"Perfect," was her pleased response. "I can send him off to go do something boring, and we can just enjoy." She laughed.
    "Same time next year, then?" I suggested. If I'm alive, of course. I find the idea is actually rather attractive.
    Now that I think of it, I can't remember the last time I made a plan for something further ahead than next week. Though I can't help but wonder if this will turn out to be as futile as I fear, that seems like it might be a good sign.
    "Sounds good."
    She was the kind of person who would have wanted to give me a hug, but she was also sensitive enough to know that it would bother me, and that it had nothing to do with her. When I looked back I saw them standing in the doorway, Marshall with his arm around her shoulder, waving. Looking pretty normal, really.
    I couldn't just go back to the Castleview after all that; I went for a late-night walk around the island. The dark doesn't bother me; there was something of a moon, and the flashlight on my keychain, and I had a lot of thinking I wanted to do. The night was perfectly clear and somewhat cold, the stars making me think of the California desert, of old dreams, of dusty lecture halls. I was too distracted to get depressed about it.
    Dammit, they don't want very much, any of them, as far as I can tell. A little human contact, for people not to flinch when they see them. It almost makes me angry that my little visit made them so happy, because it suggests how barren of contact their lives are. It's not fair.

May 27, 1987

Last day. No nightmares. In fact, I actually slept in this morning. I'll take it as another good omen. I packed up my stuff (one backpack's worth). Took a farewell walk around my little island. I do feel better than I did when I got here, in some ways at least. Not as tense, better rested. I took the ferry over and caught the matinee, a charming, funny movie called The Princess Bride. Had a nice dinner.
    Now I'm sitting here in the small, cozy room, listening to the wind outside and studying myself in the mirror—something I very rarely do, which is why I'm doing it. Looking at what Valerie saw. A narrow, angular face is looking back at me, framed by black hair cut straight across my forehead, just brushing my shoulders on the sides. I lost a lot of weight when my powers became active last year, and it's sharpened my cheekbones and chin. The idea that the word "fragile" should apply in any way annoys me, but.... Slightly sloping eyes, an unremarkable brown under short, thick lashes. There's a little crease taking shape between my eyebrows already, I note with resignation, though after only two years in the world my skin's in good shape generally. Indeterminate shade. Probably Chinese ancestry. Half? Quarter? Eighth? Depends on which side of the family Shannon took after. I don't know if knowing would mean anything or not. Can't see what difference it would make, really. Doesn't have anything to do with me.
    I cast my mind back to those earliest real memories. I can remember what it was like to be no one. To not have enough self to wonder who I was. That must be what it's like for animals, I guess. Able to respond to simple commands, but not really self-aware.
    The main thing I remember from the very early time is how careful they were about everything. The way they dialed the lights up by slow stages. The gently firm touch they used. The delicate placement of the electrodes.
    Wouldn't do to damage us, after all.
    There is a deep reservoir of rage that lies very close to those memories. It scares me sometimes. I've figured out why, at the end in Poughkeepsie, I didn't hit that first "orderly" harder than I did—I knew on some level that if I let myself I would kill him. Knew that I could do it.
    Tomorrow I'll drive down and catch a flight for Detroit.

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