The sun was on its way, drenching the sky with an ultraviolet hue. Traebule missed the early morning birdsong of spring and summer, but winter was beautiful in its own way. In the morning, after a fresh snow, everything looked smooth and clean and friendly, like plastic toys waiting to be painted.

Trae tried to brush back his untameable forest of hair, and surveyed the parking lot outside the window, blocking out the mechanical snoring from the beds around him. He pushed the window open a crack and inhaled deeply. During his first months in the city he had been skeptical about the seasons, but snow was nothing like rain. Snow was dry and soft and light. Rain made him sweat and cough, and he was quite sure it also caused indigestion.

He needed the bathroom.

Trae shuffled into the hall, sliding on fluffed slippers, imagining the joy of ice skating. He had never been ice skating before, and it showed. With the grace of an elephant he skidded down the hall and crashed into a plastic bench. But he unstuck and continued, undeterred.

Collisions aside, there was a comfortable sort of silence to the hospital early in the morning. A few light footsteps, but no voices. In that way, it reminded him of home. Getting up early was too hard, but recently he’d been given night watch duties, so he came to enjoy this small reward at the end of his shift. As an additional reward, he could sleep through the rest of the day.

Trae skated in and out of the bathroom, and took a detour to the vending machine at the opposite end of the floor. Its racks were almost empty, because Trae been by at least thirty times over the course of the night.

There might have been more to scavenge from the cafeteria or staff room, but he was instructed to stay upstairs. Trae wasn’t keen on having Cadmus run him down for taking half of the communal candy bowl, either. The bowl was so small, and the candies even smaller but so tasty; the only way to resist was to avoid the room altogether.

He mournfully selected a packet of unseasoned pretzels.

Beside the vending machine, there was an open closet. Trae peered in with interest. During the last thirty-odd visits to the vending machine, he hadn’t noticed it before, because it had been closed. The contents were a collection of whites and blues, bottles and sheets. There was the faint, tantalizing smell of artificial spruce and lime - floor cleaner - and a hint of bleach.

Trae had some recollection that doors were not supposed to just be left open on this floor. He slid over, placed his hand on the knob. Then he saw it.

On the bottom shelf, there was a burst of color; primary reds and blues. Again, Trae thought of plastic toys. The childlike delight remained even after he realized exactly what he had found.

Refills for the vending machine!

Trae pushed aside a broom and stuck his head in, shoving the unwanted pretzels into the depths of his massive robe and forgetting instantly that he did. A box of chips lay before him, sealed and sparkling, prawn and vinegar and onion and more. He reached in, then backed away. It was just one pack, did he need it? But then, it was just a pack, would anyone miss it?

He reached, and withdrew. Reached again...

Trae did not get to make his terrible decision. When his slippered foot landed in the closet, a bag was slipped over his head.

Trae gasped, crackling plastic pressing over his mouth with each wheeze. He twisted left, right, and his neck was pulled back. So he began to thrash. With his considerable bulk, he rarely lost once he started to struggle. So his assailant reached around, long curved knife in hand, and stabbed him in five hurried motions, twice in the neck, twice in the chest, once to the soft center of his gut.

Though Trae couldn’t see anything, he felt those precious gulps of air escaping through the holes in his windpipe, and the sharp, damp heat spreading across the front of his robe. His slippers were getting wet, and he hated that. Trae gasped one more time and spilled to the floor.

There was palpable silence in his wake. Then...

Footsteps, grunts and heaving. Trae’s body lay half in and half out of the closet, and wasn’t about to be moved. Trae was a handful ordinarily, and a beast when he struggled, but when he was unconscious there was no contest to be had. The door was not going to close.

Footsteps now padded off in the direction of Room 201. The next part was never expected to be easy, but with its guard disposed of (however messily) at least there would be some time to think.

The door slid open and the footsteps approached the bed where Red Fleming lay. His beard had been trimmed, his shirt changed, and he slept with an expression of serenity so pure and absolute it was going to be difficult to do what was needed.

But then, a new, unseen stranger shoved the door closed, and it was clear the difficulties would never end.

---

“Morning, Plato,” Rai said, making sure the door fastener fell into place. “You’re in early. Red’s looking much better than he was the last time I saw him.”

“That’s good. We try. That’s all we can do.” Plato pulled Red’s blanket smooth, patted the sides down. “I’m surprised to see you here. It isn’t visiting hours yet. And I doubt Red’s going to be ready for questions anytime soon...”

“I’m here to hang out.” Rai seated himself on the chair closest to the door and stretched his legs out. “I was hoping to chat with the guy who’s supposed to be here, but it looks like he’s on a snack run.”

Plato spontaneously developed a cough.

