Padding surrounds her, coating the walls, suffocating furniture. It makes the already small, dim room outright claustrophobic, and agonizingly familiar.

Alyssa crawls along the floor, painfully pushing herself forward, her legs kicking spastically, uncoordinated. She reaches a couch and struggles to grab onto it, her arms shaking as she tries to move them, finally hauling herself up.

The room is a disaster, her lone chair thrown into a corner, her bedding strewn onto the floor. Her thoughts are just as messy, with scrambled memories. Struggle, longing… happiness.

I—I’m supposed—I was going home.

She holds her hand in front of her face, shaking and trembling. She focuses, trying to steady it—

It stops being a hand.

Tendons pull on stacked bones buried in flesh, steadied by a mass of bone and muscle beneath. The tendons penetrate the mass, rooted to greater muscles wrapped around a pair of long bones. A nerve flares up, a wave of electricity and chemistry running through it.

The muscles dissolve into strings and filaments, sliding past each other as the wave reaches them. Then the strands lose cohesion, reduced to chains of cells uptaking oxygen and discharging acid as they contract.

“Wha—What’s happening—” Alyssa tries to say, only managing a sharp, breathless gasp.

The feeling spreads, her arm disintegrating into a mass of cells in space even as her eyes tell her it’s still there. Pushing against the feeling only advances it further, eating into her chest, crawling up her neck.

Rapping on the door, even muffled by the padding, is enough to snap her out of it. The afflicted parts of her body return… to not quite normal. They’re numb, prickly, even harder to move.

The door opens. She closes her eyes, as bright fluorescent light floods in from the hall.

“Alyssa? I’m coming in, okay?”

It’s a nurse, dressed in plain blue scrubs. Her voice is sweet, caring, kind. And yet, it rings hollow.

Something cool and rubbery wraps around her wrist. She opens her eyes to see the nurse’s gloved hand.

“Do you want to go have lunch? You must be hungry.”

She is. But her memories are still jumbled, still… wrong.

“Okay. I’ll help you go over there, alright?”

“Mmmmm…” is the closest ‘yes’ she can manage.

Alyssa cooperates as best she can, shaking as she stands and stumbling with each step towards the door.

“There you go. You’re doing great,” the nurse assures her in that same, overly sweet tone. Alyssa knows the woman means well; it still feels so condescending.

“Oh, and I have good news. You have a visitor today.”

“Mmmmuuuhhh rrrrr dddaaa?” she tries to ask.

“Not your parents. One of your friends!”

Alyssa stops in her tracks, right as they exit the room. Her blood runs cold.

She’d had a few friends visit already, and that had been enough. Enough to realize they weren’t really her friends. They’d—They’d treated her like she was… broken, just like the nurses did. Like she couldn’t understand the words they said. As if the fact that she couldn’t speak and could barely move meant she wasn’t really there.

She can’t risk that. Not again.

“Nnnnnnn…”

The nurse tries to get her moving again, gently pushing her.

“You’ll be fine, Alyssa.”

“Nnnnnnnnnnn!” The failed ‘No’ is more like a growl this time, forced through clenched teeth.

“It’s fine. Just… let’s just go to lunch, okay?”

The crack in the nurse’s facade corresponds to a more assertive grip from the woman, each hand on Alyssa’s wrists, then a lift and push, dragging her feet against the carpet.

The instant her feet find solid purchase Alyssa pulls her arms down and whips her head back. A scream pierces her ears as she hears cartilage and bone shatter, the nurse crumpling to the ground behind her.

Blood clouds her vision as she races through the halls, desperately searching for an exit. She can hear footsteps behind her, just as frantic as hers, nurses calling her name and pleading for her to stop.

She screams in response. Her voice is raw, full of rage.

Finally, she reaches a door, the world beyond blurry through the fogged glass. She slams into the crash bar, knowing it won’t budge. It takes precious moments for her clumsy hand to find the keypad. She knows the code—she knows every code in this damn hospital—but her fingers can’t hit the right keys, no matter how hard she tries.

The voices behind her get louder. Closer.

Alyssa grips the crash bar hard—enough to make her arms spasm—and whips her head at the door. She cries out with each impact, blood and skin left in the cracks as her forehead slams into the glass.

The gaggle of nurses reach her, grabbing her and pulling on her. She tries to resist, clawing at the bar, losing a fingernail or two that get caught in it as the nurses finally pull her off. They become the target of her struggles, writhing and wriggling in their grip, helpless.

She screams.

And screams.

And screams.

Something shakes her, gently this time. She almost lashes out, then realizes she can’t feel the pain; her throat isn’t sore.

“Huh? Whu?”

Is what Alyssa tries to blurt out, but the words don’t form; the necessary folds of muscle in her throat are relaxed, unresponsive.

Her eyes flutter open and adjust to the darkness, staring herself—no, no, her twin—in the face.

“Heya, some dream, huh?”

She can feel her vocal cords tense as nerve blockers dissipate, dissolving back into her bloodstream.

