Chapter 18: The Lull

Fresco woke up in his bed, his heavy wool blanket on the floor, sheets a sodden mess twisted around him. A massive headache took his head in its hands and squeezed so hard that when he rolled over his stomach rebelled and he threw up. He pressed his face into the stiff mattress when his nausea passed.

Thought I was done with this, he complained to himself. Why the hell am I still alive? He looked down at the floor, seeing a puddle faintly tinted blue. The skim of Wasteland was thin, more of a film over bile. And instead of being hit with a surge of longing as he always did at the sight of the drug, all he felt was revulsion.

It took him a while to get accustomed to the idea he would, in fact, live. At last, Fresco kicked himself out of bed. Getting moving helped his headache. By the time he went to the bathroom down the hall and back, his mind was clear and he was feeling better than he had in a long time. Even the cravings were dull, like the ache of an old injury.

Guess I'm glad to be alive after all, he thought, though he shuddered away from the memory of the night before. He wouldn't wish such an attack on anyone. And it made him wonder what the hell happened. Fresco needed to talk to Garris.

First things first. He cleaned up his mess before decided to get clean himself. Someone, probably Parker, left him fresh clothes on the end of his bed. Ever since his arrival, the idea of being clean and staying that way had great appeal. He gathered up the clothes and went to the bathroom.

A bank of dented gray lockers lined one wall, liberated from some abandoned gym, each with a boy's name written on masking tape. Fresco went to his. He took out soap, a fluffy towel, shampoo, and his toothbrush and toothpaste. He hesitated over the disposable razor, running fingers over his face. Around the corner were the showers, three stalls separated by thin plastic sheets. Across from them stood the urinals, toilet stalls, and two sinks, none of which matched each other let alone anything else in the room.

He took full advantage of the shower, spending a long time making sure he was clean, the hot water reddening his thin skin. He noticed his ribs didn't stick out quite so much any more and his body was filling out again. Fresco toweled dry, brushed his teeth, and proceeded to scrape off most of the soft, wispy hair from his face. He took a moment when he was done to check his reflection. The bruises and dark circles had vanished. Even his cheeks were starting to flesh out. Satisfied with his progress, recognizing himself for the first time in a long time, Fresco dressed in the fresh clothes before going to the hampers at the door. He dutifully sorted as his stomach started to growl.

Starving, Fresco headed for the kitchen. At the top of the stairs, he paused with a jolt. Not only did he make it through his entire routine without once having to deal with the hunger for Wasteland, the horrid voice plaguing him with guilt was also silent. In fact, the aching demand felt even more distant, a far off thing overshadowed by the rumble of his belly. And Justin's nasty whispers were nowhere to be found.

Wondering what the difference was, Fresco combed his memory. He recalled nothing out of the ordinary, although scrap of a memory tried to surface. It eluded him so he shrugged it off.

Satisfied to at least be feeling good, not knowing how long it would last, Fresco decided to just enjoy it for as long as he was able.

The kitchen was packed with kids. He spotted Parker and two of the other older teens seated at one of the tables, talking. She waved to him. He waved back, going first to Martin for a fill up.

Martin's eyebrows shot up as Fresco filled his plate to overflowing and winked at him. Fresco made his way to Parker and her seatmates, now familiar faces, and squeezed in to join them.

He liked them both. Kimberly was sixteen, a tiny girl, barely over five feet, with long, reddish hair and lots of freckles. She made a face as Fresco started shoveling.

"Boys." She rolled her eyes at Parker. Parker winked back.

"Gotta keep up our strength right, Fresco?" Chad leaned back on the bench, rubbing his flat belly. The seventeen-year-old still had a haunted look in his green eyes and too much gray in his dark hair for someone his age. But he was great at covering with jokes and often sent the rest of the kids into laughing fits.

"You bet," he answered, devouring a pancake whole.

"Are you okay?" Parker watched in fascination as Fresco barely chewed and swallowed, stuffing in a half piece of toast.

He shrugged and grinned at her, making the girls roll their eyes and say "Ew!"

"Dunno," he said, chasing the toast with a gulp of milk. "I haven't had an appetite like this since football." The thought of football was too hard, linked to so many memories. Fresco refused to kill his good mood with the past. He dove back into his breakfast.

