Fade

Part 12

By Dierdre

Beta read by Sassyblondexoxo. Go read her fics!

Many apologies for the long delay, gentle readers. (Removes baseball cap and bows low) I will endeavor not to be so tardy again, okay? I hope you enjoy. :)

With Casey’s name on my lips and the lingering feel of his arms around me, I tore myself from the dream and bolted upright in bed.

Blinking in disorientation, I moaned and rubbed at my aching eyes. Simultaneously reassured and depressed by the familiar dark outlines of my bedroom furniture, I threw back the covers and stepped hastily out of bed… only to have my left leg fold like an accordion and send me crashing to the ground.

The pins holding together my shattered hip and femur ground my flesh from the inside, and the ensuing pain was so blinding that for a long moment I couldn’t even breathe. My mouth yawning open in silent distress, I curled up into a fetal position and clutched at my ruined leg, clawing weakly at the fabric of my pajama bottoms as if to reach through them and tear away the hurt. God, please! Please make it stop…

God’s response seemed to be on a time delay, for it was several long minutes before I was able to uncurl from my cramped huddle on the carpet. When I finally felt as if I could move without blacking out, I levered up my torso with my good arm and swiped my left hand over my eyes, leaving a streak of salty moisture across the protective glove.

Shaking my head in an attempt to banish the flecks of white that swam in front of my vision, I glared at the dark silhouette of my leg brace, propped unassumingly against the nightstand. I loathed it with a passion I didn’t know I could feel for an inanimate object, but not nearly as much as I hated the dream that sometimes made me forget its necessity.

It always began the same way: inside the battle-damaged office building, just as Donny’s sudden, panic-stricken warning of disaster cut like a razor through the tumult. Just like before, I was so wrapped up in deciphering Shredder’s coding that I barely acknowledged his cry, and it took Casey scooping me unceremoniously into his arms for me to become aware of the danger. He moved towards the main doors, dodging fleeing Foot soldiers and running with such swift urgency that all I could do was wrap my arms around his neck and hang on for dear life.

Just like before, we were only a few feet from the exit and its promise of freedom before we heard Shredder’s final cry of rage and a distant, tinny beep. But instead of being engulfed in a sudden hell of pain and fear and fire and death, we somehow found ourselves transported to the lair. Suddenly we were sitting on the couch, relaxed and full from an earlier meal eaten with Master Splinter and the boys, watching Rio Gato for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. No one seemed to care that we could all practically recite the movie by heart, however, for the Shredder was dead and we were all just grateful to be alive. Untouched and alive.

I pulled down the brace and levered my weak, throbbing leg into the cradle of its metal bars. I began to cinch up the nylon straps, belting it securely over the thin fabric to prevent slippage, my eyes narrowed in an effort to keep the tears at bay.

Damn dreams. It wasn’t fair! God, it just wasn’t fair…

Everett's Many-Worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics operated on the theory that an observer contemplating the measurements, or wavefunctions, of a particle actually interacts with it using a unique wavefunction of his own. The observer makes ‘copies’ of himself by this very act of study, with each copy existing in a different world. And so, in essence, for every interaction between wave functions there are infinitely many observers in different worlds, each of whom sees the particle in a slightly different state while remaining unaware of the others.

This theory was the basis for the concept of a ‘multiverse’, where an infinite number of universes curl around each other like the rings of a nautilus shell, each unique and observable, but never touching. In one of those myriad universes, the theory hints, my dream was reality and we had all walked away from the inferno unharmed.

In that universe there existed another April, her body still unscarred and strong, who leaned contentedly in the arms of Casey and laughed with him as Don and Mikey tussled good-naturedly for the popcorn bowl. In that universe Master Splinter still sipped tea while curled in the seat of his favorite armchair, with Leo, intact in both body and mind, kneeling at his side. In that universe Raphael still remembered what it was like to laugh, and to walk through the day unafraid of his own mind.

Somewhere out there, in that singular universe, our family was still whole. Untouched and alive.

This knowledge had made me wish for the first time that I hadn’t been so diligent in my studies. Ignorance in this case would not be bliss, nor would it be a comfort, but at least then I wouldn’t be able to contemplate that other April… or to hate her, just a little, for her fortuity.

Standing up was a whole new adventure in pain, but I nevertheless banished my disturbing thoughts and pushed and clawed my way into an upright position, using the bed frame to brace myself. My leg protested the movement with an unpleasant tingle of abused nerve endings, and I wobbled in reaction, swayed dangerously, and nearly overbalanced. Months of practice had made me adept at maintaining equilibrium, however, and so I recovered swiftly, fumbling at the nightstand until my fingers encountered the switch on my desk lamp. I flicked it on and squinted into the sudden brightness, blinking rapidly until my eyes adjusted.

