Chapter 7: Strawberina

Charlie was standing at the altar, trying not to grin.

He had been waiting for this moment for what felt like half his life, and now that it was actually happening he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. His friends were scattered through the church, his family sat near the front, and Candace was standing with the bridesmaids wearing the expression of someone who had already decided she was going to embarrass him before the day was over.

Erika appeared at the end of the aisle. In that instant Charlie forgot about everyone else.

She walked toward him with her father beside her, one hand resting in his. Her dress caught the light coming through the windows, and Charlie remembered spending far too much money making sure everything about the day was right. At the time, he had insisted he was simply being careful.

Erika knew better. When she reached him, she gave him a small smile.

"You’re shaking."

"I’m not."

"You are."

Charlie glanced down at his hands.

He indeed was.

Erika laughed quietly before taking one of them.

The priest began speaking.

Charlie repeated the words he was supposed to repeat, Erika said hers, and somewhere behind them one of his friends whispered something that made several people laugh. The priest waited for them to settle before continuing.

Charlie barely remembered the rest of it.

He remembered Erika’s voice. He remembered holding her hand, the way she looked at him when the priest finally told them they could kiss.

Everyone applauded. Someone shouted from the back of the church, and Charlie pulled away laughing while Erika covered her face for a moment.

"Your friends are idiots," she whispered.

"They’re your friends too now."

"I know. That’s the unfortunate part."

Charlie was still laughing when Candace walked toward them.

He expected her to hug Erika.

Instead, she shoved her making her fall straight down.

The laughter stopped.

Charlie stared at Candace, then at Erika, who was sitting on the floor.

"Candace, what are you doing?"

Candace didn’t answer him. She went straight for Erika, who was still on the floor trying to untangle her veil, and before Charlie could figure out what she was doing, Candace tore of her face.

Charlie stood there with one hand still reaching toward Erika, waiting for the blood, the bone, anything that might explain what he had just seen. Instead, there was a strawberry where her face should have been.

Erika screamed and covered her face with both hands.

Candace was holding the piece of skin she’d torn away as though it were proof of something.

"See?"

"See what?"

"That isn’t Erika."

Charlie couldn’t take his attention off the strawberry. He had seen strange things in dreams before, but this was difficult to work with.

"Candace, you just tore her face off !"

"Because she’s not Erika."

Candace pointed at her.

"This is Strawberina."

Charlie had no idea what that meant. He was still trying to decide whether Strawberina was a person’s name, a species, or simply something Candace had invented when gunfire ripped through the church.

A window shattered. People screamed and rushed for the exits, knocking over chairs as another shot struck one of the wooden pillars near the altar. Someone shouted for the doors to be locked, which Charlie thought was optimistic considering bullets were already coming through the walls.

Candace caught his sleeve and pulled him behind a pew.

"Don’t ever trust her."

"Who?"

"Erika."

Charlie glanced toward the altar. Erika was still crouched on the floor with both hands over her strawberry face.

"Her face isn’t normal."

"I know."

Candace leaned closer.

"She’s a wolf beneath sheep’s clothing. You will—"

Something struck Charlie in the neck. He Opened his Eyes. For a few seconds he had no Idea what he was seeing.

A wooden ceiling ? A bed beneath him ? Someone’s hand resting on his shoulder ?

"Wake up."

An old man stood beside the bed, one hand on Charlie’s shoulder. He was thin enough that his loose clothes seemed to belong to somebody else, and his hand was trembling as he shook Charlie awake.

"Are you awake?"

"Yes..."

Charlie’s mouth was dry. He rubbed his face and sat up, taking a proper look around the room.

This wasn’t the animal stall.

There was a bed beneath him, a wooden table with a cup of water beside it, a cabinet against the wall and a window left open just enough to let the morning air in. Someone had covered him with a clean blanket.

He couldn’t remember anyone bringing him here.

The old man was still beside the bed, watching him with a tremor running through his hands. There was something about the man’s face that Charlie couldn’t place. For a moment he wondered whether he might have Down syndrome, then immediately dismissed the thought. He didn’t know the man, and it wasn’t exactly something he could casually ask.

"Where am I?"

"...in a room."

"Oh, really?"

Charlie threw the blanket aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold beneath his feet. He planted his hands on the mattress and pushed himself up.

His legs folded.

He caught himself against the bed, staring down at his feet.

For a moment, nothing made sense.

He tried again, slower this time. His left leg straightened. His right followed. He got almost fully upright before something gave way and sent him back onto the floor.

"What the hell?"

The old man was still beside the bed.

Charlie sat there, rubbing one knee. There wasn’t any pain. He could move his toes. He could feel the floor. When he told his leg to bend, it bent. When he told it to straighten, it sometimes did and sometimes seemed to have other plans.

He reached for the bedframe and pulled himself up again. His arms strained against the wood as he dragged his weight forward. One foot found the floor properly, then the other, and for a brief second he was standing.

"There we go."

His knees collapsed.

He landed on his backside. The old man hadn’t offered a hand. He hadn’t said anything either.

"Could you at least pretend to be useful?"

The old man continued trembling beside the bed.

Charlie wasn’t sure whether the man’s expression was disgust or simple confusion. His face was difficult to read. Charlie turned his attention back to his legs.

