Chapter 20: Hunting Daniel

As he walked up the front step of Last Stand, the door flew open and Parker was there. The moment Garris freed his arms of the boy, Parker took his place, hugging Fresco hard. She clung to him. He was acutely aware of the scent of sweet lemon on her mocha skin. Something inside him stirred in response.

"Where have you been?" She pushed back, dashing tears from her smooth cheeks. "We were worried," she added, pulling herself together.

"Dodging the man," he said. He hugged her again on impulse as his hope returned. She embraced him back, but when they parted, she was frowning.

"What happened?"

He knew exactly what she was thinking. "I'm still okay," he said. "But I... Parker, I found Daniel!"

Parker's eyes flew wide. "Fres..."

"I know, I know, but Parker, he's alive and he spoke to me. He's messed up," Fresco pushed past the image of his Wasted brother, "but he knew me. He knew me!"

Parker stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you going to do?" Her face set, a closed mask.

"I'm going to find him," he said, refusing to let her attitude take away the joy of seeing Daniel again, "and bring him back here."

"You can't save him," she said, bitter, even nasty. "You can't even save yourself."

Shocked by her response, Fresco reached out to her, but Parker spun away from him and stormed back inside without another word.

Determined to prove her wrong about everything, Fresco turned and went in search of his brother.

He went back to the alley and spent a good half hour searching for signs of Daniel's passage, but with no luck. The dirty pavement gave up nothing. Choosing a direction instead, Fresco headed out into the streets.

He spent the rest of the night growing more and more frustrated as the slim chance of finding Daniel turned colder and colder. His search became a lesson in frustration of unplanned and emotionally charged backtracking as he made choices only to second guess himself.

Fresco refused to give up. He was so caught up in his search, he rounded a corner and stumbled right into a pair of cops. Fresco pulled up short as Len's familiar face glanced up from the kid he was talking to and spotted him.

He froze, not sure what to do. His mind was so fogged by the search for his brother he considered running. But Len was already moving toward him with Jakey close behind. Fresco saw relief in the face of the kid they abandoned for fresh sport. He took off into the dark, leaving Fresco to deal with the two officers.

Len looked him up and down as Jakey stuck his thumbs in his belt and smirked his nasty smirk at Fresco. Len whistled low.

"Well, well," the cop said. "If it isn't our old friend. How you been, boyo?"

Fresco shrugged, remembering the cop didn't like it when he didn't get an answer. "I'm fine, officer," he said. "Much better, thanks."

Len shot a glance at his partner who hocked up a wad and spit on the street. "Hear that, Jakey?" Len asked in a friendly voice. "Boyo here says he's fine. You buying that?"

Jakey shrugged, smirk growing wider. "Dunno, Len. Seems he looks okay. Clean and all. Shakes seem to be gone. Still."

Len was nodding while Jakey spoke. "Still. Seems he's out here pretty late for someone who's got himself clean. You still chasing the dragon, boyo?"

Frustrated by their interference, but knowing he risked a lot showing it, Fresco fought to keep his emotions under control. "No, sir," he said. "Just looking for my brother."

"Is that so?" Len took another step closer. "He a Waster too?"

Fresco refused to meet his eyes, knowing the defiance he felt would show and serve to feed Len and Jakey's desire to teach him a lesson.

"Yes, sir," Fresco said.

Len grunted, his surprise showing. Fresco risked a glance out of the corner of his eye. The cop's face actually softened.

"Leave him be," Len said. "Nothing you can do for him if that's so, boyo. You just stay clean yourself, hear? I don't want to see you on another park bench with the sapphire fire pushing you around. You got me?"

Fresco nodded, shocked. Len's eyes held sympathy.

"See you around, boyo," the cop said. "Let's go, Jakey."

Fresco badly misjudged the man. He found himself struggling to shift his perceptions. Could he trust him? Maybe here was someone in authority they could confide in? Help him find Daniel, even?

Fresco shook his head, shattering his own fantasy. A beat cop had little chance of finding out more than Garris. And Len pretty much told Fresco to give up on his brother. He would find no help there. He pushed aside the small hope the conversation created and refocused his attention back on Daniel. Everyone else in his life might have written him off, but Fresco was determined. He rejected his brother once, judged him for what Fresco discovered was done to both of them. But now that the shoe was on his own foot, it was time to right the wrong no matter what it took.

He lifted his face to the brightening sky and took a deep breath. One thing was true. He chose to be smarter about it. Less running around without a plan. No more wasting time on overreaction. He had to get his crap together.

Fresco returned to the house exhausted. He collapsed in bed, sleeping the day away before beginning another night of searching in what became his new life cycle.

Unable to focus on anything else, Fresco became a hunter of a different kind. He also became a bit of a legend among the Wasters. Night after night he searched out his brother, using the streets as a grid, crossing and recrossing the city in a careful sweeping pattern. And night after night he encountered kids who needed his help and more often than not returned home with one of their kind only to drop them on the other residents and go back out again.

