by Page Turner
Suffice to say Viv didn’t take the news well. She screamed at Karen, telling her that she was full of it, ran up the stairs, and shut herself in the upstairs bathroom.
Penny stood there numbly, frozen like a statue.
“Say something please,” Karen said after a while.
Penny shook her head.
“Well, then don’t go anywhere,” Karen said.
Penny screwed up her face. “Where would I go?” she said.
“You have a way of wandering off like a cat,” Karen replied. “Don’t play dumb about it.”
Penny scowled so deeply that Karen noted she looked almost ugly. A real feat for her, Karen thought idly. Penny was normally so radiant she seemed to emit a slight glow.
“We have to confirm this,” Penny said. “We have to confirm she wasn’t at the salon. We can’t jump to conclusions based on something you saw while you were out wandering around who knows where.”
“I know what I saw,” Karen insisted.
“For all we know, she got something else done. Maybe she didn’t have her roots done. Maybe she had a spa treatment. Got a trim. Maybe…”
Karen stared at Penny. “Since when does someone as vain as Tender go to a salon and leave her grey roots visible?”
“I mean, it’s unlikely,” Penny said. “But we can’t just go arresting people based on unlikely. We need more proof.”
“Then I’ll go to the salon,” Karen replied.
“Like Hell you will,” Penny replied. “I think you’ve done enough.”
“We need to follow up on this lead,” Karen said.
“We aren’t going to do anything,” Penny replied. “You’re going to stay here, and I’m going to check on this alibi.”
“But Viv…” Karen said.
“You’re a big girl,” Penny said. “You can figure it out. I mean, you’re an empath, after all. You’d think you would be halfway decent at calming a person down.”
“Or letting them be upset if they need to be,” Karen said.
“Yes. Or whatever,” Penny said.
“Or whatever,” Karen agreed.
As Penny walked out the door and got into the car, Karen was nearly bowled over by the emotional equivalent of a primal scream. