Carl felt like a stone bouncing off the walls of a well, descending into the cold water below, as his footsteps resounded through Psychwatch's barren hallways. Stricken with deep sadness and regret, a sensation that felt as if a chunk of ice was forced into his skull, right between his eyes. His shoulders slumped, and the floor beneath him held his gaze. That was it for the day. A car ride back to his apartment awaited him, where he'd trudge through his scattered belongings left behind by his colleagues on that fateful day, leaving them on the floor to remind himself what they thought of him.

A potential threat. A potential suspect behind the wave of violence and insanity. Another patient in dire need of treatment.

Traversing the halls, Carl felt that he'd lost the sensation in his fingers, as if gusts of wind brushed past the bare flesh where they should've been. He believed the next step he'd take would send him tumbling down a flight of stairs with no end in sight. No end until his body came to an abrupt halt at the very bottom, crashing into the floor or a wall, and his neck snapped with a spine-tingling crunch.

He was dissociating.

Let me stay in the light, he thought, hoping the other alters could hear. Let me stay until we get home. Then you can whisk me away.

Carl blinked his eyes, glaring at his LED ring. It didn't feel like his possession. It didn't feel like his fingers. Or his hand or arm. Someone else wanted control, and they craved it so deeply, they wanted him gone.

Breathe...

Oxygen poured into his lungs, and carbon dioxide blew back out. The ice against his head melted away. He knew the ground where he stood. Psychwatch's headquarters. The entrance to the east wing, the vacant lobby before him. Most of his colleagues remained in the surveillance room, studying Margo as she overcame another psychotic episode, overcoming it better than he'd overcome any of his sorts of episodes. Outside, hazy lights and colossal holograms bathed the city of Philadelphia.

It was snowing. In Philadelphia. In October. Outrageous. Impossible even! Or years ago, it would have been. The earth's weather grew as volatile and mistreated as its human inhabitants.

With a deep breath, Carl stepped out into the cool evening air.

He knew real snow well, and the ashy flakes descending upon his city were certainly not it. He couldn't recall the first time he'd noticed such a deviance in the weather, but with the snowfall came a pungent odor reminiscent of smoke and gasoline, and he pondered whether it was snow that fell from the skies or the scorched remains of California's ever-burning forests, expelled to the East Coast by powerful winds. Why anyone would overlook the vandalism that plagued such a force of nature, instead preferring to slide around in the jet-black slush and build snowmen that reeked of arson, Carl would never know.

Positioned at the edge of the steps, Carl scanned his surroundings to find his nephew sitting on the steps at the very bottom, leaning against the wall.

"Holden?" he said, making his way down.

Holden didn't look back at him, but Carl could hear that he was crying. By the time he'd reached his step, Carl saw Holden's face damp with tears, the boy's teeth grit as he attempted to compose himself.

"I thought you clocked out an hour ago," Carl said. "Where are your parents?"

"I didn't feel like going home yet," Holden mumbled, and he brushed tears off his face with his sleeve. "I told them I was staying longer."

Carl sighed. "Holden, your mom must be worried."

"So? Nothing else I do makes her happy."

"Come on. I'll drive you home. We can talk more on the way."

Holden pounded his fist against the wall beside him, glaring up at his uncle with bloodshot eyes. "Didn't you hear me? I don't want to go home yet! If she sees me like this, she's gonna think it's her fault, and she'll lock herself in her room for the rest of the night. She won't even let my dad in. He sleeps in the living room when that happens."

Shivers rippled down Carl's spine. "How long has she been doing this?" he asked.

"For a while." Holden sniffled again. "She didn't do it that often, but ever since the rally...she's been doing it so much. And then the Rabbit Hole thing happened, and now it's happening every week. She sees the uniform, she just stops what she's doing and hides in her room."

Carl nodded. Tears welled up in his nephew's eyes again. "Sometimes," Holden said, "I don't even think it's the uniform she hates. I think it's me. She hates me. Why wouldn't she?"

"That's not true, Holden. You know that."

"Well, you don't know that! You don't know me! Tell me what you know. What you think you know."

