Page 1 of Birds of a Feather

1

Broca’s aphasia.

The medical diagnosis for what Gabrielle Crowe had been experiencing resembled a cruel nightmare. It was a type of brain damage brought on by the crazy experiments thought up by a pair of deranged minds: Sandy and Dr. Grimm.

The pair of evil researchers had abducted Gabby last year. She and many other birds—including her dad—were held in their underground compound where the scientists attempted to break down a shifter’s transformation. The results were horrific. Many were stuck in various stages of the change to bird form. Some were stuck with bird legs, others with bird heads or eyes. Some were completely in bird form but could speak a few words. While Sandy toyed with the language centers in Gabby’s brain, Dr. Grimm had other plans. FUC and ASS were able to mount a rescue before Gabby learned of his diabolical plan.

When she was first rescued, it took the doctors a bit to realize what the problem with her language was. It took them even longer to figure out that her mind worked fine. Though she could think fine and understand others, when she tried to communicate, it came out all wrong. Something happenedon the journey of language from her brain to her tongue, or hand if she was writing. Even more annoying, she sometimes confused yes with no. Sometimes she could utter a word or two, but none of the doctors of WANC—the Working and Administration Networking Core at the Furry United Coalition Newbie Academy, or FUCN’A, for short— could comprehend what she was trying to say.

The worst, though, was trying to tell the agents that, while they’d arrested Sandy, the red-tailed hawk shifter, Sandy hadn’t been alone in her actions. Dr. Grimm, who was also involved, was still at large. When they told her Sandy had been captured, all she could say was, “No.”

They reassured her that no one would harm her again. She wished they could understand that she was trying to tell them Sandy wasn’t the only evil doctor in the underground lab. Dr. Grimm was still on the loose, and no one knew, aside from her and maybe a few others who probably couldn’t communicate either.

Not that Gabby didn’t keep trying to tell them. First, she repeated “no,” trying to get them to understand she wasn’t safe. Then “Grimm.” Finally, “Grimm. Out.” But no one, not even her little brother, Phineas, could understand what she was trying to say.

Eventually, she gave up. She’d wait until she could talk. But what if he came for her?

Dr. Grimm told Gabby she was special. Even the memory of his thin voice sent ice through her veins. The hair on her neck stood up just thinking about him. Sandy had said he was only interested in Gabby, though Gabby didn’t understand why. All she knew that to mean was, odds were, no one else had encountered him. No one else knew about him. No one else would tell FUC about him.

Months went by. Then half a year. And finally a year. Dr. Grimm hadn’t come for her. Relief flooded her at the thought.Maybe he’s forgotten about me.She could only hope. Except Dr. Grimm didn’t seem like the forgetting type.

Most nights, Gabby found herself screaming into her hospital pillow, trying to let out the frustration so she wouldn’t risk exploding on an unexpecting nurse or doctor. True she had no outward disfigurement, unlike many of the other experiments, and should consider herself lucky. Guilt was a prickly heaviness inside of her whenever her frustrations rose at her inability to communicate. Her situation could have been worse. But to Gabby, living trapped in her own body seemed a cruel fate. No, that was too dramatic a statement. She could at least move around. Walk. Try to communicate in other ways. It was just that her leaden tongue messed up everything she tried to say. Her train of thought was fine, but somewhere along the track, the cars jumbled out of order and only one of them made it to her mouth. Often the correct word didn’t even come out. Sometimes she said the opposite of what she intended.

Gabby steeled herself to settle in and start her evening ritual. It wasn’t that she didn’t like therapy or the homework exercises she was assigned. In fact, Lynn, her cognitive therapist, courtesy of FUC—the Furry United Coalition—was very nice and patient. She taught Gabby word games she could complete on her own to build up her ability to speak and write again. Lynn also encouraged Gabby to challenge her negative thoughts. Instead of allowing negative thoughts to linger, such as “I will never talk again” or “I’m stupid,” Gabby learned to replace them with hopeful ones, such as, “This is going to take time, and that’s okay.” Though most days, it felt anything but okay.

Her father, Joe, was probably the only one who understood what she was going through. She only wished she could commiserate with him. Alas, she’d given up on the idea of doingnormal things with her father again. Hell, she didn’t think she’d ever see him in human form for more than a few minutes.

Along with Gabby, Joe was captured and changed by Sandy and Dr. Grimm. FUC and ASS—the Avian Soaring Security rescued Joe from the same underground lab as Gabby and the others. Like Gabby, her father had difficulty speaking—could only utter one or two words at a time. However, Joe’s situation differed greatly. Unlike Gabby, who looked human, her father was stuck in crow form. The doctors and specialists at WANC had been able to get him to change back into human form only briefly. It was better than nothing, Gabby supposed.