Parker's expression stilled, but not before he saw a flicker of fear pass through her eyes. "I was thinking now that you've been with us a while you might like to get out of the house," she said.

Fresco glanced up, hopeful. He didn't want to admit the refuge was closing in on him, but the idea of going outside was suddenly very appealing.

"Where are we going?"

Parker exchanged a moment with the other two. Chad chewed his lower lip, deep in thought. "Scouting," she said. "Time you learned what to look for."

"Besides," Chad told him abruptly, "it's a good test."

"For what?" Fresco asked, seeing Parker shoot Chad a hard glare.

He ignored her and leaned forward, face serious.

"For you, Fres. We need to know when it's going to take you again."

Fresco froze mid-chew. He looked at the others as he finished the mouthful and swallowed. A long drink of milk ran its cold way down his throat as he drained his glass with deliberation. When he set it down, it made a soft thunk in the silence. Kimberly jumped.

"I think I'd like to know myself," Fresco said.

Parker nodded to him. "Great," she said. "Let's see if we can find some kids to rescue today."

"Hopefully I won't be one of them," Fresco said.

He had no doubts, however. He saw the truth about himself. For some reason, the hold the drug had over him was dimmed. He didn't say anything to Parker or the others as they marched to the office to report in, nor did he comment to Garris. He wanted to be sure, absolutely sure, before he told them the call was diminished. He still anticipated the attacks would return, but if they were in line with the intensity of his want, he could handle them without breaking a sweat.

He was brought up short by his favorite shadow on his way out the door. Apple sat at the bottom of the stairs, clutching her teddy bear, staring at him with huge eyes. She set her toy aside and held her arms out to him. Fresco lifted her into his embrace, amazed how light she was and how strong he was becoming.

Apple placed both hands on his face, looking deeply into his eyes. She was there, the feeling of her and he knew she felt him, too. A soft glow shone around her, like a sparkling halo in her hair. Fresco, fascinated by the light, grinned at her.

She laughed and hugged him.

"You're okay," she whispered in his ear as Parker waited for him, a little smile on her face.

"Don't tell," he whispered back, hope surging. "I don't know for sure."

Apple leaned back. "Okay. Be safe."

He set her down. She retrieved her bear and went back upstairs, the glow fading just as she reached the top.

Fresco watched her go, an impossible hope growing within him. Was she right? Was he okay? He turned to Parker and couldn't help but beam a smile at her.

"Ready?" Her blank expression worried him. Instead of asking what was wrong, Fresco nodded and followed her out the door.

His first breath of fresh air tasted like heaven. He stood on the stoop and inhaled completely, letting it out in one gust.

"When you're done playing," Parker said, "we have a job to do." Her scrutiny was starting to make him uncomfortable.

Hoping to distract her, he checked around for the other two. Kimberly and Chad were gone.

"Teams," Parker said. "I'm yours."

Despite the strange looks she was giving him, Fresco wouldn't have it any other way.

He spent the day learning more than he wanted to know about drug culture. When he was in it, there was no time to gain information, only action and reaction. Parker, however, was an endless fount of knowledge. She seemed to know about every single drug on the street at any given time, who was selling it, what the street slang was, how most kids reacted to it, and how to tell the difference.

By the time the sun was falling from the sky, staining it a glowing red over the city to the west, Parker had shown Fresco most of the haunts of the sugarpops who supplied the Wasters. They were forced to watch as a handful of kids bought their blue joy, unable to do anything about it. Fresco was aware Parker still watched him closely for his reaction. To his delight, he felt only pangs of need, easy to handle. Euphoria grew within him.

Parker was visibly nervous by then. She spun around and confronted him.

"You're not all right, you know," she said, the words hitting him like blows.

"I feel great," he told her. "Parker, I'm fine! Really."

"It's the lull, Fres," she told him, hurt in her eyes. She cursed under her breath, looking away from him. "It's too early, but you don't seem to be following any of the rules."

"Lull?" Confusion warred with irritation. He was kicking this thing, why couldn't she be happy for him?

"Wasteland isn't like other drugs," she said. "You can't get clean." She sighed. "I didn't want to tell you about the lull until I was sure you might have one. Everyone is different. Some kids never lull and blue hit you so hard I was pretty sure you wouldn't. But, Fres, I've been watching you all day. You're in a lull. It's another phase. The cruelest one."

