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That day, Fallon reclined on one of Dr. Price's overstuffed armchairs, legs crossed neatly one over the other. Her fingers fiddled with the hard metal knots that circled the armrest. She never understood the point of them. In the past, they were used to actually bolt stretched leather down onto the frame of the chair, but nowadays, leather was sewn and stitched together with industrial machines. The little brass bolts were for show, an ugly show at that.

Fallon rapped her nail against the bolt. "I don't know why you have such bad taste in furniture," she said, wiggling her nail under it. If she pulled it off, would he be mad? For a second, she contemplated doing it just to see the look on her psychiatrist's face, but thought better of it. Provoking your own psychiatrist didn't seem like the most advisable thing in the world.

Dr. Price sat in his usual chair, with the same sweater vest, same pad of paper, same pen. Fallon could appreciate a man of consistency. He leaned forward. "Fallon, you are deflecting." One hand lifted the pen. "Tell me about the bad dream."

Why had she even mentioned it in the first place? God, she could kick herself. Dr. Price knew something was off when she walked straight into his office and began rearranging his bookshelf. This was something she had done everyday for the first two weeks of treatment, but in recent weeks, the habit had died off all together. Fallon did not even notice that she did it (or stopped doing it, for that matter) until Dr. Price brought it up.

She fixed him with a hard look. "It's just a dream, Dr. Price. I'm sorry I rearranged your books. I can put them back," she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "even if it looks better this way." She placed one hand in her lap.

Dr. Price didn't move. He was like that a lot of the time: stoic, statuesque, and when Fallon was annoyed with him, robotic. "You feel like things are slipping out of sync, Fallon. I know that because you felt compelled to rearrange my bookshelf. If you tell me about the dream, maybe I can help you put things back together." Fallon glanced off and drew her mouth into a thin line. Dr. Price bit the corner of his mouth. "You've been making excellent progress. You should be proud of that. I just want to make sure you continue to move forward. Stagnation can be just as detrimental as--"

"I dreamed about Leonette."

"Leonette."

"From Barren Pines."

"The organ ring."

"Sure."

A brief silence lapsed between the pair. Fallon broke first. "We were very close in our classes. We had puzzle nights on Fridays. When I woke up in the hospital, she and Andeon were the first people I asked about. Andeon was okay. Leonette was not among the survivors." She crossed her arms. "So you can imagine how painful it might be for me to have a dream about her." Fallon went back to fiddling with the chair.

Dr. Price had heard all about Barren Pines, at least from what Fallon could remember. She told him about her floor mates, her friends. She drew him a diagram of the kitchen. She told him about the time Andeon fell asleep in the middle of math class and starting saying Miss Johnson's name in his sleep. Then he looked at her, sadness and seriousness in his eyes, and explained to her that it is very easy for a captor to manipulate the reality of his/her captives. He went over specific drugs that could have been used to make her hallucinate these things. He explained that her fellow patients were probably just kept in close proximity to her. He explained all of this to her, time and time again. It was one of the most frequently discussed topics in their bi-weekly sessions.

And yet, Fallon argued. Sometimes she cried. Other times she threw her hands in the air and refused to discuss the matter. On a couple of occasions, she threw things, and that was when Dr. Price would try to talk to her about medication. Again, she would resist. In the past month, these talks had become less painful and more civil. Fallon was coping with the situation, even if she didn't seem to totally believe what Dr. Price said to her about it.

Dr. Price leaned on one arm of his chair. "It must have been very hard to think about her again," he said.

Fallon sighed. The floodgates had been opened, and she was ready to spill. So she did -- all of it from Andeon and the others ignoring her to the strange oasis surrounded by larger than life ferns to the glass marbles and the sandstorm. "I was so alone, so forgotten. And the only person I thought was there for me helped choke me." Her hands retreated to her lap. "I felt helpless." She pouted. "And I hate that."

Dr. Price nodded. "Everyone hates to feel helpless. As human beings, we want to believe that we are in control of our own lives and that we have some say in what happens to us. I feel like this dream has revealed some of your fears." The pad of paper hit the table with a light thud. Dr. Price steepled his hands in front of his mouth. "Fallon -- I want you to repeat after me, okay?"

