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"Let's have a look anyway."
Reluctantly, he removes his shirt. He's burned there as well, but not as badly as on his arms and cheeks. What catches her attention, however, is a welt on his back in the faint shape of a hand. She brushes her fingers across it.
"Who did this to you?" she asks.
"Nobody," he says, grabbing the shirt back from her and slipping it on. "Just some guy."
"Is someone on your team giving you trouble?"
"I told you, it's nothing—what are you, my mother?"
"No," says Risa. "If I were your mother, I'd be rushing you off to the nearest harvest camp."
She means it as a joke, but Lev doesn't find it funny, "Just give me something to put on the burns."
There's a deadness to his voice that's haunting. She goes to the cabinet and finds a tube of aloe cream, but she doesn't hand it to him just yet. "I miss the old Lev," she says.
That makes him look at her. "No offense, but you didn't even know me."
"Maybe not, but at least back then I wanted to."
"And you don't want to anymore?"
"I don't know," says Risa. "The kid I'm looking at now is a little too creepy for my taste." She can tell that gets to him. She doesn't know why it should, because he seems proud of his new creep factor.
"The old Lev," he says, "tricked you into trusting him, then turned you in to the police the first chance he got."
"And the new Lev wouldn't do that?"
He thinks about it, then says, "The new Lev has better things to do."
She puts the tube of burn cream in his hand. "Yeah, well, if you see the old one—the one who always thought about God and his purpose and stuff—tell him we want him back."
There's an uneasy silence and he looks down at the tube in his hand. For a moment she thinks he might say something that brings a hint of that other kid back into the room, but all he says is, "How often do I put this on?"
;How much do you hate them?" Cleaver asks again.
"Totally and completely," answers Lev.
"And how much do you hate the people who would take parts of you and make them parts of themselves?"
"Totally and completely."
"And how much do you want to make them, and everyone else in the world, pay?"
"Totally and completely." Someone has to pay for the unfairness of it all. Everyone has to pay. He'll make them.
"Good," says Cleaver.
Lev is amazed by the depth of his own fury—but he's becoming less and less frightened of it. He tells himself that's a good thing.
"Maybe he's for real," says Blaine.
If Lev makes this commitment, he knows there's no turning back. "One thing I need to know," Lev asks, "because Julie-Ann . . . she wasn't very clear about it. I want to know what you believe."
"What we believe?" says Mai. She looks at Blaine, and Blaine laughs. Cleaver, however, puts his hand up to quiet him. "No—no, it's a good question. A real question. It deserves a real answer. If you're asking if we have a cause, we don't, so get that out of your head." Cleaver gestures broadly, his hands and arms filling the space around him. "Causes are old news. We believe in randomness. Earthquakes! Tornados! We believe in forces of nature—and we are forces of nature. We are havoc. We're chaos. We mess with the world."
"And we messed pretty good with the Admiral, didn't we," says Blaine slyly. Cleaver throws him a sharp gaze, and Mai actually looks scared. It's almost enough to give Lev second thoughts.
