“Painter came to talk to us about the girl,” Cass said carefully. “He’d like to see her.”
“Oh. OK. Does Mouse know?” Wren asked.
“He’s all set. We’ll go whenever you’re ready, Painter.”
Painter looked at Cass and drew a deep breath. His gaze dropped to the floor as he absent-mindedly scratched his cheek and then ran his fingers over his mouth. Finally, he nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Alright then. This way,” Cass said. They all left the room and walked the long halls to the compound’s clinic in a heavy kind of silence. It seemed awkward not to say anything, but it seemed like it’d be even more awkward to say something inappropriate. And Wren couldn’t think of anything that seemed appropriate for such a time.
Mouse was waiting for them when they arrived. He had a kind expression on his face, and a quiet way of welcoming that seemed mismatched with his size, a gentleness that made Wren feel calm and safe.
“Mouse, this is Painter,” Cass said. Mouse reached out his massive hands and shook Painter’s hand with both of his.
“Painter,” he said with a nod. “I’m sorry we haven’t met before now.”
“That’s alright,” Painter replied. “Wren’s muh-muh-mentioned you en-en-nough, I forgot we hadn’t.”
“We’re ready to see the girl,” Cass said, her voice even and cool.
“Sure,” Mouse answered. “Wren, why don’t you wait here with Able?”
For a moment, Wren felt relief at the idea of avoiding seeing the dead girl again. But if it really was Snow, if it really was Painter’s sister… it just didn’t seem right to take the easy way out. He knew he’d regret it if he didn’t stand there by Painter’s side.
“No, I want to come too,” Wren said.
“You d-d-don’t have to, Wruh-Wren,” Painter said.
“I want to.”
“Alright,” said Mouse. “She’s this way.”
Able waited in the front room while the others followed Mouse through the clinic and into a room in the back. Wren had never been in the compound’s morgue before. It was small, and there were a couple of steel tables and some things that looked like tools, but not the kind of tools Wren would ever want to have to use. He didn’t know what they were for and really didn’t want to.
There was something under a white cloth on one of the tables, and Mouse moved next to it. He put his hand on the covering and paused. Wren took a deep breath, tried to prepare himself. Painter nodded, and Mouse drew back the cover.
She was there, the girl that had attacked Wren, looking calm and peaceful and lovely, and so very young. Apart from her absolute paleness, it was hard to believe she was dead and not just sound asleep. The breath caught in Wren’s throat and everything came flashing back, and it seemed so impossible that such a beautiful and fragile creature could have ever tried to do him any harm.
Painter didn’t react at all. He just stared at the girl, emotionless, expressionless. They waited in strained silence for him to identify her, to acknowledge it was his sister – or to confirm that it wasn’t, to give some sign of recognition. Anything. But he just stood there.
Mouse watched him for a few moments, and then slowly slid his eyes over to Cass.
“Painter, sweetheart,” she said in soothing tones.
He rubbed his nose with the back of his fingers, and then abruptly turned and walked out of the room. Wren could hear him sit heavily down in the room next door. The three others stood in silence for a moment, watching, and then Cass finally turned to look back at Mouse. He covered the body again.
“What do you think?” Cass asked.
“I think that’s a confirmation,” Mouse said. “But someone ought to talk to him.”
“I’ll do it,” Wren said.
“We’ll go together,” Cass replied.
“No, Mama. Just me. To start.”
She chewed her bottom lip for a second, the way she did when she was nervous, or thinking, or both. But finally she nodded. “OK, baby. To start.”
Wren walked to the room next door, feeling hot and cold at the same time. His palms were all sweaty, and he felt a little bit like he might throw up. He didn’t know if it was from having seen the girl again, or from fear of what Painter might say. Or do.
When he entered the room, Painter was sitting in a chair with his hands on his knees, looking at the floor. He didn’t look up when Wren came in. Didn’t show any signs of knowing Wren was even there. Wren stood in the door, wondering what to do next. An empty chair was next to Painter, so eventually Wren just went over and lowered himself carefully onto it.