Dark Heart by Margaret Weis;David Baldwin

the horizon.
    She turned left off Lakeshore Drive into the quaint gentrified area east of Michigan Avenue, between the Miracle Mile and the lake itself. After parking curbside, she checked the seat of her car to make sure she hadn’t left anything to attract the smash-and-grab artists, got out, locked up, and walked to the front gate of her building, an old warehouse converted to condos for urban dwellers. A man was walking toward her. She marked him with her peripheral vision as she punched in her security code.
    He passed her by, his footfalls loud on the sidewalk. Once his steps faded into the distance, she opened the gate, went in, and closed the gate behind her. She looked at the elevator, and then decided to take the stairs.
    She took the steps at a quick pace, running to the beat of a rhythm in her mind. Her legs weren’t burning even after eight flights, and her breathing had returned to normal by the time she reached her door. Martial arts training didn’t buy you big muscles, especially if you were a woman, but you got endurance like crazy. And that’s something, she thought, pleased. I endure.
    She liked the thought.
    No sooner had she entered than she heard the creak of a wheelchair. A man’s silhouette blocked the light coming from down the hall. He paused a moment there, then wheeled himself toward her. Loose sweat-pants hid his thin, wasted legs. A tank top covered his well-muscled torso. His shoulders and arms were ripped with muscle, carved like marble from the effort of moving his wheelchair all over the city.
    In the half-light, the scars on her brother’s face weren’t too noticeable, but the part of his nose that was missing looked more grotesque than usual. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, scratched the side of his head, and adjusted his glasses, a fairly typical gesture for him. He smiled at her.
    “Working late? Or did you have a date?” he asked.
    She moved past him into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, suddenly stricken with the urge to rustle up something to eat. “You know where I was, Benny. And if you don’t quit teasing me, I’ll never go out with anybody. Just to piss you off.”
    He deftly spun his chair about. He’d always been well-coordinated. She winced inwardly every time she thought about how much he’d lost in that motorcycle accident. It had been more than four years ago, and the tragedy still haunted her. She could only imagine how bad it was for him.
    Four years ago, he’d received a full scholarship to Cal Tech. He’d jumped on his motorcycle and raced off to his girlfriend’s to celebrate. It was rainy and cold that day. Typical Chicago fall weather. He’d lost the bike on an icy curve, broken his back, and left a good chunk of his face on the pavement. His helmet had kept him from cracking his skull open and killing himself, and at the time he’d regretted wearing it. He’d felt, in the first few months after the accident, that death would have been preferable. He seemed to Sandra to have revised that opinion, but she never asked him if that was so. He’d tell her what he felt she wanted to hear.
    The physical and emotional costs of that accident weren’t the only ones Benny paid. His college plans had fallen apart and so had the relationship with the girlfriend. He spent six months in the hospital.
    In Sandra’s opinion, the whole situation wasn’t fair. But she also knew that her opinion didn’t change anything. The world was never fair, never had been. Sandra had known that for a long time now.
    “But I don’t know where you were. So tell me. A hot date with a hot prospect? Give me some details here, feed my fantasies….” Benny said.
    “The man in question had a hole in his chest and was rapidly cooling before we spent time together.”
    “You know, sis, you never go out with anybody living these days,” Benny said.
    Sandra looked up. “See, here we go again,” she told the ceiling.
    “Not all guys are assholes,” Benny said.