"That seems ridiculous."

"Humor me."

Fallon hesitated, but Dr. Price pressed the issue. "If you do this, we can change the subject after. How about that?" He smiled.

"So now we're bartering?"

"If it works."

Touching her bottom lip, Fallon tried to read Dr. Price's notes from across the table. She couldn't. "Fine," she said.

Dr. Price nodded and picked up his piece of paper again. He scribbled down at few things and then placed it beside him, face-down. "Okay," he said, making eye contact. "Here we go: I am worthy of love."

"...what?" That was not what Fallon expected to hear, and it read in every line of her face.

"It's an exercise." Dr. Price ignored her reservation. "Say it: I am worthy of love."

Fallon straightened in her chair and uncrossed her legs. "Uh... I am worthy of love?" What, exactly, was this supposed to do for her?

"It isn't a question. It is a statement -- again."

"I am worthy of love."

The words felt stupid, and Fallon began to blush. Dr. Price kept going: "I do not need to be afraid that everyone I care about will leave me." He touched at his chin and waited.

"That's a lot to remember."

"Don't be smart. Just say it."

The chair squeaked. "I... do not need to be afraid that everyone I care about will leave me." If the receptionist in the lobby could hear this, Fallon would be mortified. Her eyes moved to the door as if to check.

Dr. Price smiled wider. "Good! Now, just one more: I can trust the people who love me." He waved a hand to encourage her to say it.

Fallon closed her eyes and licked her lips. "I can trust the people who love me." To what? Not die? It was the only thing she thought would keep this feeling of fear and loss at bay. Then again, even those who hadn't died were still absent, like Andeon.

Fallon wanted to believe everything that Dr. Price was saying (and that he was making her say), but it was difficult. Every day, life got a little better. Every day, Fallon felt a little happier. But it was a long climb up that mountain, and turning around to look at what had lay behind her was terrifying. For once, Fallon was happy for change, even if it was a change that crawled like a two-legged turtle.

When she opened her eyes, Dr. Price was staring at her, still smiling. The robot man had disappeared, at least for the time being. "Now, Fallon," he said, propping his hand under his chin. "What did you want to talk about?" The light from the lamp cast a glare on his glasses and made him look like a villain from a comic book.

Two could play at this game. Fallon uncrossed her legs and smiled. Well, smirked really. "I want," she paused for a dramatic breath, "to talk about your hideous furniture."

And so they did. Dr. Price was a man of his word.

The hospital was not a friendly place to be, especially for a person who had been there before. Fallon slept for 36 hours, partially because of her exhaustion and partially because of the drugs the doctor gave her to ease her shock and pain. It took several tries before her eyes opened, and a few minutes after that for the blurry haze to clear. As much as she blinked, the edges of objects refused to sharpen into focus.

Bright light bleached the room. The walls, TV stand, hanging curtain -- all of it glowed in varying shades of white. Even the pale blue of the bedsheets seemed lighter. There was a nightstand beside her with a pitcher of water and a short pastel pink cup. Fallon dragged her tongue over the inside of her mouth. God, she needed water.

“Fallon?”

She knew the voice before she turned her head. “Mom,” she said, furrowing her brow. “You came?” Mrs. Novette-Naim looked strained and weepy. Tears sprang to her eyes immediately. She darted from the chair and grasped her daughter’s hand, shaking. Fallon fought to gather her senses. “Mom, it’s okay. I’m okay.” Her mother didn’t seem convinced.

When she raised her head, Mrs. Novette-Naim looked redder than before. Her glasses gathered water at the bottom edge, and she pulled them off, tucking them into the pocket of her jacket. “Of course I came,” she said, the words wet and broken. “You’re my baby. You’re my...” Another sob broke her. “I’m sorry, I told myself I wouldn’t cry when you woke up. I made myself promise.” Her chin wrinkled, and she leaned forward, draping her arms over her daughter. “I told myself I would never have to see you in a bed like this again. Not until the day you gave me my first grandchild.” She pulled Fallon tighter, and the girl winced at the sensation of the IV moving in her vein.

