The Receiver

3 2 - U P S I D E - D O W N

I dream of a thousand orange petals dancing on water. Of flames and heat, of fire everywhere, thick and angry of Mom, of Dad and our crash that day on the road. Of pain searing inside my body...

When I open my eyelids, the flames stay there.

Out my bedroom window, golden sunlight gleams off the lacquered exoskeletons of the skyrises. Beneath me, the bedsheets are cool and silky and I don't want to move. Someone has put on relaxing music overlaid with nature sounds that remind me of home: woodpeckers knocking against bark, whippoorwills singing their long, looping calls, and the faint ribbit of swamp frogs.

"Frank?" I think aloud, barely audible.

It feels like I've been asleep for an exorbitant amount of time.

I sit up slowly, careful to tense my stomach muscles for fear of shooting pain, but I feel almost one hundred percent better. Not even the faintest ghost of pain remains. They must have given me drugs.

"Frank?" I call again, louder.

The door opens then and May enters, shuffling in with her motherly waddle, like a mother duck. She offers me a soft smile.

"How's Zander?"

She comes over to sit on the edge of the bed next to me, skirting the Hollow suit on the floor beside the bed, and reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind my left ear. My throat tightens with some half-remembered memory of my mother doing the same thing.

"Están piso de arriba," she says. They're upstairs.

I thank May, who makes sure I'm steady on my feet before I take the elevator upstairs to Zander's apartment.

His laserscreen is on, but the volume is off and there's no one on the sofa watching it. In fact, the entire living room is empty, as is the dining room, kitchen, and the pool outside. Tetra's charging station in the corner is empty.

Down the hall, I wander to his bedroom where I find him lying on his bed, sleeping and shirtless. A metallic mesh covers his chest from ribs to navel. It reminds me of the classic bronze statues I've seen in Mom's art history books. On his bedside table sits an unmarked bottle of antibiotics. Unconscious, he must not be in any pain because I'm completely fine.

I curl my fingers into his left hand, lying limp beside his thigh.

"You better not die," I mumble. "We've got too much to live for now. There's still so much to do..."

His eyelids, slick with sweat, flicker then, like he's having a bad dream, and his chapped lips part.

"Rho," he grumbles in a voice so hoarse it sounds like he's growling.

"Hey," I say softly. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"We did it," he garbles.

"Yeah," I nod. There are a million things I want to ask and say, but I don't. I just say, "Rest now."

It takes all of ten seconds for him to fall back asleep. Voices drift into his room from across the hall. Leaving his side, I head out into the hallway and turn the corner to find Zoa, Milo, Katz, Frank, and Iris all standing together, watching the screens in Zander's sim room.

"Iris," I breathe.

She must hear me because she immediately spins around and rushes toward me. Just seeing her in front of me makes me physically weak. She prevents me from falling by catching me in a hug. Neither of us says anything. Our hug says enough.

A minute later, Milo and Katz join. When we all finally break away, the four of us walk over to her and Frank where they're stationed in front of the screen, and I offer Zoa a weak grin, but she knows a hug is not due to her. She stands with her arms crossed, her body language telling me she's not interested in one anyway.