He tried crawling first using his palms and knees, he moved slowly at first, then with increasing irritation as he discovered that his upper body was perfectly capable of carrying him around while his legs contributed almost nothing. By the time he reached the other side of the room, his hair had fallen into his face and dust had gathered on one sleeve.

He stopped beside a small table and leaned against it.

"This is ridiculous."

The old man said nothing.

Charlie leaned against the table, trying to catch his breath. His arms were beginning to ache from dragging himself around, and there was a dull heat in his face.

Then his eyes started watering. He wiped them with the heel of his hand. His fingers came away wet.

"Oh, fuck off."

He rubbed his face again, harder this time. It did nothing. His throat tightened, and he swallowed several times, trying to get rid of the lump that had appeared there.

"I’m fine."

The words came out unevenly.

Charlie took a breath.

It caught halfway.

He tried again, but his chest tightened and a small sound escaped before he could stop it. He pressed his lips together.

"No. Don’t."

His eyes filled again.

Charlie dragged his sleeve across his face. "I’m not doing this."

A sob slipped out, followed by another, and Charlie immediately covered his face with both hands. His shoulders began shaking beneath them. He tried to breathe quietly, which only made the next sob come out as a strange, strangled squeak.

The old man took a few hurried steps toward the window.

He barely registered what the man was doing. His face was buried in his hands now, and the crying had gotten completely out of control. His chest heaved as he tried to pull in enough air, but each breath seemed to break apart before he could steady it.

"AHHHHHHH!"

The sound tore out of him so loudly that his own throat hurt.

"MY LEGS!"

He slammed both hands against the floor.

"I CAN’T WALK!"

The old man flinched.

"YU!"

His voice cracked, but he screamed again.

"YU! YU!"

Nothing.

"BIGGIE!"

His breathing hitched.

"BIGGIE, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

A muffled squeal came from somewhere outside.

Charlie turned his head toward the door.

"BIGGIE!"

He wiped at his face with both hands.

"MASTER!"

He shouted so loudly that his voice broke completely.

"MASTER! SOMEBODY!"

His throat burned. Tears ran down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them.

"I’M DISABLED!"

The words came out between sobs.

"I’M FUCKING DISABLED!"

Footsteps hurried down the corridor. The door opened.

Yu stood there with a cup of tea in one hand and a small wooden container in the other. Biggie was right behind her, squeezing through the doorway before she had even finished stepping inside.

Yu’s eyes went straight to Charlie.

"Charlie?"

She rushed across the room and dropped beside him, putting the cup and container on the nearest table. "What happened?"

Charlie grabbed at her sleeve.

"My legs!"

His voice cracked so badly that the words almost disappeared.

"I can’t walk. I can’t—"

Yu caught his shoulders.

"Charlie, calm down."

"Why did God do this to me?"

Charlie was crying so hard that he could barely get the words out.

"Why would God punish me like this?"

"Which god?"

He stared at her through wet eyes.

"What?"

"Forget it."

Biggie waddled over and gave Charlie a quiet, sympathetic, "Oink."

He reached out and placed a hand on Biggie’s head, gently rubbing behind one of his ears.

"Biggie," he whispered, voice still shaking. "I’m one of them now."

"Oink."

"Yeah."

Charlie sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

"Yeah, I know."

Yu pressed her lips together, seemingly deciding not to ask what exactly that meant.

Instead, she slipped one arm behind Charlie’s back and reached for his arm with the other.

"Come on. Let’s get you back into bed."

"I can’t."

"You can."

"My legs don’t work."

"I noticed."

Yu pulled.

Charlie tried to help, planting his hands against the floor and pushing with his arms. His legs dragged behind him uselessly, folding whenever they were asked to support his weight.

"Careful," Yu said.

"I am being careful."

"You’re pulling me down."

"I know."

"Then stop."

"I’m trying!"

They made it about halfway before Charlie’s arms gave out and he dropped back onto the floor.

Yu caught him before his head hit the boards.

"Servants!" she shouted toward the hallway. "I need help in here!"

Several hurried footsteps approached.

The first servant appeared in the doorway, followed by another, then another.

"What happened to him?"

"I don’t know," Yu said. "Help me get him back to bed."

One took Charlie beneath the arms while another supported his back. A third carefully lifted his legs so they wouldn’t drag against the floor.

Charlie looked down at them.

"I’m sorry."

Nobody answered.

Biggie followed closely behind, his little hooves tapping against the floor.

Once they reached the bed, the servants lowered Charlie onto the mattress. Yu adjusted the blankets beneath him and made sure his legs were properly positioned before stepping back.

Charlie lay there breathing heavily. His face still felt hot.

Biggie climbed onto the edge of the bed and settled beside him. Charlie slowly reached over and rested his hand on the pig’s head.

Yu picked up the tea she had abandoned earlier and stared at Charlie.

"When Elder Guo finnaly let you go," she said, "he left some of his Qi inside you."

"Some of his Qi ?"

Yu nodded, her fingers thightening sligthly around the cup.

"I don’t know what he did to you."

Charlie looked at her.

"But I know what happens when another person’s Qi is left inside someone’s meridians for too long."

"Huh ? What ?"

Yu held his gaze for a moment, then her eyes shifted toward his legs.

"If that Qi settles somewhere it shouldn’t..."