“I assume every time he’s missing it’s a snack run, but maybe he’s off on an emergency call. Or maybe he’s out for a piss.” Rai shrugged. “So how are you?”

They both looked over the beds into the violet daybreak beyond the window. Plato’s breathing had not settled yet.

Rai smiled. “Not great? I get it. It must be hard looking at these beds, knowing that these men might never see the sun again. You know firsthand. You told me your brother had a similar condition. Was he also a patient here?” Rai didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s nice that he had a nurse for a brother, there to watch over him.”

“I… I didn’t have much time to, though. It gets busy.”

“Of course. Even if he was in this room, there were always other patients.” Rai flung a hand out at the sleeping members of his audience. The blue flash of hands caught Plato’s eye, making him twitch. Rai smiled again, innocent as a kitten, with a hint of fangs. “Did Skye Sacia have a brother?”

Plato’s shoulders twitched again.

“Skye was a patient in this room, until he wasn’t. The night he died, there were a shitload of distractions; people going in and out, the Sparrows, the Flemings, all the rest. And of course that cheering, the big party, the noise everyone talks about. But cutting that particular time out of the picture, hard as it is, what happened was...” Rai shifted his hands from one side to another. “The Flemings kicked out three stretchers. Three other patients. But after they left, only two were wheeled back in. The missing bed was Skye’s. He was one of the only losses of the fateful night. You got him out of there as fast as possible. And I notice you didn’t see fit to mention him to us, in any more than the vaguest terms.”

“Yes. Skye was my brother. I’m sorry I didn’t say more. It was just so sudden, and there’s been so much going on with the Flemings that I thought it was… inappropriate to talk about, as if it compared in any way to their loss.”

“I get it,” Rai said again. He didn’t, but he was trying. Sao would probably feed out some small talk now, before getting back to the large talk. “How did it happen? I mean, how did your brother end up in hospital?”

“He was attacked. Public bathroom in some bad neighborhood. Beaten, robbed, and left for dead. They fractured his skull on the toilet bowl, he lay there for hours...”

“Oh, I’ve been there.” Noting Plato’s incredulous face, Rai added hastily, “By the Western Highway. It’s a bad neighborhood.”

“It -- I didn’t say anything about the Western Highway.”

“But that’s where he lived. And,” Rai said, “where you killed Carion Fleming.”

The snowless sky took on a warm golden light as the sun peeked over the rooftops. Plato closed his eyes and strangely enough, from his silhouette at least, looked to be completely calm. “How much do you know?”

“Not much, to be frank. And I don’t think I like what I’m going to hear from you.”

“Well, of course not.”

“Talk about a letdown. I was expecting curses. Spiritual purveyors of death and destruction. Bones and magic circles, they were all there. Sure, we got to arrest a witch, but it wasn’t a real arrest, and she wasn’t much of a witch.” Rai breathed a petulant sigh. “In the end, I get a clear non-magician with blood on his coat.”

Plato dipped his head and inspected the blood almost affectionately, and burst into laughter. “You’re pretty whimsical for a detective.”

“Not as whimsical as my assistant, after he downed a certain someone’s candy laced with uppers.”

“Shit. Sorry, is he alright?”

“He’s not a child.” Rai folded his arms. “And you’re pretty compassionate for a killer. So, what turned this caring, dutiful brother down the road to violence and drugging, and all that fun stuff?”

“God, there’s been so much.” Plato toppled into one of the chairs, limbs hanging off like lead weights. “I don’t know where to start.”

“The first death, then. Chiro Fleming. He was home alone, he took a courier delivery, then for some reason ran out of the house--”

Plato shook his head. “Chiro never got the delivery.”

“Well, the delivery was inside the house.”

“Yes. I put it there.”

Rai laid out his hands; floor open.

“I made the delivery. You may have noticed that I’m known as the Flemings’ errandboy, and the designated couriers don’t like doing extra favors for patients. I got lost looking for the place, somehow missed the fence and parked behind it. But I walked a little and saw the house on the hill, so I just went straight up.” Plato regarded Rai with dull grey eyes. “I know how it sounds. But at the time, I wasn’t interested in anything more than dropping off the package and getting out of there with minimal interaction - or noise - from the Flemings. I didn’t know who was home, or if anyone was at all. There was no cell reception, so I couldn’t call. When I knocked, there was no answer, but I heard voices, some TV show. I went around to the back to see if there was a window, in case, I don’t know, Red had passed out at home--”

“Sure.”

Plato recoiled at this, but continued. “Chiro was in the living room. He saw me at the window, and came out. I don’t think he recognized me. He was screaming threats, and he had a knife, so I ran, tried to make some distance so I could get his attention and let him know why I was there. But when he got to that gazebo, he tripped on something, and he fell. Then there was the blood, there was so much of it, he saw he was covered in it and couldn’t get up. He was seizing by the time I got to him. I think it was the shock. I thought the blood was his, but when they brought his body in, the doctors were saying it was...”