"You're Holden Lionel Sanger," Carl said. "Your birthday is October 16, just last week, which means you're finally eighteen years old. You're my nephew, my blood, and your mom is my sister, Melanie. I know you both feel I've abandoned you, that I'm not there. But I want to make a difference. I want you to know I've been trying to learn to take care of myself before I try to take care of anybody else."

Holden stayed silent, glaring at his uncle with a tranquil rage in his eyes, tears seeping around the rims of his lower eyelids. His breathing was heavy. A thousand thoughts raced through his head, fleeing out of his ears like smoke out of an exhaust pipe.

"I'm sorry, Holden," Carl said. "I was scared I'd let you down. I know your mother, and I was afraid that the longer I played a part in her life, the more I'd remind her of what we went through when we were younger. That's why...that's why I wasn't there for you. Or her. So I'm sorry." He looked down at his ring. "We are sorry."

Holden nodded his head, and the tears flowed out. He sniffled again, wiping them away with his sleeve, as he glanced down at his knees. "I forgive you," he said. "And I'm sorry, too. For everything."

"Your life's just begun, buddy. Nothing you need to be too sorry about just yet. You're in the learning stage."

Holden nodded, and with a low, shaky voice, he said, "Sometimes I get scared that I'll mess up so horribly, I'll never get the chance to learn again."

Carl raised his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know, like...losing a friend because you didn't know the right things to say, and now you'll never see them again. Or dying from being somewhere you weren't supposed to be. Don't you ever get worried about that?"

"I work for Psychwatch, buddy. Of course I worry about that." Carl pat his nephew on the shoulder. "But you and I, we're making the right choices. We're smart, rational. We're working to better ourselves, right?"

"I hope so."

Carl managed a small smile. "Let's get you home."

* * *

Carl let the car drive itself to Holden's house, watching the steering wheel veer side to side as he and Holden remained in their seats, gazing off at the freeway before them. The tainted snow persisted in its descent, and the city lights reflected off the blanket of clouds and smog hovering thousands of feet above them.

"You don't want to put some music on?" Carl asked.

"Nah," Holden said. "It's always the same shit."

Carl chuckled. "You sound like your grandfather."

"How is he, by the way? Him and Becky?"

Carl shrugged. "If I'll be honest, I haven't checked in on them in a while. But I'm sure they're doing fine. Last I heard, they'd bought a house up in Portland, Maine. Beautiful up there." He glanced over at his nephew. "I should take you there sometime."

"Wouldn't you rather take Margo with you instead?"

The words burned into Carl's heart like a deep branding, and he felt a sensation like sand grasped in each hand, the grains seeping between his fingers, spilling across the floor.

"Oh shit," Holden said. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant since you two are close and..."

"It's okay," Carl whispered, and following a deep breath, he spoke more clearly. "It's okay. I see her like a daughter. I admit it. Seeing what she went through when I first met her, I wanted to see her grow into someone better and stronger." He turned to his Holden. "But I should've been doing the same for you. You and your mother."

"Well, I mean, if you see her like a daughter, no wonder you spend more time with her than me. So I'm the one who should be sorry, Carl."

"No, kid. It's...it's my mistake. Always has been."

Holden paused for a moment. "I should apologize to Margo, though. I snapped at her a while back, too."

Carl nodded. "I'm sure she'd appreciate that. That's very nice of you, Holden."

"How is she doing?"

Carl felt the disconnect. He could feel his fingers wriggling, but they weren't. They were immobile, clutching his kneecaps as his arms rested on his lap. He was dissociating again.

"Uncle Carl?"

Let me stay, Carl thought, hoping the others would allow him more time in the light. I need Holden to know he has me. Let me prove myself.

"Carl?" Holden asked, but his eyes widened and shoulders tensed, and he threw himself back into his seat as red lights flooded the car's interior.

The jolt of the vehicle brought Carl back to earth, and when he returned, he and Holden watched as a shadowy, rectangular behemoth of a truck positioned itself before their car. Carl pivoted his head to the left to see five more trucks lined up, three in the left lane and two trailing behind his car.

"What the hell?" Holden said. Squinting to study the front of the closest truck, he added, "That one's driverless!"

Carl studied the one to his left. "This one, too," he said.