Fresco checked in with every pusher, addict, and streetwalker he came across for news of Daniel, even the regular dealers and their customers for heroin and crack. It didn't take long to know their names and faces and for the more timid of them to come to trust him. They dropped leads on him, some obviously false, others hope worthy, but none panned out. He became so hyper focused on the hunt, he missed the connections he was building in the Wasteland organizational network.

Frustrated after another night of nothing, Fresco eased himself into the house and hit the stairs, desperate for sleep, but more so for real news of his brother.

"Fresco." Garris must have been waiting for him. His voice spoke from the dark of the hall, tall, lean shadow still. "We have to talk."

Fresco paused, sighing heavily. Trouble was coming. He managed to avoid Garris since his hunt began, but the owner of the house wasn't about to let him get away with it forever. Fresco nodded and followed Garris to his office door.

Fresco took a seat, rubbing his burning eyes with his fingertips as Garris perched himself on the edge of his desk. Fresco braced himself for a lecture.

"I wanted to thank you," Garris said.

"Sorry?" Gratitude was the last thing he expected.

The older man smiled a little. "You have single-handedly rescued more kids than anyone else in this house." He shook his head. "I know it wasn't your intention, but somehow you have managed to make them trust you. You have no idea how rare that is."

Fresco thought back over the nights of his hunt and realized Garris was right. He shrugged. "They know I'm looking for Daniel," he said. "That I don't want anything from them. That I'm not trying to save them."

Garris nodded. "So they follow you home." He grinned.

"They do?" Surprise woke inside him, shock. "Really?"

Garris crossed his long arms over his chest, eyes shining behind his glasses.

"We have a stuffed house, Fres," Garris said. "Almost sixty kids. We're filled to the rafters with more coming every day. They are sleeping two to a room where there used to be empties."

Guilt pinged at his relief for some reason he didn't have a roommate yet. After his long nights of roaming, he needed quiet, but felt like he should offer.

"No worries," Garris said without prompting, as if knowing what Fresco was thinking. "At least, not yet. Yours will be the last we fill up, okay?"

Fresco nodded and shrugged. All that mattered were they were helping kids.

"The young ones started trickling in around the third night you went out," Garris told him. "Said you told them about this place. Said you told them it was safe."

Fresco barely remembered the conversations with the kids he encountered. He used every tool he thought of, even drawing on his memories of Coach and how he treated his players, to get the kids to talk to him.

"Cool," he murmured to himself. "You're welcome," he said.

Garris chuckled before he sobered. "Any luck?"

Fresco tried not to show his frustration and shrugged. "Leads now and then. Mostly crap, but I keep looking. I'm going to keep looking," he repeated himself, voice firm, expecting the fight to start.

Garris nodded, surprising him again. "I know I can't keep you from it," he said. "Nor would I want to. If you can find him, Fresco, bring him here. If what you say is true, Daniel has survived somehow, longer than any other Wasted kid. We'd like to know how. Just promise me you'll be careful."

Fresco relaxed in relief. "I promise."

"Any other news?"

Fresco thought back over the last several days. "Probably stuff you already know," he said. "The sugarpops are Wasters like us, only they don't have as strong a gift or something, I guess, because they don't need it as much as others."

Garris frowned, going around his desk to take notes. "Interesting theory. We did know the dealers were Wasters, but I never considered it had to do with the strength of their power." He jotted for a moment while Fresco yawned behind his hand.

"Anything else?"

He was about to shake his head when his eyes fell on the cover of a book near the desk. It shone vivid blue. Abruptly, he remembered Daniel.

"His eyes," Fresco said, half to himself. "His eyes were blue."

"Like yours?" Garris's pen hovered.

"No," Fresco shook his head. "Daniel's eyes were brown. But now they're blue. Wasteland blue."

Garris stared at him.

"He cried," Fresco went on. "The tear was blue, Garris. Like it's his everything now."

Garris nodded slowly, making no effort to write it down.

"You knew?"

"No, but it makes sense," the older man said. "The only time a Wasted kid died here and Medley was able to do an autopsy, his organs were stained blue. And he was hooked for just a couple of days."

Fresco shuddered, wondering what his insides looked like, realizing he hadn't thought about or been troubled by his cravings for days.

"That's not all," he said, trying to push down his elation, ignoring it for now until he was able to examine it himself more closely. "There was a man, one of the Garbagemen who took me. The leader called him Strom."

Garris wrote it down with an excited grin. "Awesome, Fresco. A name, not the big dog's name, but a name to chase."

"Strom," Fresco went on. "His eyes were blue, Garris. Wasteland blue."

Garris dropped his pen. "What? You're sure?"

Fresco nodded, seeing the face of Strom bending over him. "Positive. I remember thinking how weird it was his eyes were that color. And here." Fresco leaned in, retrieving the pen as it rolled across the desk and turned the page toward him. He sketched the embroidered logo and turned it back to Garris, dropping the pen to the table.

Garris turned instantly grim. "Where did you see this?"

"It was on Strom's hat," Fresco said. "Sorry, I'm just remembering now, but all that stuff is still pretty fried."

Garris didn't say anything. He continued to look down. Fresco shuffled his feet, wanting to get to bed. Finally, Garris looked up, his eyes shining.