Limping over to the closet, I pulled back the folding doors and peered inside. My heart contracted at the sight of attire left over from my old life; hanger after hanger of slinky sundresses, brightly-colored halter tops and high-cut jean shorts. Things I’d never be able to wear again as long as I lived.

My lips thinned. Enough of this. Keeping mementos of happier times was one thing, but this was bordering on the masochistic. First thing tomorrow, the Salvation Army was going to find a trash bag full of expensive clothes on their doorstep.

Feeling lethargic and far too achy to bother removing my night clothes, I slipped an oversized gray sweater over my pajama top and struggled into a faded pair of sweatpants. I halfheartedly combed my fingers through my short mass of hair and yawned expansively, before passing through the doorway and down the hall, bound for the kitchen. A cup of coffee, black as pitch and strong enough to eat away my teeth enamel, sounded like heaven right now.

A few minutes later, the rich smell of coffee was busily permeating every corner of my apartment, bringing with it fond memories of my father and the simpler days of childhood. It succeeded in lifting my spirits a little, enough so that I actually dared to cinch up the blinds and allow late afternoon daylight into my home. I poured myself a cup of the steaming brew and spent a few minutes simply staring out the window, leaning against the window frame with most of my weight centered on my good leg.

It was sometimes strangely soothing to watch the people bustling about below me, their heads down and their strides quick and measured. Everyone seemed to know just where they needed to go, giving them the illusion that their days were planned out and executed with precision. No surprises for them, it seemed; no sudden spikes of fear, worry or heartache.

Lucky stiffs.

Snorting at my own melodramatic thoughts, I drained the last of the coffee in one long swallow and set the empty mug on the windowsill. Turning away decisively, intent on getting some computer work done so I could at least pretend at usefulness, I snagged my pack off its wicker chair perch and lowered myself down to take its place.

Balancing the backpack on my lap, I unzipped the top and parted the stiff fabric. I fished out my laptop and prepared to set down the pack… only to pause when my subconscious spotted something amiss. Curious, I peered down into its dark interior and shifted a few items around, my eyebrows drawing together into a scowl as I suddenly understood. My kunai was missing.

Suppressing the urge to curse was more trouble than it was worth, so I sighed gustily and spat out an explicative that would have made Raphael proud.

The kunai had been a gift from Leo during my third post-hospital visit to the lair, taken from his personal weapons collection and pressed into my hands as I prepared to say goodbye. He had solemnly curled my fingers around the handle, wrapped in the same blue cord that decorated the pommels of his katanas, and had drawn me into a careful hug with a simple, hoarse plea to ‘be safe’. I had been mystified by his actions at the time, but in retrospect maybe he had sensed something that I hadn’t, for he had slipped into catatonia less than two days later.

His final gift to me, one of the most precious things I owned, and I’d thrown it on the lair’s kitchen table and forgotten about it. Christ, I was so stupid.

I was on my feet and limping across the white tile floor before common sense slowed my steps, making me hesitate at the kitchen counter with my hand hovering just millimeters from the phone. As much as I wanted to make certain that the weapon was there, and that I hadn’t in fact left it on the bus in a daze of emotional distraction, Raph probably wouldn’t appreciate me calling right now. Our last conversation had been less than pleasant, and the memory of it was still fresh enough to churn my stomach with an acid ache. Maybe it would be better to wait a few days, just to give him a chance to calm down.

Shaking my head at such apprehension, I quickly dialed the number and pressed the receiver to my ear. I had dealt with worse things before than an angry Raphael, and perhaps hearing his voice would give me a clue just how deep his resentment ran. If nothing else, it would give me an opportunity to apologize again for keeping Leo’s bout of lucidity a secret. At the time I thought I was just protecting him from more possible heartache, but the expression on his face before we parted ways had given me cause to rethink. He had seemed so… defeated.

As I listened to the phone’s familiar, monotonous ring, I sighed and rubbed at the bridge of my nose. Come on, Raph, I pled silently, pick up the phone and let me know everything’s all right. Tell me you’re not mad. Tell me we’re still family.

My entreaties went unheard and by the twenty-third ring I set the phone down in its cradle, my chest tight with the beginnings of worry. Raph rarely slept more than an hour or two a night, so it was consequently unlikely that he didn’t hear the phone ring. Either he was still so steamed that he couldn’t bring himself to talk to me, or…

I frowned hard and shook my head. No. Despite his impatience and recklessness, Raph had much more sense than to start hunting for Karai before nightfall. And, even though Raph might not like it, he had promised me he would wait. He always kept his word once it was given. Always.

