Mouse motioned for Able’s attention, and when Able looked up, Mouse said, “If you’ve got this under control, I’m gonna get cleaned up.”
Wren noticed the cuts across Mouse’s arms, and chest, and face. Bright blood ran freely from a cut along his cheekbone.
How bad? Able signed.
Mouse shook his head. “Stings a little, but they’re not deep. He wasn’t trying to hurt anybody.”
Able nodded, and Mouse disappeared. Painter’s loud weeping eventually dwindled to an exhausted sort of despair, and he sat up with his hands in his lap.
“Sorry about… the, the, the, sorry about the chair,” he said quietly. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and stared at the floor.
“It’s nothing to worry about, OK?” Cass answered.
“Can I be a-a-alone for a few minutes?” he asked. “I woh-woh- won’t go crazy.”
“Sure, Painter. Whatever you need.”
“Th-th-thanks.”
Cass motioned to Wren and together with Able they left the room and returned to the front of the clinic.
“What do you think?” Cass asked in a low voice.
Keep him here for a couple of days, Able signed.
Wren collapsed into a chair in the corner by the door, exhausted and overwhelmed. Cass and Able carried on a quiet conversation, whispering and signing, but Wren didn’t care to try to follow any of it. The scene that had just played out before him had been more terrible than he had imagined it would be. Death was nothing new to him, unfortunately, and he had seen the many different ways loss could affect the grieving. But Painter’s unrestrained fury had surprised him. Since his Awakening, Painter had never been anything but softly spoken, humble, and kind. To see him tormented so fully broke Wren’s heart.