"Thank you for this," he said. "It's more valuable than you know."

Fresco perked a little. "You recognize it, don't you?"

Garris shrugged and closed the notebook. "I've seen it before. Other kids have sketched it for me, but I've never been able to place the logo. The fact the Garbagemen are Wasters is new. Although I suppose it makes sense. First generation? Maybe they are the only ones who can keep the kids in line. If so, how long has this been going on?" Garris seemed lost in his own world, leaning back to swing in his chair.

Fresco, knowing Garris was off for a while, muffled another huge yawn in his fist, feeling his jaw crack with the effort. "If you don't mind," he pulled himself to his feet, "I'm bagged."

Garris was pulling himself up in response when Fresco felt psychic power slam into him like a fist of pure energy, driving him to his knees. He peripherally caught the commotion in the hall outside Garris's office as he struggled to protect himself from the surge of energy pinning him to the floor.

He felt Garris beside him, knew the man was speaking, but didn't release his focus. Instinct took over. Fresco's mind did its best to protect him, blocking him off from the surge. He felt weightless with the release while the other mind continued to batter itself against his fragile defenses.

Fresco drew a deep breath and lifted his head as Parker ran into the room.

"We need help!" She then turned and ran out again. Fresco pounded down the dark hallway after Garris, weariness forgotten as he held onto his own control.

They burst into one of the treatment rooms where injured Wasters were kept. Three older kids tried to hold a boy down, Parker included. Two others had collapsed on the floor, one unconscious, the other bleeding from her nose and ears as she clutched her head and screamed without sound, mouth a gaping "O." Fresco watched Garris absorb the event in a heartbeat, time still for the new boy's power to send the other two kids flying, with only Parker left to hold him. Garris bowled over under Kimberly's weight, catching her as they both hit the floor.

Momentarily frozen by the scene, Fresco reacted without thinking. He leaped to the kid's side, pinning his chest while Parker grabbed his legs. The closer contact made it harder for him to block the surge coming from the kid. And, when his bare hand brushed against the boy's wrist, his mind's desperate protection dissolved. Fresco and the boy were linked.

He almost pulled back. His first instinct was to run, to hide, to let others deal with this. The madness sweeping over him from the boy's mind vibrated, horrible with darkness and fear, and held too many memories. But something within him refused to let go. Instead, Fresco held on, doing his best to rebuild his own safety, only to have it knocked down again and again by the surging attack of the outbreak.

Fresco felt the boy weakening, but they were all still in danger. The attack came at him in surges, making his bones ache, concentration almost impossible. And yet, he needed to try something, anything. When the rippling power fell off in preparation for the next wave, Fresco slammed up a shield, encasing both of their minds inside.

As soon as Fresco's defenses encased him, the boy's power shut off.

Dull silence fell around him as though the real world had been wrapped in cotton. Fresco felt bone tired, but the threat was over. He drew a breath, easing himself off of the boy, hearing the first sobs from the other kids as they reacted to the shock of the attack. Fresco blocked them out, ignoring the feeling of Parker's hand on his wrist as he looked down into the familiar haunted eyes he thought his madness closed forever.

Joey smiled up at him, tears leaking down his face. The boy's hands grasped him and pulled him down again as he hugged Fresco so hard his bony arms dug into Fresco's ribs.

"Thank you," Joey whispered.

Fresco pulled back, tears of his own threatening. "I thought I killed you," he whispered back.

"I'm tougher than that," Joey said.

Fresco grinned at him. He glanced up at Parker who stared with genuine shock.

"It can't be," she said, barely louder than an exhale. "You can't be... you can't be!"

Parker shook, her golden eyes huge. She backed away a step. Fresco saw her stumble against Garris who also watched him with awe. In fact, everyone wore the same floored expression. The kids he knew, cared about, looked at him like he just grew another head. Everyone but Joey. The boy gazed up at him with absolute adoration, his face, for the first time since Fresco met him, calm and at peace.

"Fresco," Garris said, voice low and controlled. "Did you do that?"

He nodded. Garris pushed his glasses back further on his nose with one finger, clearing his throat before speaking. This time, there were tears tracking down his face.

"I don't believe it," Garris said, voice husky. "This is amazing. Amazing! I have to call Medley." Garris rushed from the room as the rest of the kids pulled themselves together and gathered around Fresco. An uncomfortable feeling pressed down on him, fed by the way they watched him. When Kimberly reached out to touch his hand, he flinched back from her wide, hopeful eyes.

"What the hell is wrong with all of you?" He couldn't stand it, didn't want them near him all of a sudden. Their voices were so loud and getting louder. The flimsy thing he built to protect his mind was failing fast, tearing his gift open wide and exposing him to them.

"You're clean," Parker said, her deep, velvety voice soft and subdued. There was a terrible desire on her face, paired with jealousy and something else he didn't recognize slamming into his heart and mind. "For the first time, ever. A Wasted kid is clean."

Before Fresco could respond, he felt them surge toward him, desperate for what he had. It proved too much for his overloaded senses. A sudden wave of exhaustion sent him crumpling to the floor, lost to the dark.

***