Grandchildren? Fallon didn’t see it in her future. Biologically, she preferred a gender that would require extra bells and whistles to conceive. A lot of them. And Fallon never really saw herself as a mother, let alone wanting to be pregnant. She had tried to tell her mother this before, and it had turned out disastrous. It was certainly not the kind of conversation to have now. Instead, Fallon lifted a hand and rested it on her mother’s head. Even in the hospital bed, she was being the strong one.

Fallon swallowed. “Mom...” Mrs. Novette-Naim popped her head up, eyes wide and waiting. “Could you get me some water?” Her mother was moving in an instant, happy to do anything that she could for her injured daughter.

A collapsable side table hung at the side of Fallon’s bed. Mrs. Novette-Naim set it up, careful not to bump her daughter’s elbow. She placed the pink cup in the center and tilted the clear jug of water over it. “I spoke to your father, and we think we can get all your things packed and shipped in two days,” she said, wiping at the tears that still hung in her eyes. “The doctor wants to keep you one more day to do some tests on your memory. The police need to take an official statement from you. Whenever you feel up to it, I’ll go get the doctor, but there’s no rush.” The water jug was moved back to the nightstand.

Fallon reached for the cup, but did not lift it. “Why are... what are you packing my things for?” Her visions grew clearer with each passing moment, but everything still looked as if she were viewing it through a layer of ice.

Mrs. Novette-Naim grabbed her daughter’s hand. “Well, angel,” she said, rubbing the back of it. “Once you’re all better, we’re going to bring you home. You and I will fly back together. Dad has even talked to the local girls’ school in the countryside. We could even bring Taillevent, if you wanted.” Her smile was so hopeful, so loving, that it broke Fallon’s heart.

Magenta eyes glanced away. Her hand went limp in her mother’s. “I don’t want to go back to France,” she said, voice shaky. “I don’t.”

“Oh, angel, no--”

“I’m serious, Mom. I’m... happy.” Mrs. Novette-Naim shook her head. Fallon persisted. “I’m happy here. I feel balanced.”

A scoff bit in Mrs. Novette-Naim’s throat. “Fallon, it is not a safe place. Are you listening to me? This is the second time you have been seriously injured and sent to the hospital in three months.” Her mother stepped forward, but Fallon pulled her hand away. She took a sip from the water cup. “Angel, I love you. I will not risk your life again. We’re getting out of here. As soon as possible.”

Fallon’s arms were still sore, but she folded them across her chest. Why was she being punished? Wasn’t getting the s**t kicked out of her enough? Her mother didn’t understand, never had. Destiny City had brought Fallon horrors, sure, but it had brought her friends too. It had brought her a peace she had never known. If she went back to France, there was no telling what would happen, how she might regress. “It is my life,” she said, gritting her teeth.

The tears in her mother’s eyes dried, her mouth turning down in frustration. “You are sixteen. You are a minor. I get to make this decision, Fallon. So I don’t care what you have to say.” The tone was sharp, biting. It was the side of her mother that Fallon was most used to, the side that told her to chin up and just deal with her OCD, the side that lied about how much she fought with Mr. Novette-Naim.

Anger rose quickly in Fallon. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. I do. Haven’t I earned the right to make my own goddamn decisions!” Her hands clenched into fists. If only her mother had stayed in France, Fallon could have gotten through this on her own. Why did she bother to fly over?

“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain, Fallon Iva.” Her mother held out a flat hand to silence her. “I will forgive that because of your injuries. You are not being yourself.”

“Maybe I AM being myself. Did you consider that? Maybe---” A fit of coughing broke her frenzied words. Fallon clutched her chest, spilling water from her cup onto the hospital gown. Her mother grabbed the cup and put it on the table, gripping Fallon’s shoulders. She whispered soothing words until her daughter caught her breath.

“This is not a good place for you. You will be happier at home with me and--”

“And Dad?” Fallon’s voice was hoarse, but she fought to keep speaking. “Why do you think I left France in the first place? If I go back to France, if I live under that roof with the two of you, I will not be happy. I will be anxious. I will have problems in school again.” She shot her mother a look. Mrs. Novette-Naim understood what that meant. Fallon’s OCD had gotten her into trouble at school since she started attending as a kid. Her parents' constant fighting only made it worse.