“It was cardiac arrest after all.” Rai groaned.

“Yes. But it was less of a surprise than it could have been. I never saw any records specifically saying this - we were never allowed to do a full examination - but Art was always talking about the family’s bad heart. She had a whole host of other issues, deficiencies, allergies, migraines, but from their habits, I think she was serious, or Red had ingrained the habits that kept them healthy. Red Fleming fell into a coma after a cardiac arrest. I heard their mother died after suffering a heart condition as well.” Plato looked down. “Both parents - it was probably genetic. Art was just repeating her father’s words, but I worked this room long enough to hear her bring it up it hundreds of times. She brought up so much else that heart problems just blended in. It just seemed like histrionics until Chiro - he suffered heart failure for sure. I didn’t touch him. I didn’t have to. He didn’t lock the back door, so I put Red’s pants and watch in the kitchen and left. I considered calling an ambulance from their home but I didn't want to be caught there, having to explain even more on their behalf. And when I heard the news as the hospital - I got the idea for the rest.” He smiled faintly. “I had been catering to their comfort so long, I knew exactly what would ruin it. Their own faulty hearts would do half the job for me.”

At the first hint of menace Rai only closed in. “Kuro came next.”

“Yes. Again, it was… hands off, kind of a wild shot. I picked up some… stimulants from a dealer around the Western Highway. Amphetamines. A small dose, the dealer was an old friend from when both me and my brother lived there. I crushed it, rolled it into some pieces of soft candy from the staff room. Axelle hands them out all the time, so it would be no surprise for a kid to walk out with one, except...”

“Axelle tried to give some to Karik and Kuro, and Art wouldn’t stand for it.”

“Yes. But that ended up making it easier for me - Kuro knew me, I waved them down and snuck them my modified pieces while Axelle was getting a beatdown. I told Kuro to find somewhere quiet and enjoy it, and not to let his mom know. Kuro knew how to be subtle - and I’d been watching him so long that I knew he was eager for any excuse to slip out of his mother’s grip. As for Karik...” Plato sighed. “He repeats things. So I just gave him a piece, no words, and hoped for the best.”

“Talk about subtlety. He saved it, and saved himself. Got my assistant, though.”

“I didn’t mean to, I hope he’s--”

“I know. But you meant for it to get someone,” Rai stared him down, and Plato quickly diverted his gaze. “Kuro hid in his garden and had his secret snack. On the way back home, his little heart couldn’t take it and, once again, we got cardiac arrest.”

Plato nodded.

“Kris was different.”

“Not by much. It wasn’t the first time she made an escape while her mother was having a tantrum. Red Fleming blowing up at the same time probably made it all the more terrifying. They’ve sent me to look for her before, it was always the empty rooms, fire escapes and the roof, in that order, depending on the severity. She was looking off the roof, had her back turned. I grabbed her, considered throwing her over the edge but… I couldn’t. It wasn’t needed, anyway. Kris, she was scared, she didn’t move. I didn’t notice that she’d stopped breathing.”

“Damn. Cadmus did say something about her neck, but the other bodies seemed untouched so when there was no blood spilled, the illusion just continued.” Rai threw his head back.

“She suffocated while I was figuring out what to do. I didn’t intend to…”

“You’re trying to tell me it was an accident that she was strangled instead of scared to death or drugged?”

“No. I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“And Carion definitely wasn’t an accident.”

“He was… you don’t understand.”

“Don’t tell me I had to be there. You practically cut him in half, and of course there was never the possibility of a magical heart attack when it came to him. He wasn’t a blood relative of the Flemings.” Rai tapped his chin. “Well maybe there was some element of an accident. Because you didn’t go to him - he came to you, didn’t he?”

“Scared the hell out of me.” Plato’s face creased, and for the first time that morning he looked mildly fearsome. “He found out, somehow. He was always hard to pin down and he was always a better listener than the rest of their flock, hard not to be. Maybe he noticed that I went to the roof while everyone was tied up with that exorcism insanity. Maybe he just saw my face and knew. I don’t know if he pulled the address from the nurses or from a PI or if I happened to tell him -- fuck. He came after me with a knife, at the Western Highway, by Skye’s house. The yard was already overgrown and the house looted, I only managed to save some photos and old bills, but I came out and I saw that gaudy red car on the street, and he jumped out of nowhere.” Plato’s fingers tightened, then released. “Carion was bigger than me, obviously there for revenge, and he had a knife. It was self defense. He wouldn’t talk sense. He kept saying… he...”

“He was apologizing, right?” Rai said quietly. “That situation might have been partially my fault. Did he actually hurt you in any way?”