“Uhhhhhh,” she mutters, more of a test than for lack of words. Her pitch is off, a bit deep. “Yeah. It was the, um, the hospital one. You know. Did—Did I…?”

“Don’t worry, I muted you.”

“Thanks.”

Her twin flashes a thumbs up and a smile, then goes back to pecking away at her laptop.

Alyssa massages her trachea, humming, sensing with her power. There’s a few stubborn molecules gumming up the works of her voice box, but they metabolize quickly and her voice returns to its usual nasally self.

She looks at her twin, sitting in the seat ahead and to her left. Her wheelchair sits just far enough away that her twin had leaned over and back to wake her. With how short the nerve blocker lasts, constant contact would’ve been necessary to keep her quiet. Severing the nerves would’ve been the convenient way to do it; on the other hand, waking up to a paralyzed larynx would have been very… distressing.

Through the van’s windows she sees a familiar environment: grassy fields barely visible under the starry sky, the Black Hills evident from the rise in the shadowy treetops. Almost home. She’d fallen asleep about an hour after their last pit stop, somewhere around Sioux City. Which meant her twin had kept her shrieks and screams contained for up to three or four hours, despite the awkward position.

That level of care… it makes her feel warm, in a way she hasn’t felt in a long time.

They turn off from the main road onto one that is more dirt than gravel, passing by a rusty old tractor. Supposedly, when mom and dad had moved out here, mom had bought the already antique machine and fixed it up enough to start her little farm. That farm turned out to be closer to an overgrown garden, but at least mom had a hobby.

Alyssa tilts her wheelchair back and forth a bit, searching for the best angle to peer through the windshield. Finally, she can see home coming into view as the van climbs the hill, tan siding tinted yellow by the porch lights’ glow. Mom and dad had bought the place as young newlyweds, a single-floor cabin with such attractive amenities as a wrap-around porch and a basement. Most couples with a better knack for long term planning would’ve picked something with more room, or at least moved to a bigger property when the stork started flying overhead. Her parents had a… special ability to live in the moment, and that led her father to decide that the house would just have to grow with the family, bit by bit.

The first night she slept in her own room is still vivid in her mind. She didn’t have any furniture and the paint still smelled, but it was the first time she had a place to herself.

Tears start to flow from her eyes, and she feels a familiar finger tap her arm. Something from her power, as well.

“Hey, do you—”

“No.” Alyssa shakes her head. “I want to cry.”

“Uh, I was asking if you want a tissue.”

“Oh. Um, yes. Please. Thanks.”

Alyssa dries her cheeks sparingly, letting the tears run their course. By the time her eyes have run dry, the van has come to a stop atop the patch of asphalt in front of the garage. She looks over at the house: the windows are dark, their curtains pulled shut.

“We’re here,” Dad announces. “Everybody wake up.”

Mom stirs in the passenger seat, righting herself as she rouses.

“James, it’s already dark,” she mutters. “What time is it…?”

Alyssa blinks and rubs at her eyes, briefly blinded by the interior lights.

“Girls, I’m sorry, we’re a bit late.”

As her vision returns Alyssa manages a glance at the dashboard clock: twelve-thirty in the a-em.

Late’s kind of an understatement, Mom.

“Can we unpack everything tomorrow?” her twin asks.

“I don’t know about everything. We should probably unload your sister,” Dad answers, grinning into the rear-view mirror. “Then we’ll see about the rest.”

Alyssa fidgets as the rest of her family gets out of the van. Her twin swings a seat out of the way, and bends down to start unhooking the wheelchair’s straps. She wants to curl her toes up inside her shoes, clenching her socks between them, but the impulses meet dead-end nerves coiled up against her pelvis, making the muscles of her stump-like lower half twitch and twist. Weaving her fingers together and twiddling her thumbs doesn’t quite satisfy, but it’s something.

Cool air wafts in as the tailgate opens up behind her, the chirping of crickets echoing through the van. Alyssa grips her chair’s joystick and eases it back, reversing carefully. She feels a bit of resistance from her father’s hand on the headrest, guiding her. The ramp extends past the black top and onto gravel, rumbling and crunching as her chair drives onto the stones. Dad gives her a pat on the shoulder once she’s clear of the van, then starts to pack up the ramp.

Alyssa turns about, facing the house. It’s changed, in little ways. The front steps are gone, modified into something more fitting for her… capabilities. The double doors hang just a bit lower, the once-prominent threshold now flush with the floor.

She drives up to the house hesitantly, stopping at the ramp. It’s long with a gentle slope, railings extended to match, blending with the porch around it.

“Need some help?”

“I’m fine, Dad, it’s just… it’s different.”

Driving up the ramp is smooth and uneventful, no creaking of boards or timbers, not even a bump at the end. Dad had clearly done a good job; she just wished he hadn’t done such a permanent one.