Holden leaned forward to look through Carl's window. "What are they anyway? Garbage trucks?"

"No clue," Carl said. "But if they're driverless, someone's directed them somewhere."

"Should we follow them?"

Carl shook his head, aware he'd already taken too many risks that evening alone.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Carl stood before his sister's house. Holden's house. A strangely unfamiliar location. Carl thought, When was the last time we'd even stepped foot in this place?

Too long, mi precioso, whispered Catalina. Far too long.

"Uncle Carl," Holden said, "what are you gonna do if my mom goes to her room?"

"Same thing I used to do when me and her were kids, buddy," Carl said. "I give her the space she wants. It's the best I can do."

"I understand," Holden nodded, and he wrapped his fingers around the doorknob. Green lights illuminated around his fingertips, and following a beep, the door clicked open and the two of them made their way in.

Deja vu buzzed through Carl's brain like static as he closed the door behind him and his nephew. There was hardly a light to be seen casting out the darkness. Shadows painted the furniture and wall-mounted photographs, with only the distant blue glow of a holographic TV screen marking a safe travel path. It reminded Carl of his own apartment: bleak, silent, lonely. On better days, he would've used the words cool, cozy, and tranquil.

"Holden, is that you?" called a man, and the owner of that voice appeared from around the corner. He had amber eyes, chestnut brown hair combed to the side, a trimmed beard caressing his face, and a mixture of weariness and hope in his demeanor.

"Hey, Dad," Holden said, and he walked over to hug his father. As he watched the two of them embrace, Carl didn't know whether to smile or raise his brow.

"Carl!" said Holden's father. "Or at least I think it's Carl. Anyone else at the helm?"

"It's Carl," he replied, holding up his hand to display the light on his ring. "Been a while, Robert. How are you doing?"

Robert and his son separated, but he kept his arm wrapped around Holden. "Doing really well, actually! Took your advice. Melanie and I attended couples' therapy for a while, and she regularly schedules herself visits with a dietician. And Holden here is finally in his senior year of high school! Isn't it great?"

"Absolutely," Carl nodded. "Where's Melanie?"

Robert cleared his throat. "She's in the living room. You wanna come say hi? I'm surprised you didn't call us first about coming—"

"Holden needed a ride home from work." Carl took a step forward, and Robert jolted back. "Surprised you weren't wondering where he was."

"I thought he was at school," Robert said, he and Holden trailing behind Carl. "Holden, why weren't you in school?"

Carl looked over at Holden, brow raised and eyes glaring. Not even twenty seconds since he'd arrived, and tension started brewing like a witch's spell.

"Why weren't you in school?" he asked Holden.

"Well, I..."

"Maybe this is something we should discuss with your mother," said Robert. "It was nice to see you again, Carl, but I think we can take it from here."

"No, if you don't mind," Carl said, "I'd like to see my sister again."

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea—"

Carl turned around, walking away from the man. He paused before the entrance to the living room, eyes squinting as a bright blue holo-TV came into view, his sister parked on the couch seven feet before it.

Carl let out a sigh of relief as he saw she wasn't as skeletal as the other times he'd laid eyes on her. She had more flesh to her, more of a tummy. All their lives, he'd seen her bone-thin and exhausted. She gave excuses for her refusal to eat in front of other people, so many that she'd start reciting the same to her father and stepmother. After a while, she'd started giving excuses for why she wouldn't smile. More excuses, less and less weight.

"Hey," Carl said, managing a small smile as he approached the glass coffee table between Melanie and the TV.

His sister glanced up at him, her eyes and face bathed in the sky-blue hue of the television light. She still wouldn't muster a smile. The act seemed impossible.

"Hey," she replied, her voice subdued and scratchy. "Who's fronting today?"

"It's me, Melanie. It's Carl."

Melanie nodded, digging her nails into the pillow resting against her. "One day, you'll say it's you, but it won't be. I know people."

"I would never lie to you like that."

"You say that now, but you've got a long life ahead of you. Anything is possible." Melanie glanced to the side to see her son. "Welcome home, honey. How was school today?"

Carl rested his hand on Holden's shoulder, filling with disappointment as he felt the boy tremble. "He says he didn't go to school today," Carl said.