“No. He just waved the knife and held it up a couple times, but whenever he had the chance, he just froze. He couldn’t do it. I guess that’s not surprising.”

“Carion exiled himself from his family because he couldn’t slaughter their animals - and those were just pigs. I’m guessing he couldn’t truly envision killing a person.”

“I didn’t know. Was he a farmer?”

“No. He just lived near a farm.”

Slightly baffled, Plato concluded, “well, that’s what happened. That was it. Until today.”

“You were going to kill Red Fleming.”

Plato looked a the man in question. There was no rage, no envy, no energy at all in his gaze. “I don’t know. He looks so calm, and of the family he’s the only one who never took it out on me. He couldn’t. But I just know when he wakes up...” He banged the metal barrier of the bed at Red’s feet. Red did not stir. “I won’t be able to take it.”

“That’s the last part of puzzle for me,” Rai said. “Why? I get that it’s for your brother, in some way, but what did the Flemings do--”

“It’s not what they did, it’s ‘how they are’.”

“So, it wasn’t just that night…?”

“But that night was when I realized. Their ‘miracle’,” Plato said, closing his eyes, “that old man waking up, that was the most painful, insulting moment of my life.”

Red snored appreciatively. Plato set a hand on the bedframe.

“I was sitting over my brother as he was dying, after being forced to dump him in out the hall like he was already a corpse, fucking drowning in orders - go upstairs, get these beds out, bring me water, control those gang members... In the final few minutes of his life, as he took his last breaths and there was nothing I could do to help him, the Flemings, they...” He breathed. “They cheered. They cheered and cheered. I was trying to say goodbye, trying to hear the moment his heart stopped but all I heard was whooping and screaming and laughing. After a year of watching over my brother, I got to know that the last thing we heard together was a bunch of megalomaniacs celebrating over his failing body. After causing nothing but grief, they, the fucking Flemings, were rewarded.”

“Oh.”

“And that’s it.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Plato.” Rai wondered if was time to go. “You brother, Skye… I didn’t know him, but he was lucky to have you.”

“Please don’t.”

Rai tried to make out the expression he was getting. The daylight was breaking in hard, and all he saw were shadows, Plato like a statue against a blinding sky. He squinted. “I’m sure you were close?”

“Was that a question?”

“I wouldn’t know for sure.”

“No.” Plato raised the air with a sudden snort. “Not really. I hadn’t spoken to him for years. Divorced parents. Plus with the wife’s name, nobody would make the connection. Of course, I knew where he was all these years, he never left that hellhole street, the exhaust and the trash, but when he married that woman, that was the end. No calls, no mail, no reunions, until he turned up here. What a waste. So much we both should have done differently, but maybe it was best we didn’t get to speak.”

“I see.” Rai nodded, mostly for himself. “So it wasn’t for him...”

This seemed to strike a nerve. “I stayed on, didn’t I? I’m still watching over this room, even after Skye’s gone. Because it won’t just be him. People like Art and Red Fleming, they’re protected, they don’t have to listen when they’re wrong, they’ll continue punishing others and being rewarded for the damages, laughing all the way out. The loudest voices always win. Even it it hadn’t been my brother, that night was proof that that the Flemings need to be stopped.” He turned onto Red again with a feverish smile. Rai shifted weight to his feet, any minute now--

But Plato did not stand. He only hunched on his chair, and tucked the corner of Red’s bedspread back against the mattress. Red remained in his credulous slumber, frail chest rising and falling to the sighs of an air pump.

So Rai remained seated too. He made an attempt at Sao’s carefree recline, but the chair was too uncomfortable. His head was restless. So he fidgeted and wondered. Wondered where to go from here. Wondered whose blood Plato had already spilled on his coat that morning.

---

Footsteps.

Sao’s eyes opened and the footsteps faded. He sat, the covers slipping off his shoulders, and felt oddly invigorated. The typical explanation for such a feeling was that he had slept until noon, but he recalled the night being anything but typical.

The details of that night were cloaked in a dense fog. He remembered being in the office, that much was sure. From there, things got slippery. He could vaguely recall a shopping mall, one of its hallways burst into flames. Then a devil with a syringe, from which he had not been able to escape. After the needle, though, he had been fine, and a pair of angels had put him to rest. And Rai was lurking nearby the whole time, telling him to get up, stop talking, and put on that infernal coat.

The last of it was no dream. The plastic coat was folded over on a small metal stand by his bed. On top of it were his belongings; his wallet, phone, and zippered pouch.

As soon as he remembered, he ran his fingers over his face and wondered how much had come off. He was in his work clothes which were now littered with creases, and carrying a strange chemical smell. There would be no resting now that he was so acutely aware that he had missed his nighttime ritual.