…And yet a sense of wrongness was blossoming in the back of my mind; a burgeoning pressure, like the beginnings of a headache. It was nothing more than the prodding of unreliable instinct, but I was nevertheless suddenly sure something wasn’t right. I could feel it.

Trying to rationalize this away would do no good, so I snatched up my bag and inserted my laptop, zipping it shut before slinging it over my good shoulder. Turning off the coffeemaker, I shoved my keys into my pants pocket and laboriously slid into a pair of tennis shoes.

Some five minutes later, I was boarding a bus, clinging tight to the railing and dragging my bad leg up each step. I flashed a quick smile at the bus driver, who treated me with a blank look before reaching out and levering the door shut in my wake. My face fell and looked around the crowded vehicle for the nearest available seat, all pretenses of good humor abandoned.

An elderly woman, her body deeply stooped and face creased with wrinkles, scooted over a little and patted the seat beside her, an obvious invitation that I quickly accepted. Sitting down heavily with a murmured ‘thanks’, I clutched my bag in my lap and stared at the graffiti splashed across the ceiling, trying to ignore the blatant stare from the heavily tattooed teenager across the aisle. A moment later the bus groaned and began to move into traffic with the grating, unpleasant squeal of old brakes.

My bad leg proved to be an obstruction, for as the bus shuddered around a corner one of the standing passengers staggered and accidentally slammed into my brace. A fiery shiver of pain lanced up my abused limb and I hissed in reaction. The thin bars on either side of my ankle squealed against the metal floor as I tried to draw it closer to my body, the sound cutting through the surrounding chatter and earning me several curious stares. I bowed my head in embarrassment and plucked at the leg my sweatpants, noting with a chill of dismay that the skeleton of my brace could be clearly seen under the grey weave.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes and I blinked rapidly to clear them away. I would never get used to this. I would never get used to feeling like a freak.

I was wallowing hip deep in a pool of self-pity, my body swaying numbly with the motions of the bus, when the woman beside me suddenly reached out and patted my hand. I jumped a little and turned just as her lined, dark face split into a smile, an expression full of yellowed teeth and unexpected warmth. “Breathe easy, child. They don’t mean nothing by it.”

Eyes wide in surprise, all I could do was nod slowly and say, “I know.” Taking in a deep breath, my free hand reached up of its own accord and I bit lightly at the encasing black glove. “I know.”

The woman patted my hand one last time before withdrawing, and I noticed for the first time the simple wooden cane nestling against the side of her leg, nearly hidden from view by her multicolored, voluminous skirts. She curled her bony fingers around the handle in a motion so practiced and familiar it almost looked elegant, and leaned her twisted back against the seat.

The exchange had been so brief it hardly qualified as conversation, but I still found myself drawn to her. Dropping my hand back into my lap, I once again wound my hands through the strap of my bag and gave her a surreptitious look out of the corner of my eye. If she was aware of my gaze she didn’t acknowledge it, but merely tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Her age-thinned lips curved into a slight smile, as if listening to music only she could hear.

It occurred to me that she might be crazy, but after a moment of scrutiny I decided I might not mind having a dose of her particular brand of lunacy. It had been a long time since I had seen someone look so at peace, and longer still since I could remember feeling such a thing within my own heart.

My musings drew to a sudden close when she reached up and pulled the bell cord, announcing her desire to exit the vehicle. As the bus slowed down obediently, easing itself behind a van full of Japanese tourists and continuing on towards the shoulder, the woman turned and fixed me with a gaze that told me she’d been aware of my examination all along.

I winced guiltily and opened my mouth to apologize, only to have the words die in my throat when she reached out and cupped my jaw in a gesture so gentle that I couldn’t bring myself to protest.

“Keep your chin up, child, and be patient,” she said softly. “Things cannot exist forever as they are. Life is about change, both the good and the bad.” She smiled again, that simple, kind smile, and for a wild moment she reminded me of Master Splinter. “And it looks like you’re overdue for some good.”

With that she released my chin and stood, leaning heavily on her cane as the bus squealed and jerked to a stop. The doors slid open and she turned away without another word, starting to weave her way through the standing passengers. Her back, twisted and hunched with osteoporosis, looked all the more obvious now that she was standing, but her stride was sure and she moved with such quiet dignity that people stepped obediently aside and didn’t even attempt to stare.

The doors hissed closed and the bus began moving again with the familiar cacophony of old brakes and overtaxed metal. I barely noticed the noise, however, or felt the pressure of eyes upon me, for my focus was now turned inward. Ever so slowly, I reached up and touched my chin.

