Powerless

Sandra was off-duty now, standing outside a bookstore with a mask of illusion over herself. The man known as Lucas would not have been able to find her, but the disciple was neither Lucas nor a he anymore, and her new grey eyes were able to see through such tricks. Sandra didn't seem to be doing anything, though--just standing there watching as the crowd moved past her, each man and woman tending to a different schedule.

<Tell her what you feel,> the voice demanded. <Tell her why you hate her.>

The disciple was nothing if not obedient. She shouldered her way through the masses until she'd drawn close enough to speak. "You only think of yourself. You call yourself a hero, but really, you just want attention. The voice blesses and punishes you."

Irritated, Sandra turned to face her. No recognition dawned as she looked at her new form. "Go away, you crazy--"

"The voice blesses and punishes all of you!"

The disciple called upon the power the voice had given her, and Sandra's body erupted. Sprouting from the ruins of her face and torso, flexible tendrils moved faster than the eye could see, ensnaring the men and women who stood near them. They grew longer and longer, smashing cars and wrapping passersby as far as the eye could see. Most didn't have time to scream beforehand.

The disciple gazed at the shrieking chaos. Is this really what you want? she asked the voice.

<It's what they really want,> the voice replied. <Watch them.>

She stared at a woman who struggled in vain to escape the tentacle around her midsection. At first, she thought the woman would choke as it forced her mouth open, but she didn't seem affected by a lack of breath--and as it went deeper and deeper inside her, her motions began to change. She watched her mouth reshape, fitting snugly around the protrusion on which she writhed . . .

<When it comes out her ass, should I put it up the remaining hole? Or do you think I should make a new hole where her belly button is?>

The disciple closed her eyes to avoid throwing up.

<It disgusts you to see what finally makes them happy? It should. No matter what you did, these ungrateful wretches kept robbing and killing each other, and they always blamed it on you. Now, two city blocks of them will never complain again. Do you want to know what's the worst thing of all?>

This time, she spoke aloud. "No. I don't want to know."

<Open your eyes. Look at those two, over by the cafe.>

She saw two bodies locked together in an intimate kiss. Clothing shredded as they melted into each other, losing form and definition in impossible closeness.

<They always claimed they loved each other, but their secret resentments tore them apart. Only now, through my dark blessing, can they join in true union.>

"Is this my fate?"

<No, not for a faithful servant like you. These lesser servants must dream forever, but you will be allowed to wake to the truth of this world. All you must do is prove your loyalty without question.>

-- -- -- --

They caught up to her at sundown, on the roof of a three-story apartment. She began simply enough. "Just so you know, I've already taken out your sniper."

"Our what?" Julian attempted.

"You're here to negotiate, right? You want to see if I can restore those people. But in case things go wrong, there's a sniper on the fourth story of that building across the way, ready to drill me between the eyes. It's a pity he's otherwise occupied at the moment."

"We can still talk this out," Margaret attempted. "We don't even know what you--" The disciple called upon the voice's power, and Margaret choked on a tongue that rapidly reshaped in a manner not even she was used to.

"The voice blesses and punishes you." The ever-longer tongue wrapped itself around Julian. "One of you, for never repenting, always claiming that the murders you committed weren't really your fault. The other, for arrogance without bounds, and for becoming a hero just so you could tell other people you were better than them." The disciple locked eyes with Claire. "Do you have anything to say in your defense before you are judged?"

<Keep to my commands,> the voice urged. <Letting her speak will gain you nothing.>

Claire stepped forward, ignoring the panicked yelling behind her even as it turned to moaning. "They're not real, are they?" she asked. "The real Margaret and Julian must be in another dream."

"Dream?" the disciple asked. "Is that what you've convinced yourself this is? This is your justified punishment, no more and no less."

"Cut the crap," Claire told her, and the disciple flinched--she remembered from her time as Lucas just how bad a sign it was when Claire started talking like Sandra. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You've seen it yourself, how people never change. Give them the chance, and they'll always turn on each other. You heroes only make things worse by defending them--it's when they have to defend themselves that they find common ground. By destroying you and threatening them, I'll create true peace as they fight only me . . ." She realized that Claire had already tuned her out.

"I'll rephrase that: what the hell's going on? Why can't I break out of this dream like the others? Why can't I run like I used to? Why am I still--" She smacked her fists together, and the disciple was shocked to hear the sound of stone on stone.

<Ignore her,> the voice demanded. <Nothing good will come of listening to her.>

The disciple decided to half-obey--she ignored the voice. "The voice hasn't explained everything to me yet," she confided. "It says I need to prove my loyalty before I can wake to the truth."

"Wake to . . ." Claire put two and two together. "Dear God, you're Lucas, aren't you? That's why I can't escape the dream--it's not my dream. What did this bastard . . ." She cut off with a ragged cough, clutching at her throat.

"What's happening?" the disciple demanded, as much to Claire as to the voice. "I don't understand."

