6 months later…

                Well, I guess this is what it feels like to be alive.  And I don’t just mean being able to pump oxygen through your lungs and have blood coursing through your veins at the right intervals.  Anyone can do that.

                Hell, maybe I don’t really know what it is I mean.  Technically, I’d say I’ve only been “living” for half a year now.  I’ve probably still got some growing up to do.  By legal standards, I’ve only recently become an adult, but it feels like I’ve grown very old in a short slice of my time on the planet.  There’s plenty to learn about still, now that I’m back in the world, though I doubt I’ll be able to handle doing any of it seated at a desk, at least not for a while.  I have a feeling I’m bound to hold a personal grudge against classrooms for the rest of my natural existence.

                Now, for me and my friends, at least, living is just rediscovering what it means to be allowed to feel joy without the fear of it being swiped away in the next instant.  But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.

                After Gina had gathered Julia’s body back up and used her to open up the PMRD’s ID scanner, allowing all of us to rise back to the heights we had stolen from us so long ago, the mood was dampened a bit by the realization that Brian was probably on his last legs, lying in a pool of blood and choking for air.  But damn it if he wasn’t persistent, especially when he had Faith lying right by his side, blinking at him with wide-eyed wonderment.  Kelly did what she could to keep him in the land of the living until the EMTs showed up.  To hear them tell it, he probably wouldn’t have made it without her, so I guess she ought to get as much credit for her medical knowledge as he does for his stubbornness.

                There was plenty to be explained, and we knew that.  It was something the remaining four of us who could comprehend the situation were fully prepared to face, as long as it was together.  Once we were cleaned and patched up in a fit enough state to walk and talk, they had us hauled into the police station for a series of conversations almost as grueling as some of Julia’s longer lectures about the difference between mitosis and meiosis.

                Okay, maybe not that grueling.  Still, we had a lot of support in the physical evidence.  Goodwin’s modified PMRD was the literal smoking gun.

                Things didn’t go over very well with Julia’s parents, if that wasn’t easy to guess.  Gene and Barbara Mack already had the twin barrels of law and order squared at our skulls with the promise of consequences of biblical proportions if we ousted their sweet and innocent victim of a daughter in the public eye, though unsurprisingly, this threat didn’t really deter us.  Somehow, after you’ve spent several years watching your friends get murdered before your eyes by a psychotic teen, everything else in the world, the American justice system included, looks far less sinister.

                Of course, the problem ended up being solved for us before we even had to go up in arms.  Both the Macks were taken into custody themselves and placed under investigation for their supposed lack of knowledge of their child’s especially homicidal hobbies, along with the poor oblivious maid.  The people Brian, Kelly, Gina, and myself found ourselves facing next weren’t boys in blue and badges but men in gray suits with fancy business cards and tape recorders.  This is where all of Goodwin’s madman ramblings were made abundantly nonfictional.

                I can’t profess to understand everything about the world out there yet.  Like I said, I’m just barely eighteen, and I’ve spent a long time stuck in a girl’s dollhouse wondering whether I’ll be sexed up or executed on that particular day, so my words really ought to be taken with a grain of salt.  All I know is the four of us, plus Faith, had walked through hell and back more than once, and we’d learned when to pick our battles, and more specifically, when to back down so we’d live to fight another day.  Which is exactly what we did when Techilogic’s people came in to make sure we didn’t turn into liabilities.

                And since Goodwin did prove to be a man of his word on more than a few life-saving occasions, we opted to take his word for the invisible threat and just roll with Techilogic’s whims for the time being.  What it boiled down to was a couple of smiling company representatives wanting to ensure we understood justice would be served for those who lost their lives to Julia, but that it was best for all involved if we didn’t make a scene out of it all.  Against our better judgment, we agreed.  For now.

                It’s not all bad.  To help make sure we keep quiet about the more sordid details of our time in Julia’s bedroom, they’re agreeing to become our personal wallets in a perfectly legal but probably not entirely ethically sound arrangement.  Whatever.  If it keeps us on their good side for the time being, at least until we’re back on our feet, that’s enough for us.