Sao got up and shifted the curtain that encircled his bed. He had been placed in a small, quiet room with four other cots, each in their little curtained enclosure. The setup was somewhat like Red’s in 201, though the guests in this room were clearly not so far gone. There were no ventilators or monitors, just a soft, breathy quiet. There was an en-suite bathroom, but he was sure his roommates wouldn’t enjoy waking to a running sink or flushing toilet. He picked up his belongings and, reluctantly, the plastic coat.

The hallway was a vast expanse of quiet. He heard footsteps, which might as well have been coming from another world. There was a haunting emptiness to certain places in early morning that Sao had never liked. It was so much more pleasant to be wrapped up in bed. If the end of the world ever came, he was determined to spend it in bed.

Of course, the world wasn’t ending today.

His face felt like chalk. Sao sighed and after some deliberating, started down the left side of the hallway. The footsteps seemed to be concentrated on the right side of the building, and he did not want to be intercepted on his way to the bathroom, looking like he’d crawled out of a crypt.

Doors filed past, then rows of benches and more doors. A few were cracked open, and he tried not to look in, hoping nobody would look out.

He came to the corner and, at last, saw a sign for the restrooms hanging above a tiny ramshackle lounge. There were a few visitors’ chairs strewn about and a vending machine humming in the corner. Beyond that, he saw the restroom doors. But Sao stopped dead the moment he saw them, because at the very same moment, the smell hit him.

Something sour, and metallic.

At first he thought it was coming from the bathroom, but when he backed toward the vending machine and swiveled, it only got stronger. Rotted food? The machine was nearly empty. Beside the vending machine there was a closet. The closet was open. At the base of the door there was a pool of blood and a pair of feet encased in fluffy gray slippers.

Covering his hand and mouth with the plastic coat, Sao tugged the door open. What he saw was a mountain of ragged hair and fabric, violently overflowing from a plastic trash bag. The whole pile lay soaking in a pool of dark blood.

If it hadn’t been for the slippers, he wouldn’t have known he was looking at a person. A person collapsed, facedown in blood, with a bag over their head. Sao wondered if he was still sleeping, and his brain was feeding him some Fleming-infused nightmare. Any second now Chiro’s body would rise off the hospital floor and come screeching at him...

The body shifted. No, more than that, it was visibly breathing.

“You’re alive!” Sao slipped the plastic away from his mouth. “You’re okay. But what did this…?”

There was some snuffling under layers of hair and plastic. Now that he was bent - as much as he dared - near the figure, he saw the figure could not be a Fleming at all. He was enormous.

“No, don’t worry, you don’t have to answer -- hang on, I’ll find someone to help.”

After a great bubbling wheeze, two hands emerged from the voluminous robe, pressed hard on the ground and hefted their sopping owner upright. Sao scuttled back. The figure in front of him towered, and was soaked red from head to toe. The upper half of his robe had been hacked up, the cotton littered with angled holes, fabric falling wide open over his chest and throat, signs of a fight. But in spite of the shredded robe, and all the blood, on his exposed skin Sao saw there was not a scratch on him.

“Wh- wha- huh?” The voice was muffled by the plastic bag. “What time is it?”

Like he’d just woken up from a nap. Sao laughed shakily. “It’s early.”

“Are the police here yet?”

“I… I work with the police. Do you need help?”

“Oh. No, I’m supposed to help you.” The stranger scratched his stomach and tipped the plastic bag aside like some sort of strange hat. An inquisitive eye peered out from a shag rug of hair. “Are you here to see Rai?”

“Rai is here?”

“Yes. I bet I’m late.” The man released a sigh that could fill a canyon, and Sao felt a sensation at this fringes of his memory. Had they met? “Rai will be mad, but I still have to go.”

“I suppose that makes me late too.”

“Yes.” The eye travelled down his arms to the plastic coat. “I see you got your coat. Why aren’t you wearing it? He’ll be mad.” A finger waggled in warning.

The bag-shaped hat aside, Sao was not eager to argue fashion with the bloodstained giant. He obediently pulled the plastic coat over his clothes, tightened the fasteners that sealed his legs and arms, and zipped the transparent plastic visor down. All sounds were now obscured by a ceaseless crackling from the hood that encased his head.

Sao smiled to himself. Forget makeup and wrinkled shirts. He looked like he was ready for the end of the world.

The bloodied man nodded in approval, shaking lumps of blood from his hair, and tugged the bag off his head.

Smoke rushed out, out of the bag, out of his nose and mouth, like a factory chimney, and did not stop even as the man kicked his slippers off and headed down the hall where Sao had just come from. Trailing thick black smoke, he paused at each door, held his breath, and shut it.