She felt horrible feeling so low about her own situation when things could be so much worse. As much sympathy as she had for him, she also realized that she had to grieve for the father she’d lost.

The two of them weren’t the only ones facing challenges, though. Most of the patients on her floor came from the same lab. Some of them were in worse shape than Gabby and her dad. The other day, she saw a man with a human body and a bird head. What a terrible sight to see! What was worse, the pang of guilt quickly set in after Gabby realized seeing him made her feel better about her own situation. That sting of shame curled up inside her gut just thinking about it. What a selfish thought, to feel better after seeing someone else’s injuries.

Gabby reached behind her, grabbing her trusty pillow. She squeezed it with her fingers.This is soft. Her cognitive therapist encouraged her to try shorter sentences. “S-soft. Soft. It,” came out instead. Still wrong. But close. Her therapist would be proud that she focused on the positive instead of the negative.

She tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come. It felt stuck, like her words. A hot tear stung at the corner of her eye, blurring her vision. Gabby put the pillow to her face and screamed.

2

The strange noise sounded again. Lyla Cruiz woke up from a dead sleep and shot up in her hospital bed, glancing around for any sign of an intruder. Nothing seemed out of place, aside from the sound. A muffled, guttural cry coursed down the hall. She hopped out of bed and tiptoed toward her door, peering out. Nurses and other staff milled about as if nothing was awry.

Am I hearing things?She didn’t think so. She heard a similar noise yesterday and a gagged sniffle last week. It laced through the nights, reminding her too much of the sounds from her cell at the lab. Other experiments crying themselves to sleep. When she first arrived at WANC, Lyla thought it was a memory, etched in her brain, playing on repeat until she fell asleep. It was never loud though, which made her question if it was real. But the more she analyzed it, the more she decided it had to be one of the patients. If it was a memory cropping up, wouldn’t it always be the same volume? This sound changes pitch, tone, and intensity. If Lyla didn’t investigate, her brain would drive her crazy running through all the scenarios or what it could be.

She leaned out the doorway further, feeling a tug at her hand. The IV line stretched taut behind her. Lyla trudged back to thebed, grabbing the metal rack that held the dextrose solution drip. It snaked its way down a plastic tube all the way to her left hand. She stuck her tongue out at it. If she had to spend another month in the hospital dealing with the tests, medicine, and being poked and prodded, she would scream.

Wait! That’s it, that’s the noise. Someone is screaming. But who?

Lyla couldn’t sit around another night, pretending it wasn’t happening. Determination puffed up her chest. She was sick of being scared. This wasn’t the dank cell she was used to. It was a hospital. “I’m safe,” she reminded herself as she rolled the IV bag next to her like a trusty companion. “Sorry for earlier,” she said to the bag. “I didn’t mean it.” She gave it a shy smile.

For months before coming to the FUCN’A hospital, Lyla had no one to talk to, and in that time, she’d picked up the terrible habit of talking to inanimate objects. Though it was deeper than that, and she knew it. She reallydidfeel bad about sticking her tongue out at the bag, as if it had its own feelings. Definitely not normal, but it had helped her to survive the last half a year in the tiny cell she’d called home.

It wasn’t the experiments that bothered her as much as the isolation. Lyla came from what some would consider a big family. The silence of her cell had gnawed at her brain until, out of desperation for company, she befriended a tiny pebble on the floor. She kept that tidbit of information to herself when the psychiatrist at WANC evaluated her soon after her rescue, but she had brought her old friend with her to the hospital. The grey stone now sat at her bedside table, and she explained to the staff that it was more than a souvenir. It was proof she survived. If anyone noticed it and found it odd, they never said. Lyla glanced back at it longingly. She wished she had a pocket to take her trusty rock with her, but alas, the simple T-shirt and shorts FUCN’A provided offered no such luxury. At least theywere better than the hospital gown she’d had to wear when she was first treated. That thing barely covered her ass.

Lyla popped her head back into the hallway before taking a bounding step out into it. She nodded to the nurses she passed, plastering a smile on her face. “Out for an evening stroll?” one of them asked.

“You know me. Staying in my room for too long feels like I’m back in that cell.”Or a bird in a cage.Plus, all that hummingbird energy gave her cabin fever. Pacing the halls was far better than pacing her room. And seeing others out and about helped quell the loneliness.

The nurse nodded. “Just let us know if you need anything.” She went back to the paperwork in front of her as if not hearing the muffled screams that had pulled Lyla from her room to investigate.

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