Melanie glanced over at her visitor to see the Psychwatch jacket bundled up in Holden's arms. She didn't need to see the logo. The teal color gave it all away. She rose from the couch.

"Melanie, wait," Carl said. "I'm sure he can explain. Just hear him out."

The three of them paused, taking notice of the TV.

"According to recent reports from Psychwatch Commissioner Janice Mason," said the newswoman, "the organization's surveillance over the city of Philadelphia has increased to ninety-nine percent, with an average of three SanityScans installed per city block. With five months passed since the attack on Independence National Historic Park, Psychwatch officials state that the only neighborhoods within the city limits currently beyond the range of their Scans are—"

"So that's it," Melanie said. "You're here to raid my cabinets for diet pills, doctor-cop? See if I'm falling back on old habits?"

"No," Carl said.

"You here to take my son away from me?"

"No! Holden needed a ride home. Why do you think I'm here to hurt you?"

"Because I could've sworn I told you we're better off with the families we've made rather than the one we came from."

Holden looked at his uncle, utterly perplexed.

"I don't have a family," Carl said. "No other but this one."

"Sure you do," Melanie said, turning away toward the kitchen. "Your mind is like a motel. Different people come and go. And don't you have a daughter now?"

Carl clenched his fists. "You still don't want me in—"

"Let's take this elsewhere, please."

As Melanie turned her back to her brother, Carl and Holden exchanged a tense gaze before following her out of the living room.

The three of them found themselves around a glass table a minute later, bound by silence. Carl tried to speak with his eyes, hoping the rest of his family possessed the same ability, or at least made an attempt to speak back. He glanced at Holden, who'd slumped into his seat like a snail into its shell. There were a hundred other places he would've preferred to be, and the dining room was certainly not one of them. Carl glanced at Melanie, who was lost in thought, eyes directed forward. He couldn't tell if she was looking at Holden or if she'd put all her focus on the wall or the sounds of her husband in the kitchen, who was just as dead-set on politely dismissing their visitor.

Carl took a deep breath and tried again. "I didn't want to cause trouble by coming here. I just wanted to see how you guys were doing."

"Why?" Melanie said, her gaze remaining unbroken.

"Why?" Carl repeated. "What makes it sound so hard to believe?"

"I dunno, Carl. I just have a hard time believing it's really you and not one of the other alters pretending to be you."

"Mom, it's him," Holden said. "He wouldn't lie like that."

"And then there's you, ditching school," she said, finally breaking her gaze, glaring at her son. "I thought I could trust you. What's going on?"

"You wouldn't understand. You wouldn't even try."

"Well, how am I supposed to understand if you don't even tell me?" Melanie turned toward Carl. "He ditched school to go to work, didn't he? Is that why you're here?"

"Yes, he was at work today," Carl said, "but I don't really think he did anything wrong by doing that. In fact, he's been doing a stellar job. You should be proud of him. Apart from him skipping out on classes to pursue this career."

Melanie scoffed. "Proud? After seeing the trail of bodies you guys leave behind? I know my son, Carl, and this job will tear him apart."

"He's one of the most diligent workers there. Have some faith in him."

"Carl, in less than half a year, he's witnessed things no one his age should ever have to see. He's come home crying or so angry, he's shrieking and swearing at the top of his lungs. He tries to avoid taking his medication."

"I don't like the way it makes me feel," Holden said. "I either get drowsy or numb because of it."

"Well," said Melanie, "would you rather be groggy and bored or awake until six in the morning, ranting and screaming to me and your father about absolutely nothing?"

Holden looked down again, wishing he could shrink to the size of an ant and scurry away.

"So please tell me why you weren't in school today," Melanie said.

"Work is the only thing that makes me feel useful."

Melanie nodded her head. "I understand."

"No, you don't."

"You really don't think I under—"

Carl jumped at the sounds of Holden slamming his hand on the glass table. "You don't understand anything about me, Mom!" Holden shouted. "The only reason you even know that I'm bipolar is because of Carl! If it weren't for him and Psychwatch, you'd probably starve yourself to death!"

"Holden," Robert chimed in, "that is very disrespectful—"