“Help me close these, please,” he said in a voice that sounded like the yawn of some monstrous animal. “Cadmus says I shouldn’t leave them open…”

Too baffled to protest, Sao obeyed.

All the rooms Sao had tried not to disturb on his first trip were now treated to the foot-slaps of the blood-covered, smoke spewing man, and his jumpy space-suited aide, pulling their doors shut one by one.

The strange procession moved down countless identical rooms, but Sao found that once you looked inside they were not the same at all. Some had flowers, some had paintings, some patients had their curtains pushed back and some were already awake. In various states of pain and boredom and disrepair there were children, and elders and plenty of people Sao’s own age, which was somewhat worrying. He apologized to each of them but wasn’t sure if he was being heard through the sealed visor. Some of them spoke a few words back, but their faces were all more puzzled than angry. He could not hear any of them.

He heard nothing but the crackling of the suit and his own breaths until they reached the other end of the hall, where he had heard footsteps.

What he heard now, with inane clarity, was a familiar birdlike cooing.

---

Activity was picking up outside the door, but Plato stayed in his seat as if he planned to live out the rest of his life in that room, watching over Red’s sleeping form. Rai hoped he wasn’t, but at the same time he knew if Plato did get up, did strike Red or stab him or pull his ventilator, it wasn’t going to make things much better. It had been a mistake, to let him settle so close to the bed to begin with. Could Rai save the old man if it came down to it? Was he fast enough, smart enough? Or could he ooze up and slide Plato away from that bedside before anything happened?

Probably not.

Rai turned his chair so he could lean against the wall, dragging the leg across the ground.

Plato stirred. “You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“Well, much like how you can’t just let the Flemings go, I can’t just walk out after what you just told me.”

“I know. But try to keep the noise down.”

To Plato’s credit, Rai was actually rendered speechless for a moment, and even felt a little guilty about the smirk that followed.

“What?”

“People tell me to keep it down a lot. My neighbors, my co-workers, my boss, and my, well, I guess you call them family. I’m naturally noisy. I’m starting to think I’m not the kind of person who should be talking to you right now.”

“No, it’s… I know I’m being irrational.”

“Really.”

“It’s just, after that night, there’s something about noise - the noise of happiness, most of all - that I can’t take. It’s like I had my fill for life from the Flemings, and that cup overflowed. I can’t laugh, yet every laugh is aimed at me. Am I going insane?”

“Not necessarily. It might be the noisemakers who have lost it.” Rai adjusted the chair again, quieter than the first time. “I remember the first time my mother went to sleep and didn’t wake up the next morning. I was probably around six or seven. What she had wasn’t really the same condition as the people in here, and she did get up eventually. I don’t think she remembered me. It was just two weeks, that time.”

“Two weeks, that’s still more than anyone should have to be alone. And you were a child?” Plato winced.

“The next time she took an extended nap, it was three months. She definitely didn’t remember me after waking from that. As soon as I heard her moving I ran to the bed with my shitty kid-made coffee and she just blew right past me. I guess I didn’t consider that she might not have wanted to see me anyway.” Rai smiled in a way that he knew made others uncomfortable. “My mom and I, we’re not particularly close, but whenever she went to sleep after that, I was terrified I’d lose her again. You know what feeling, don’t you? So I started… making sure she’d wake up. I’d get up extra early, bang pots and pans, turn up the radio, scream, build these engines that did nothing but make noise. Looking back, it might not have done anything at all. It might have made her want to get away even more, and she dropped into deep sleeps again, plenty of times. Her longest was a year and half. But every morning that I managed to wake her up I…” Rai shrugged. “I’d like to think I made a difference. By the time I moved out, the noise had become a habit.”

Nobody could have looked as downcast as Plato. “That sounds terrible. But you have your reasons.”

“Well, my mom never complained. The neighbors did plenty of that, though. They still do.”

They sat in respectful silence for a few minutes.

“A year and a half,” Plato sighed. “I heard Life Fountains could be deep sleepers, but for one with a child who needs them, it’s hard to accept.”

Rai jostled in his chair. “You knew I was a Life Fountain?”

“Of course. Cadmus talks about you all the time.”

“Damn. Your coworkers were right, you take notice of every guest. Okay, you got me. I know I shouldn’t have been upset, and that kind of sleep is natural for a creature that could live to a thousand, but I--”

“Why shouldn’t you be upset? Losing the one who’s supposed to care for you more than anyone, multiple times, indefinitely. For Skye, and for the Flemings, there would always have been an end, one day.”

Rai frowned.

“Sorry.” Plato’s eyes settled back on Red. “I’m impressed, though. You’re not as much of a hothead as Cadmus makes you out to be. He cares about you a lot. You and Trae. I’m sorry for wasting his time, too.”

“What’s Trae he up to, anyway?”