Fresco didn't want to believe her. He shook his head, angry, knowing she was wrong.

Parker stepped back from him. He felt her distancing herself, not just physically. "I'm sorry, Fresco. It's like they designed it this way. To torture us. Hit us hard with the need, then give us a lull to make us feel like we might break free to have it slam us ten times worse." Her face twisted in agony, eyes huge and rimmed with moisture. Her voice came in a whisper. "Usually a lull comes right before a kid gets taken by the blue joy again."

He put all his conviction into his words. "I'm not going back to it, Parker," he told her. "I'll never go back."

She stared at him, not speaking, but the sadness in her face hurt him more than her lack of faith. He understood, of course. She was used to dealing with Wasted kids. All he had to go on was what he was feeling. Even Apple sensed it. Fresco realized the only way Parker would believe him would be to show her.

Before he was able to say anything else, however, Parker turned and walked away. Fresco let out a breath in exasperation and started to follow her when something drew him up short.

Someone nearby was using Wasteland, and his power lashed out.

Fresco gripped his head in his hands, fighting the surge of energy hitting him. He staggered from the blow, looking up as he felt a hand on his arm. It hit Parker, too.

"Go home," she said to him, grimacing a little as the wave of psychic power affected her. "Let me handle this."

"I'm not leaving you here," he said, still struggling with the pressure of the kid's mind.

"You're not trained for this," she snapped. "Go home, Fresco."

Not bothering to see if he obeyed her or not, Parker went into the dark alley alone. Refusing to stand aside, he followed her.

He found her bent over a boy in filthy rags who lay twitching on the ground. Fresco felt one final surge before the attack eased. The boy groaned. Fresco's sneaker scuffed against a broken bottle, sending it tinkling across the dirty pavement. Parker glared up at him, golden eyes flashing with fury.

"He's come down," she said, voice calm despite her anger at him. "We have to get him to the house."

Fresco bent and lifted the filthy bundle of bones into his arms. He barely breathed through the stench of the kid, but held him cradled like something precious, knowing this was him only for Parker and Garris. Her rage was gone, replaced by a tender expression.

"We have to go," she said. Fresco nodded and followed her out of the alley.

It was pure bad luck they stumbled into a beat cop the second they hit the sidewalk. He took one look at them and reached for his cuffs. Parker spun on Fresco.

"Run!" She took her own advice an instant later, headed away from him. The cop looked at her and over his shoulder at Fresco. Not stopping to think any further, Fresco took off in the opposite direction.

The cop's shoes pounded on the pavement behind him, but luck turned back to his favor. The officer was on the portly side, the victim of a few too many good meals. From the huffing sound escaping his lips, he was audibly losing his wind.

The uniform puffed a report into his radio as Fresco carried the boy at a flat out run around a corner and into another alley. Knowing the police would now be looking for them, Fresco spent the next half an hour winding his way through the maze of streets, waiting for dark before trying to get home with his charge. The cops were out in full force, whether because of him or because this wasn't the best part of town, he had no idea.

When he was almost cornered by a pair of beat walkers, Fresco tucked into an alley near an abandoned building, realizing he was familiar with it, but not knowing how. It occurred to him he spent thirteen days in alleys exactly like it, with a backdrop so similar it made his heart skip. He lowered the groaning boy to the dirty pavement to catch his breath.

"Need more," the kid whispered at him, his sunken, bloodshot eyes opening for the first time. "You got some, man? I do whatever, you know. You pick. Just gimme some."

Fresco looked down at him with pity, grateful he was no longer in a place where he resorted to the more hideous acts the kids fell prey to for a fix. He heard enough stories in the house to know what the boy was offering when he put his hand on Fresco's knee and squeezed.

Fresco moved his hand away. "Soon," he told him. "Rest a minute."

The boy groaned again, face twisting.

"I need it," he said, tears making tracks through the filth on his face. "Please, man. Please."

There was nothing to say. He held the boy still until he passed out.

When the frail bundle collapsed into unconsciousness, Fresco leaned down to scoop him up again. As he did, his heightened senses from two weeks on the street warned him he was being watched. Fresco spun around, prepared to fight for the boy if necessary. Heart in his throat, Fresco came face-to-face with the last person he ever expected. Wide eyed, he whispered the name.

"Daniel?"

***