Mrs. Novette-Naim wilted. “I love you,” she said, propping a hand on her hip. “But you will be better off--”

“I will be better off here.” Tears filled her eyes. “If you try to take me back with you, I will run away. I cannot listen to the two of you. You think I don’t hear you. I hear everything.” Fallon looked away. Mrs. Novette-Naim did too. She didn’t know her daughter knew about the fighting. She thought they hid it well. The news struck her hard, and she had never been the kind of person who recovered gracefully.

For a moment, Fallon almost felt guilty. Her parents’ constant fighting was certainly a reason for her desire to stay in Destiny City, but it wasn’t the only one. With all the insanity around her, she actually felt more sane inside. And that was what mattered. Fallon loved her parents, but she loved herself first. If she went back to France and all the compulsions came back, Fallon did not know if she would recover.

Her mother looked crushed beside the bedside. She began to cry again. Shame burned across her features. Her daughter knew, had known, all along the thing that she had been trying to keep a secret. Neither said anything for a while. Then Mrs. Novette-Naim moved toward the door. “I’ll get the nurse to find you a new gown.” Her hand touched the doorknob. “And I’ll call your father to let him know you are okay. He wanted to come, but he had to work.” She turned it, but paused, glancing back to her daughter. “We will talk about this later.” The door clicked shut behind her, and Fallon was left alone.

Her heart raced, palms sweating. The alley with Wolframite had been terrifying, but so was this conversation with her mother. If she made her leave Destiny City, would Fallon really have the strength to run away? And what about all her new friends? What about Audrey and Calintha and Imogen and everyone? The thought was sobering, and it brought another wave of pain to the already injured girl. Fallon let herself cry, only stopping when the nurse came to help her change into a dry gown.

Mrs. Novette-Naim might want Fallon to return to France, but Fallon would not. No matter what it took, she would not leave this place, or Dr. Price. Destiny City was where she found her sanity and balance, even if it put her in the hospital bed too. Her mother would have to understand that. She would have no other choice.

The hospital bed was stiff. Fallon hated being in it. It only reminded her of bad things: her grandfather’s death, her mother’s miscarriage, her recovery from Barren Pines. After waking up in a hospital for the second time, Fallon was ready to leave. The doctors and nurses were kind, but stressed. The hospital was overcrowded and had been for some time. The terrorists did a lot of damage to the people of Destiny City. Fallon was just a single casualty among many -- and she had survived, coma-free.

That night it was dark, and the room was quiet. The volume on the machines was turned down, but Fallon reached over and turned up her heart monitor until the steady beep, beep, beep filled the room. To most, its noise might be a nuisance, but to Fallon, it was a comfort. It reminded her of the little metronome that she kept by her bedside, the one that she turned on while she fell asleep. Without it, she had a hard time going to bed at a decent hour. Instead of thinking about all the things that could be ordered in her closet, or the dust falling on her windowsill, or the shoes in her closet that might need polishing, Fallon could just focus on the tick, tick, tick of her metronome and get a good night’s sleep. At the hospital, she used her heart monitor.

Her mother asked the nurses not to turn it down. It would make Fallon wake up. There was even a little sign hung on it that said as much. Fallon glanced back to the machine. The sign was gone. Who had turned the volume down?

As soon as the thought entered her mind, a figure stepped out from the corner of the room. “Hello, Fallon.” Moonlight filtered in through the window, illuminating one half of Wolframite’s face. It looked like he was wearing a mask. He took another step, and Fallon saw his full form, jump rope in hand, glowing in a shroud of moonlight.

A dark grin was etched on his face. “It’s late, Fallon. What did I tell you about leaving your house when it’s dark?” The smile widened, became chesire. “I told you I would kill you next time you left your house at night.” It did not look like he was stepping, but Wolframite moved toward her, gliding like a ghost.

Fallon began to shiver. “I’m in the hospital. I’m not outside.”

Wolframite stood beside her bed, one hand on the rail. It gnarled into a claw, veins swelling. “This is not your bedroom. You are only safe in your bedroom, Fallon. Anywhere else is dangerous. Too dangerous for you. Don’t you understand? I thought you knew that.” She shook her head, but she couldn’t speak. It was like all the air in the room had been sucked out.