Yeah, she was definitely crazy, but that knowledge wasn’t enough to keep the slight smile off my face. Perhaps there was still some hope for us after all.

I coasted through the rest of the ride in a dreamlike state, forcing myself back to reality only when I finally exited the bus a few blocks from the lair. Adjusting the strap of the heavy pack more comfortably across my shoulder, I ran my fingers through my hair as the bus roared away in an eye-stinging cloud of exhaust. After casting a quick glance around to make sure I was alone, I stepped out of the bus stop overhang and began making my slow way towards the warehouse.

Just as I had been taught, I was careful to keep my eyes and ears open for any suspicious movement or sounds. The clank and scrape of my leg brace made the last difficult, but I did my best to tune it out. No matter what Raph might think, I was acutely aware of how vulnerable I was now, and so I was always careful when I made these treks.

The sun was dipping below the skyline as I walked, turning the many shining glass buildings into menacing silhouettes of gold-rimmed black. I hunched my shoulders against the deepening chill as the area was blanketed in their resulting shadows, throwing the entire grid into premature twilight. This neighborhood wasn’t so bad during the day, but when nighttime was in full swing this place became a truly dangerous place to prowl. And so, though I had yet to sense any trouble, I gripped my bag tighter and struggled to quicken my pace.

My leg was aching and my breathing was labored by the time I finally made it to the warehouse. Coming to a halt at the doorway, I breathed a sigh of relief and stopped a moment, taking the opportunity to catch my breath while I scanned one last time for danger. The neighborhood seemed quiet, hushed, with only the distant fluttering of a passing flock of pigeons to add texture to the silence.

Feeling relatively secure, I reached for the door handle… only to be brought up short by a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision. I twisted around, putting my back to the door even as I slid the bag off my shoulder, ready to use its heavy weight as a weapon. I raked the alley shadows, fire escapes and rooftops with my gaze, opening my senses to their fullest in an effort to catch any slight abnormality.

After a long, breathless moment where I detected nothing strange, I allowed myself to relax a little. It was probably just an alley cat, or a piece of trash caught up by the wind.

Yes, that must be it.

Still unaccountably uneasy, I reached behind my back and fumbled at the metal door, flecks of old paint flaking away under the onslaught of my knuckles and falling to the dirt like heavy snow. Once my fingers finally hooked around the knob, I twisted and pushed even as I staggered backwards. I slammed the door shut with a huff of effort, finding comfort in the familiar gloom of the warehouse, and pressed the button on the knob to lock it. And then, for a reason that I couldn’t fully explain, I reached up and twisted the deadbolt, applying firm pressure until the rust freezing up the locking mechanism gave way and allowed the bolt to slide into place. Safe.

I was in the elevator a few moments later; wincing at the grating sounds accompanying my descent and scoffing at my own foolishness. That was the first time I’d locked the warehouse door since the explosion, and the first time I’d ever used the deadbolt. Raph’s frequent lectures must be rubbing off on me, because I was starting to get paranoid.

Stepping into the lair as the doors ground shut behind me, I looked around. The living room was still enshrouded in the perpetual gloom that Raph seemed to prefer, but there was a new quality to the quiet that was even now wrapping itself around me like a familiar cloak. Something almost… ominous.

“Raph?” I called out hesitantly.

My lips tightened into a frown as the name echoed off the concrete walls and returned to me unanswered. Telling myself firmly that nothing was wrong, and that Raph was either sleeping or simply ignoring me, I limped into the kitchen and set my bag down on the scarred tabletop.

The kunai was exactly where I’d left it, and so I scooped the weapon up and ran a thumb over the corded handle. Something inside me loosened at the feel of the blade in my hands, and I smiled a little before once again growing serious. That niggling worry in the back of my mind, banished sometime during the bus ride over, had returned with renewed strength. Perhaps it was only paranoia ruffling its feathers again, but this time I was unable to quell that strange sense of apprehension. Something was wrong.

Compelled by amorphous instinct, I gripped the kunai loosely in my right hand and clanked my way back into the living room. There was a smell in the air that I couldn’t quite place, but it seemed to be the source of my disquiet, for I could feel my heartbeat quickening with every breath I took.

I inhaled experimentally through my nostrils, breathing deep and slow as I struggled to place the faint aroma. It was reminiscent of metal, copper or iron perhaps, and the scent collected on the back of my tongue, bringing with it a taste that was terribly familiar.

All the air whooshed from my lungs as I exhaled in a burst of sudden shock. The blade tip began to shake as I gripped my weapon in white-knuckled fingers, my heart pounding in sympathy with the terror rising in my soul.

Blood. I smelt blood.