She Who Sees Through Darkness

Part Seven

Light forced itself between her eyelids. Katrina sat up, unwillingly, and rubbed her eyes. Gunk and eyeshadow covered her hands. Something wet touched her leg.

She'd thrown up in Annie's bed.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Heat filled her cheeks. Her stomach churned. She threw up again, soaking Annie's old teddy bear in vomit. Oh, no.

She started crying as she dragged the sheets down to the washing machine. Shame she could handle, shame she could hide. Crying was so ordinary, such a mark of weakness—but she was weak, wasn't she? Just a stinking alcoholic. A human wrecking ball. Ruining my family, hurting everyone I touch.

She knocked over some of Annie's comics as she stumbled back into the room to grab the comforter. Hesitantly, she picked one up.

In the 1930's, some crafty bastards had used the medium to start telling stories about men with supernatural strength and agility. Indigo had shut them down fast, but co-opted the medium to record stories of its own greatest triumphs. Katrina's father had brought new ones home for her every week. She'd devoured them like candy, drinking in the message: the noblest act of all was to bend one's magic to the protection of mankind and the protection of the Seal.

Her fingers lingered on the newsprint. The story was new, but the themes remained familiar: a brave warrior fighting selflessly to protect a group of children from a crazed Descendant who wanted them dead. She'd imagined herself filling those heroic shoes, as a child—you goddamn drunk, you're so weak, you'll never be that that warrior. She dropped the comic before her tears could ruin it. Indigo made them fragile on purpose.

She couldn't bring herself to look at her phone until noon, after she'd showered, fixed the bed, thrown up again, and swiped some clothing from Anaïs. Fifty new texts and emails awaited her. The media wanted interviews, her coworkers hated her guts, and the one she dreaded was at the bottom.

Fired. For the third time. It felt like a punch in the gut. What did you think would happen, Katrina? You think you deserve a job? You're the one who keeps screwing stuff up! Part of her wished she'd told Winters about her drinking problem back when she'd been hired. The other part suspected Winters wouldn't have hired her if she'd known.

The world spun around her. Nothing felt quite real. She sat on the sofa and buried her head in her hands, but being alone with her thoughts was too much to bear. She flipped on the TV. Five minutes later, a picture of her with a blurred circle over her genitals popped up on CNN. She flipped it off.

Her phone rang. Senator Winters. She ignored it and poured herself a glass of Shawn's orange juice. Then she threw up in the sink. Senator Winters called her again. She let it go to voicemail.

Then came a third call.

Katrina realized that the solitude she was cherishing did not contain Kyle, who she vaguely remembered stuffing into Shawn and Anaïs's bed.

She stumbled up the stairs. The bed was empty.

"Crap." She wanted to curl up into a ball and vanish. Or find some way to turn back time.

Her phone rang again. This time, she picked up.

"Katrina?" Senator Winters gasped. "Where's my son?"

Kyle had left a note at his mother's hotel: 'I'm sorry'. Tears streaked the ink. He'd tossed his phone out on the pavement. His mother still had access to his bank account, which said he'd rented a car. The police had been contacted. They'd flagged his car speeding through a tollbooth, streaming northward. Officers in HamiltonCounty had also been alerted. Katrina had called and tried to describe the old hiking trails as well as she could, but she doubted they could find it.