“I gave him some trouble this morning. But I’m sure he’s fine now. I can’t imagine anything getting taking down, for real.”

Plato’s coat parted and a knife clattered to the ground. Slowly, almost checking for permission, Rai rose and picked it up.

“You’re alright,” Rai said, partially to himself.

Right on time, footsteps sounded at the door. Plato gazed at its blank wooden facade, the small inset window covered by a curtain, and Rai was grateful that he’d closed it. “Plato, I need you to come with me,” he said.

“It’s over, then.” Plato breathed. “Yes. It should be.”

Red continued to sleep, with even, calm breaths. Leading by example.

With no further words needed, Rai led Plato to the door. He was ready to throw it open, declare the suspect was unarmed, and head out for a victorious morning coffee.

But then, he heard the bird. Only it wasn’t a bird. The footsteps got closer. Just one person. Then the door was flung open before he could touch the handle. And it wasn’t the police.

---

Art Fleming stood in the doorway, her coat sodden with melted snow, uncombed hair a wild halo of bronze and grey. Her eyes were unfocused - no, that wasn’t right - they just weren’t focused on the the person in front of her. Rai realized she was looking right through him as if he were a ghost, and had locked onto Plato. Her expression teetered between torment and relief. Then she saw blood on end of his white coat.

Rai swung back, forcing Plato back into the room. He heard Plato kick into his recently vacated chair, sending it over with a metallic crash that made all three of them flinch. At the same time, Rai held a hand in front of him in a haphazard attempt to keep Art at bay. Ignoring him, she pushed forward, and when she inhaled deeply, he braced to be crushed under what came next.

But she only whined softly, “It was you? Plato, you did all this?” It was almost a whisper. “Why did you do this to us…?”

Rai nearly collapsed with relief.

Art glanced at Red. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to know. I wanted to see him. I…”

Rai snuck a look behind him. Plato’s mouth opened, then closed. His face was contorted loike he might burst into tears or scream in Art’s place. But he did not. There was not a noise from him.

“You father is fine, Mrs. Fleming,” Rai said. There was no change in Art as he said this. “You can come sit by him as soon as the suspect is removed.”

“Removed,” she repeated incredulously, as if he were trying to mock her. Now Rai was agape. She clearly knew what he meant, but did not accept it. Perhaps she could not imagine the room without Plato. Of all people, Plato was the one to unblock the air.

“It’s almost time for his sheets to be changed,” Plato murmured. “And the IV. They’re scheduled for this morning.”

“That’s right.” Art said.

“We can’t be in here." Plato wrung his hands. “I can’t...do it today.”

“Mrs. Fleming. Let’s step out,” Rai said firmly.

Somehow, this time she understood. Art shuffled into the hall.

The passage on both sides were blocked by police officers. So they had come after all. They were all wrapped in full-body rubber or plastic suits, though some had their hoods down, utterly carefree. Rai suppressed the urge to shout at them. With Plato and Art standing calmly by his side despite all the blood that had been shed, miracles must have been at work. He did not shout.

Yet another miracle came down the hall. Rai recognized his own baggy plastic coat, meaning the wearer must be Sao. Stumbling over the linoleum with his arms lifted like a scarecrow, Rai thought he cut a more dashing figure than ever before. Now Rai worked to suppress a snicker.

Art hurried to the police perimeter, and the wall of bodies parted revealing Karik, small and scuffed, whimpering. Spotting his mother, he gurgled like a baby bird and wiped his reddened face. He looked her over seriously, and Rai thought of himself and his own mother, in the very early days when he thought he might actually lose her. He never did, of course.

What happened next was that Karik saw Plato.

At first, Karik squinted his sharp yellow eyes, suspicious - like he’d known all along that Plato was behind his family’s woes. But then all was forgotten, his face softened, spread and burst into a smile like sunshine.

“Plato!” he cried.

A dozen pairs of eyes, half of them behind plastic visors, turned to Plato, trying to see what had drawn such a reaction. But Karik didn’t need to explain himself. Beaming, he repeated the words he must have heard hundreds of times from Plato, because Rai could swear he heard the same cadence, the same soft consideration of one who missed nothing: “Don’t worry! We’ll do our best. And everything will be fine.”

Rai thought he heard someone whisper, ‘aw’. He wanted to punch whoever spoke it. But there wasn’t time.

It could only have taken the smile, but the words came and he was gone. Plato choked. He turned, staggered, crashed into the door of Room 201 and after a moment of gripping the doorframe to steady himself, dashed back inside, Rai just half a second behind him. When he reached the middle of the room, he swiveled frantically with his arms outstretched, searching for help of some kind, but the sleeping patients had none to give. In desperation, he picked the chair off the floor, ignoring the hair-raising screech of steel legs on tile.