Alyssa slowly pushes the doors open only to find them silent on their hinges, absent their old squeaking and creaking. Her chair makes up the difference, its motor whirring as she scoots inside. The doors close with the gentle click of a latch, leaving her in near-total darkness. Electric blues and greens seep in from the kitchen archway on the far wall, adding a pinch of illumination. Left of the arch is the staircase, darkness flowing from the second floor and encroaching on the bathroom’s door, held back by a lonely nightlight.

Even in shadow she can tell things are ever so slightly different. The rugs are gone, leaving glossy hardwood in their absence. The sofa and living chairs in the corner have been rearranged, spaced out, where they’d once been clustered around the television. In the back corner, the archway to the dining room has been walled up, a door hung in its center.

Guess Dad gave up on fixing the draft.

The only thing that seems untouched is great-granddad’s piano, still nestled in the corner to her left.

Alyssa shakes her head and makes her way into the bathroom. The doorway’s narrower than those at the hospital, but she manages to get the chair through it, closing the door behind her.

She keeps her eyes shut as she turns on the lights, giving them a moment to adjust. The bathroom’s basically the same, save for some grab-bars in the shower and near the toilet.

Thoughtful, I guess.

Relief washes over her as she finally undoes her harness. She stretches her arms out and over her head, flexing her shoulders, loosening everything up. A yawn escapes her mouth in the process; she feels exhausted, even after sleeping most of the day away. The pillows surrounding her, having proven comfortable, make sleep a tempting proposition.

Her eyelids drift shut and the light blurs into a red glow through the heavy curtains of flesh, strange patterns blossoming and withering across their inner surface.

A thump awakens Alyssa with a jolt that nearly throws her off the chair. Once her heart calms down she can make out footsteps just outside the door, floorboards creaking and beams groaning. Another thump—a suitcase bouncing off drywall.

Alyssa scoots closer to the sink, cupping her hands under the faucet and splashing her face. Drowsiness yields as cold water drips down her neck and soaks into her shirt. She licks droplets from her lips, whetting her thirst.

She clutches the edges of the counter and leans into the basin, swallowing a swig or three directly from the stream. The water tastes slightly of chalk, milky and smooth. So much better than the copper-laced crap at the hospital.

Ideally she’d take a bath, but it’s already late. She settles for dunking her head into the sink, scrubbing her face off and doing her best to wring oils from her hair.

A bit more maintenance, mundane or otherwise, then a quick change of clothes, and she’s finally ready for bed.

Alyssa drives out into the shadowy foyer, a bluish-white glow coming from the kitchen. She follows the light and finds her twin staring into the fridge, nibbling on a slice of cheese.

“Hey, uh, sorry if I took too long.”

“Huh?”

“You were waiting for me, right?”

“Nah. I came down for a snack, and I just couldn’t stop looking at it.”

It?

Alyssa scoots closer, getting a better look for herself. ‘It’ would be her belated birthday cake. Well, it was kinda ‘theirs’ more than ‘hers’, but still.

“Looks good, don’t it?”

A fudge cake, chocolate coated strawberries adorning the top, swaddled by a generous coat of frosting.

“Yeah.”

Her twin reaches into the fridge, and Alyssa slaps her hand away.

“Hey. Ow. I just wanted to taste the frosting.”

“You can wait.”

“Fine,” her twin sighs, then shuts the fridge.

Something on the door catches her eye—the whiteboard that serves as the family planner, barely legible in the dim light. There’s a row for each of them, further divided into blocks, upcoming things or important tasks scrawled within.

Hers is one of the last, a few blank rows beneath it. The dry-erase marker had set, preserving a life that had been interrupted, a past that didn’t happen. The college trip she’d planned. Her first day on campus. Her birthday.

“This is it,” her twin says. “Think of anything serious?”

Alyssa shakes her head, smiling a little. “Nah, I guess I forgot.”

Her sister plucks a marker from the holder stuck to the fridge, pulls the cap off, and offers it to her. She wrinkles her nose at the sharp smell of permanent ink wafting off the felt tip.

“You wanna do the honors?”

Alyssa takes the marker and scoots closer to the board, holding it firmly. She writes down two names:

Dee
Elle

She caps the marker as the ink sets, and slips it back into the holder.

“Think we should tell them which is which?”

“Nah, they can figure it out.”

Alyssa looks at the board, taking in… whatever it is that she’s feeling. A weird mixture of sadness and hope.

A familiar hand pats her on the shoulder.

“I’m headed to bed. Got school in the morning, y’know.”

“Hey, um, about that. I didn’t see a lift on the stairs. Are you going to carry me, or… what?”

“Oh, shit, I forgot. Follow me.”

Alyssa does so, driving out of the kitchen and into the foyer.

“So, uh, between your chair, the van, medical bills, all that, we couldn’t afford a lift…”

They come to a stop outside the new doorway, where the dining room should be.

“…so Dad and I figured something out. Go on, open it.”

Alyssa opens the door, unsure what to expect. The dining table and china cabinets are all gone. In their place, a bedroom.

“What’dya think?”

Again, conflicted feelings. It’s a place she can call her own—one made just for her. She should feel happy. Grateful.

“It’s… it’s nice.”

But it’s not what I wanted.