                Hearing from my foster parents was a strange experience, to say the least.  They'd moved across the country just last year after the stress of tracking me down had worn them down into a state of aggrieved acceptance.  It took several minutes of convincing them over the phone that my voice was my own and not a highly sarcastic ghost’s, even though they’d been talked through the phenomenon of my return by local authorities.  When they finally arrived back in town to see me, I found myself more willing to throw a hug around each of them than I would’ve ever thought possible.  These people I once felt were strangers were… well, still strangers, but strangers I now understood only ever wanted good things for me.  I have to remind myself to thank them for that more often.  That’s one of the things I’ve learned in this new life.

                After about a month apart and plenty of Techilogic-appointed therapy, the survivors of Camp Julia found ourselves pulled back together.  It started out with lengthy midnight phone calls and weekly meetings for coffee, but eventually we all came to realize that all the support we needed in the wake of it all wasn’t going to come from just the occasional rendezvous.  I guess living out in the “real” world is a little tougher than any of us were expecting after being removed from reality for so long.  So, after a lot of jumbled emotions from parents and crisscrossing rent agreements, we’ve all shacked up together in a cozy little townhouse.  Brian and his daughter, Kelly, Gina, and I, couldn’t be more grateful to share a space that isn’t made of plastic, thanks to Techilogic’s cushy checks.  There are plenty of visits back home to family still struggling to believe their love ones have come back from the dead, but when it comes to moving forward, this is what we all need right now.  A way to ease out of the darkness and into something more familiar and friendly.  A transition.

                Brian moved on to crutches just a week ago after a bevy of Techilogic-sponsored surgeries.  He still can’t walk and carry Faith at the same time, of course, but it’s a damned good motivator to get him up and moving.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s getting around entirely on his own in another six months.  The man’s a machine.  He connected with Anna’s family in some ways that were probably a little awkward to explain, and though her parents won’t get their daughter back, having Faith there just might be able to ease the wounds with enough time.  With an entire album’s worth of Anna’s photos posted around the bedroom Brian keeps with Faith to make sure she sleeps through the night, that baby will grow up understanding exactly the kind of person her mother was.

                Kelly moved back into her nursing training almost immediately after we got the townhouse.  I guess the work keeps her mind occupied, which is something we all need in order to keep from spinning our wheels in the same place.  It would’ve been a waste for someone has naturally talented as her to give it up in the face of life-changing trauma.  In fact, from what I’ve heard, she’s already considering shifting gears and heading for medical school.  Whatever she does, I know she’ll be an incredible gift for many more people than she’s already healed.

                My time with Gina has been something else akin to floating on a cloud.  It’s an unbelievable relief to find myself in a dream where we’re wrapped around each other, only to awaken and find her lying there beside me, still safely within arm’s reach.  She’ll probably help me learn the most of all about myself, and she doesn’t even have the self-appointed academia Julia had.

                Of course, we didn’t allow Techilogic to rob us of our final respects to those we love.  Kelly and I, the most physically able after all the hysteria in Julia’s house, found one last use for our talents as living shadows and managed to make off with extracted items from the Mack household, namely Goodwin’s remains and a decorated pink shoebox containing Anna’s body preserved in a makeshift coffin, lovingly set on a bed of plucked flowers that had begun to wilt after so much time.  I suppose nobody could’ve accused Julia of not loving us all in her own fucked-up way.

                So, under cover of darkness in a location far enough removed from our home, we held a private funeral for those we lost.  Anna and Goodwin’s bodies we buried at the bottom of a hill in a nature reserve, and for Beth we created a headstone to sit beside the others.  I know none of us could’ve made it through that hour if we hadn’t clung onto one another’s hands for the entirety of the starlit service, mumbling through farewells infused with love and more pain than any of us could express in words.  We took turns holding Faith as we bid our last goodbyes, and she remained oddly quiet, never drifting into sleep but simply observing us all with those beautiful silver eyes of hers.  For an infant, I think she must comprehend much more about the world than we can see now.  I’m sure she’ll have plenty to teach me as well once she’s old enough to speak.

                I can’t say it’ll be smooth sailing forever, with Techilogic peeking over our shoulders, but should that ever change, I think I can count on these people to have my back.  We brought down an insane bloodthirsty hypersexual teenage goddess, so a bunch of talking suits shouldn’t be so bad.  This, I suppose, is where I’ve ended up now.  It’s not the place I would’ve expected to be three years ago, and even less the place I would’ve expected to be six months ago, but with the people nearby who’ve become closer than any family I could’ve ever asked for, it’s more than enough for now.