“Plato, you don’t--” Rai began, but his words were blown back by a tremendous smash and the incoming arctic chill.

Ignoring the storm of footsteps and voices and wind bearing own on him, Plato dropped his arms and let the chair fall to the bed of broken glass at his feet. He looked around the room again, at each bed in turn, and muttered something. An apology? Then he reached down and took up a glass shard the size of his forearm.

“Don’t,” Rai said, backing against Red’s bed. He wasn’t sure what to do.

Snow dusting his hair and shoulders, Plato held the shard aloft, watching the sunlight glint from its tip. The jagged edges bit into his fingers, but he did not bother to readjust his grip. It would not matter at this point. The wall of police at the door was broken by Art. Still grasping the fur trim of her coat, Karik followed.

“Please stop,” Rai moaned, at all of them. “Don’t do this.”

He turned to the door, hoping someone else had better words that he did. But there was Karik, still smiling brightly. Plato was paralyzed by the sight of him, and Art was still silent. There was an absurd moment of misplaced calm that Rai knew he would never experience again.

Plato’s breaths became tiny sobs, barely discernible over the gusts of wind through the broken window.

“Are you okay?” Karik asked softly.

Plato caught his breath just enough to croak, “sorry”. Then he pressed the glass shard into his neck and dragged it through and across his throat. He gurgled, twisted his body so that the blood would not land on Red’s blanket, but the spurt still caught the old man’s feet. It did not bother Red, but Plato saw it. That was his breaking point, and he crashed to the floor.

Art screamed and screamed. Karik might have gotten started too, had Art not been stopped. And she stopped quickly.

Rai heard a soft thump from the doorway, and saw Art was on the floor. What was it Sao called it? A recurring nightmare. Art’s scream was caught in her throat, she was only spitting and shaking, and she couldn’t stop. Karik’s hand continued to grip her coat like a lifeline, but his smile vanished. The plastic suits struggled into the room, clumsily turning Art over. One began to compress her chest. It wasn’t working. Someone replaced him as Rai watched and wondered what it was like to pass out.

Footsteps. The police, all around him. Doctors coming down the hall. Then more footsteps. They just never ended, did they? The next set of footsteps were big. They thundered. No, that was just the vibrations in their wake. The footfalls themselves were more damp, irreverent slaps.

“Trae, where were you? And where the hell are your shoes?”

“I didn’t have time to get new ones.”

“What in the world happened here?” This from Sao. “Don’t tell me Plato was...”

“He was. I’ll explain later.” Rai cuffed Trae on the shoulder. It was like punching a sack of flour - one crusted with blood, no less. He grimaced. “Don’t step in barefoot, there’s glass. It looks... bad. Can you save them?”

“I can stop them.”

“Go ahead. Try not to hit the old men or the kid. You-” waved Sao over, “might want to wait outside.”

Sao wheezed breathlessly under the visor. “Hold on - what’s going to hit them? Does this have something to do with the coats--” he was cut short when Trae stepped forth, opened his mouth, and with mammoth sigh exhaled a torrent of billowing black smoke from whatever unknowable dimension lay inside him. The officers who had not put up there hoods did so in a hurry as the shadow washed over them. Trae’s waves of fog piled upon themselves in massive layers, pooling into every corner of the room, smearing out any trace of daylight they could find. Everything went dark. Rai held his breath.

After what felt like days, he saw light again. The majority of the smoke escaped out the broken window, though some of it lingered on the ceiling, dimming the lights. Small trails of black aura drifted from the mouths and nostrils of Plato and Art, lying at opposite ends of the room. They had gone grey and limp - but were alive. Plato’s neck wound began to seal, like an eye closing around shaky blackness; the smoke that had come to nestle there. Gradually their breaths smoothed and slowed, becoming steady as the ventilators attached to the beds around them.

Trae looked over them proudly. A Life Fountain’s duty, duly completed. The news people might take his picture again.

Rai did not want to look at any of it. He pointed to the exit and could not have been more grateful when Sao left ahead of him, without question.

In the doorway, Karik huddled against a wall of officers, unharmed but empty-handed. When plastic-coated hands ushered him away from the scene, he struggled at first; he did not want to leave his mother and good friend Plato. He’d been taken away from so many others - father, brother, sister - and he hadn’t seen them again, and this time he was being sent off alone, it couldn’t happen. But when a large officer moved him to an empty bench so stretchers could be brought in, Karik was too baffled to remember how to speak. He started to sob, experimentally, but when nobody listened, he gave up.

So Karik slid into the corner beside Red’s monitors, something he had done many times before. The broken glass and melting snow were ignored. He inspected at his grandfather’s slack face for guidance and saw there was nothing to be done. But Red did look very content, so Karik was too. The room was cold, but at least it was now quiet.