CHUPACABRA

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Negotiator

The room the young, willowy monitor leads Forty into looks similar to that of the one Dr. Daas locked her in with rats a year ago. It's a carbon copy except for the thick handcuffs attached to either side of the centralized table, and instead of rats in a cage it's Forty-Five picking something out of her teeth.

"You know, thith wath one promise I hoped you wouldn't keep," she calls, waving a sarcastic hand at Forty.

She's cut her hair down to a short bob, and somehow her teeth have grown out to where they almost curve around her jaw. She looks neglected, malnourished. Forty freezes in her walk over to the table, Dr. Hanna's hand on her back. There's so much she wants to say, so much she has to tell Forty-Five. It's like the flow of information is so great it causes a blockage.

"I– I was captured," Forty blurts, forcing herself to mechanically step towards the table. Dr. Hanna dutifully clicks the heavy handcuffs onto Forty's wrist, then leaves the room.

The fluorescent lights and sound proofing make Forty feel like she's under a microscope. Forty-Five's eyes are glimmering with intelligence, but she lets out a kind smile. "I know, thilly. Thill ath theriouth ath ever, huh?"

Forty-Five reaches across the table and wraps her hands around Forty's. Her claws are long, naturally poking past their sheaths, but she curls them in to keep from scratching Forty. This is what breaks the dam, the reminder that Forty-Five has and always will be here for her.

"I'm so sorry," Forty says, her voice shaky. "I did. I thought about you everyday. You were everywhere for me. It's like... right now, I don't even know if this is real."

Forty-Five promptly slams her forehead into Forty's.

"Fuck!" Forty yells, her ears ringing. Forty-Five lets out a crackly laugh.

"Real enough for you?"

"Yeah, though I could have done without the concussion," Forty groans, rubbing at the red spot in the middle of her forehead. Way to hit a girl when she's down.

"I can thee that," Forty-Five says, picking up Forty's bandaged right hand and twisting it delicately this way and that. "I gueth you have me beat in the deformity department now. Though you thort of cheated." She imitates a bullet whistling through the gap where Forty's fingers used to be. Oddly, it makes Forty feel better about the situation.

"I have so much to tell you," Forty says, bringing her hand back to the flat table. It aches if it's held up or down for too long. "I've met so many people, seen a lot of things. I wanted you there with me the whole time, but I figure now is as good a time as any to try and take you back to those memories."

Forty-Five nods, gesturing for Forty to continue. "Well, there was the original escape. Do you know what dogs are? I only learned when they were put in the vents with us. We walked in the woods for a long time, and then we found a human farm. There was so much food, all herded together and perfect for the taking."

"Thounds like a dream," Forty-Five says, her face wistful. Her cheeks and eyes are sunken, her scrubs hanging off of her body.

"Have they been feeding you?" Forty asks, watching as the other girl yawns. Her teeth almost clack together even with her mouth wide open.

"Not ath much. Everyone hath been running ragged thince Dr. Taft let out that pathogen." Forty-Five scratches her cheek, so casually talking about a potentially catastrophic event. "They forget about me thometimeth, thince I keep to mythelf. I have to remind them to feed me."

"That's not right," Forty growls, immediately looking around for a camera to speak her mind to. Forty-Five chuckles.

"You've thure gotten feithy," she comments, looking knowingly at Forty. "Couldn't have been becauthe of your travel companion, hmm?"