The strange boy wearing green ribbons took a step back. He seemed taller, his shoulders broader. If he had facial hair, Fallon might have thought he looked like the Brawny man in Shakespeare’s clothing. “It’s a shame you don’t know how to take good advice. No matter -- I’m sure Leonette will be happy to see you again.” Wolframite took a step back and whipped his jumprope above his head.

Fallon was shaking so much she could barely breathe, her arms banging against the hospital railing. No! She couldn’t die, not here, not now, not like this. Wolframite grinned, a laugh ripping from his lips, and moved to strike her in the same way he had struck the youma in the alleyway. The handle flew toward her chest, but Fallon could not move. She was frozen.

And then, something unexpected happened.

A green prong stabbed through the floor, spearing straight into the ceiling. It deflected the jump rope before contact was made. Another prong followed it, then another, then another until a cage had formed around Wolframite, trapping him inside. The green leaves of the fern sprouted outward, binding the Negaverse agent in a shell until all the space was filled. Fallon could not see him, or hear him. Her arms regained their feeling, and she sat up in the bed.

The little capsule shook for a moment, and then, slowly, reopened. Instead of the mangled remains of the Negaverse agent, Fallon watched a flower unfurl, widening into a blossom. It was a soft, muted purple, and at the center, a cool gray stone stared back at Fallon. The IV cord that connected her to the hospital machine had disappeared, and Fallon was in a white dress. She climbed out of bed and touched the flower.

It was the softest thing she’d ever felt. Outside, the sun was rising. Fallon fell backward into the soft pollen of the flower, hands tracing over the smooth surface of the gray stone. The window popped open to let in a cool breeze, and in a nearby tree, the birds sang a steady tweet, tweet, tweet to help her fall back asleep.

The sun grew brighter hotter, and then, suddenly, Fallon’s eyes were open -- this time, in reality. There was no flower in her room, and no Negaverse agent. The tweeting of the birds dissolved back into the beeping of her heart monitor. Sunlight cast a yellow glow across the white floor

There was another girl lying in the second hospital bed on the other side of the room. It had been empty before, saved for overflow in the recovery rooms. Was this a dream too? Was this girl suddenly going to leap from the bed and transform into Wolframite?

In her sleep, the new girl in the room turned to her side. She was a tumble of black hair and pale skin, even with her face scrunched up in anguish. It took Fallon several seconds to realize that she was staring into a face that she knew very well.

It was Jada Chamberlyn.

It was much harder to leave the hospital than Fallon expected. A part of her felt like she was betraying Jada by leaving so soon. Before the visit, they had been good friends, but now Fallon felt much closer to her riding buddy. They had shared something based on mutual suffering, and in a town like Destiny City, that was incredibly significant. They both had scars, internal and external, but they both had also made the conscious decision to look on the bright side in spite of it. It was a decision every citizen had to make: live in fear or live for happiness.

After giving Jada a series of consolatory hugs, Fallon slipped into the wheelchair her mother insisted on and let herself be taken from the hospital. There was a rental car waiting. Fallon had to grip the door handle as if her life depended on it to keep from bumping her bandaged stitches against the hard plastic of the seat belt from her mother's bad driving. Her mother chattered away the entire time about how nice Jada was, how beautiful Szelem was, how lovely Audrey and Marlo were. She spent a good chunk of the move from the car to her rented hotel room going on about the debutante ball and how she would need to go out first thing in the morning to find a dress suitable for her. She didn't know what Fallon was wearing, but she insisted on approving it before Szelem caught a glimpse. Not that she didn't trust Fallon, she said, just that she wanted to be certain that their family gave off the right impression.

Somewhere between giving Fallon her pain medication and selecting The Wedding Date from the hotel's provided list of films, Iva broached the subject Fallon hoped she'd avoid. In French, no less. "Perhaps we can convince Szelem and Jada to come out to France this summer to visit us? We can show them the countryside. You and Jada could go riding on the Montague Estate. Felicity still asks about you, you know. She said she was very happy to hear that you would be returning home soon."