<I won't let your hesitation ruin her punishment. She's returning to flesh now--a different sort of flesh. She always was a dickhead, don't you think?> The voice laughed as Claire began to cough up white liquid. <Tell her everything. Tell her how every time you thought you'd gotten through to her, she turned out not to have understood. Tell her that you've grown tired of waiting for her to love you. Tell her that she'll never reject you again!>

The disciple didn't hesitate as she crossed the distance to the rapidly reshaping Claire. She held her close, and kissed her lovely lips, not caring about the fluid upon them. She left the voice with one last thought before they melted together and the world imploded.

Fuck you.

Chapter 6: The Dream Weaver

They fell from the sky with a thud, Lucas landing atop Claire. "You know," he told her, once they'd recovered their breath, "you're pretty soft to land on for someone who was stone a minute ago."

She shoved him off, gently but firmly. "They say trauma gives you powers. Maybe I got a new power from all this--to be as soft or hard as I need to be. It'd make as much sense as anything else in this place." She suddenly recognized the masculine pronoun in her thought. "Wait, you're a guy again?"

"And you're not turning into a . . . All things considered, I think we came out ahead." He looked her over once more. "Did you know you've turned grey here?"

"You too. Grey hair, grey skin, grey clothes . . . I guess we fit in here." Their grey was subtly paler than the alley walls beside them, and darker than the clouds that filled the sky. Rain poured down endlessly, but neither of them felt wet. "Whose dream do you think this is?"

<It's mine,> the voice said. <I was inside you when you tore your dream apart, and now you're inside me. I can't wake up.>

"Did you hear that?" Claire asked.

"Loud and clear," Lucas replied.

<They hear it too,> the voice said. <I don't know whether they'll come for you, like they've come for me.>

"Who--" Claire began, but a dozen grey doors had already begun to open in the alley walls. Grey figures filed out, blank and featureless, all heading in a single direction.

Claire had expected to follow them to some manner of execution, but Lucas already suspected where they were headed--an old-fashioned pillory. A single man stood on display, looking mournfully down at them. <This is my world.>

Not far from the pillory, rotten fruit was piled three feet high. The grey figures stood politely in line, waiting for their chance to throw. <Mother's first in line, as always, with Father right beside her. My dear Jenny's not far behind--oh, Jenny, I trusted you so much, didn't I? Christine, too, deservedly so after what I did-->

"Shut up!" Claire shouted. "You think my life's been any better? You don't get to whine after what you did to me!"

<Lucas, what I told you in your dream--it wasn't a lie. I had hoped that you would join me when you woke. The dreams changed the others, so I thought perhaps they'd give you the power I made you dream of, the power to make this world burn. But you abandoned me, just like all the others, and now I must accept my punishment.> The dream weaver closed his eyes, waiting for the first impact.

It never came.

He opened them again to see the fruits smack one by one against an invisible barrier. "Surprised?" Lucas asked. "I can't call myself a hero if I don't help those who're in distress."

"But . . . Don't you hate me? Like they do?" The grey figures kept on coming, their faces melting into an indistinguishable mass.

"You're sick. You need help. But I don't think you're a bad person. That stuff you made me say . . . I do think that sometimes, but not always."

"I think you're a bad person," Claire said. They both ignored her.

The grey figures began to dwindle, vanishing one by one after each throw. When they were gone, Lucas approached the pillory, and struggled in vain with the restraints. "I don't think the dream will end until you're out of this. A little help, Claire?"

She grumbled under her breath, but the swing of a granite fist freed him, and the dream began to dissolve.

-- -- -- --

"You okay?" Lucas asked, once the chaos was over and the dream weaver was on his way off in the back of a police car.

"It's been a confusing night," Claire replied. "My speed seems to be permanently gone, but I can still turn to granite, so I'm doing better than Julian and Sandra." Neither had been able to manifest a power in their changed forms. "So, what do we do now?"

"Now? Well, I guess we start recruiting again, filling the missing spots. Julian will probably shift over to regular police--" He struggled not to laugh at the image of the newly feminized Julian in a police uniform. "--And I'm not sure Sandra will stay in the business at all. Margaret seems stronger than ever, though."

"I saw the kiss she blew at that guy before they took him away. I'm not sure I want to know what her dream was about. But that wasn't my question. What do we do now?"

"You mean . . ."

"I was completely at your mercy in the dream. Your hesitation confirms something I've suspected for a very long time. I'll give you one free thank-you." She kissed him before he could react, and this time, her lips were soft. "You'll have to earn the next one on Tuesday at six. I'll meet you at Big Benny's Burgers. You're paying."

"Claire, I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"You're right, we'll probably crash and burn. We'll admit we're better as friends, only occasionally coming together again for awkward comfort sex. But maybe--just maybe--there's something more here. What have we got to lose?" The sadness wasn't quite gone from her smile. "I need this, at least for now."

"It's about how you turned to stone, isn't it?" Lucas hadn't asked what had happened in her dream--he suspected that she wouldn't answer. "You don't have to explain if you don't want to."

"We all fell for it, until the very end. We chose worlds where we'd never have to make choices again--where all we had to do was follow his orders. I need to prove to myself that I'm not still powerless."