"I'm not going." Fallon's voice was cool, but full of defiance.

Iva frowned. It didn't sit well on the face of a woman who spent her life avoiding unpleasantness. "My dear, I'm afraid you do not have a choice in the matter." She punched the 'play' button on the remote matter-of-factly.

The opening credits lit the screen in blue, illuminating the couch. Fallon fought to maintain her composure, but her mother had the nasty habit of rankling her more than anyone else. "It was my decision to come here in the first place. It should also be my decision to stay." She kept her eyes focused on the television, as if knowing who the casting director was had some vast appeal.

Iva stopped the movie and turned to face Fallon. She broke from the French, slipping back into her native English tongue. "Fallon. No. I let you come here, and you ended up abducted and almost killed. We battled it out then too, or do you not remember?" Iva pursed her lips in the same way that Fallon did, a trait inherited by parental modeling.

Fallon did remember. After waking up in the hospital, Fallon cried with her family for the first day. The next, they were already making plans to return to France. She cried harder, begged to stay. At the time, Fallon had too many unanswered questions to run away. She was afraid that leaving Destiny City would mean abandoning any hope of understanding what happened to her, or why. It was her father who caved then, resting a hand on her forehead and promising he would let her choose. Her parents spent the next three days speaking sternly to each other. It was just another wedge ripping their marriage apart at the seams.

But Bertrand was not their to save his daughter from Iva, not this time.

"If Dad was here--"

"If your father was here, then you would still be listening to me." Her voice was sharp, whip-fast. It stung with a burn that she attempted to hide from most people, a nagging tone she used on her husband and daughter almost exclusively. "He was the one who let his fifteen-year-old daughter call the shots of her life. If he hadn't of done that, then you would have been back and France and would have never ended up in that damn hospital bed again." Indigo eyes blazed with pent-up words. It was clear Iva had more to say.

Fallon didn't give her that chance. "He is not responsible for what happened to me. It was a freak occurrence."

"A freak occurrence that only happens in Destiny City. Or do you not watch the news?"

"And what do you call tsunamis and bombings and car accidents? Death happens everywhere. Going to France will not change that. It will only make me miserable."

Iva furrowed her brow. "Because being with your family makes you miserable?"

Yes. The word hung on Fallon's lips, unspoken. The crumbling state of her parents' marriage was something that they had never discussed. Everyone acted like it was okay, all of them. It was like the three of them were in on some secret plot that involved hiding a secret they all knew from each other. It didn't make sense. A lot of things about her parents didn't make sense to Fallon.

Knitting her hands in her lap, Fallon stared down at the deep lines. The silvery traces of cuts were still visible, nearly healed completely. "If I go back to France, everything will go back to the way it was. I will become the person I was then. I will..." Fallon straightened. "I will kill myself."

She wasn't serious. They both knew that. It was her age showing, the illogical rambling of a melodramatic teenager being denied what she wanted most. It didn't mean Iva would excuse it. She slapped Fallon on the arm, hard. The girl winced. "Don't you ever say that again, Fallon. That is not funny. That is not a threat to throw around to try and scare me." Her scowl deepened.

Iva rose to her feet, ballooning up to her full height, still an inch shy of her daughter. It never failed to make Fallon back down. "I am the adult. I make this decision. If you continue to defy me, I will take everything from you: money, clothes, Taillevent. If you make me, I can give you as much discipline as you want." She punctuated this by stabbing a painted nail into the palm of her hand. "Do not bother running to your father. We already decided that it is my turn to make the decisions for you."

Tossing the remote to the couch beside her daughter, Iva folded her arms across her chest. "I don't want to watch a movie anymore. You watch it. You watch it and try to remember how lucky you are to have a parent who cares so much about your well-being to have this fight over and over. You think about those people in this city who don't have parents like me." She waggled a warning finger at her daughter and then disappeared into the next room, shutting the door with a slam.

Fallon stared down at the remote beside her. Injured or not, she knew her mother would show no mercy. That did not mean this fight was over. Fallon was tenacious and focused. She had already decided that, come Hell or high water, she would not leave Destiny City. Now she only needed to figure out how to force her mother to see it her way too.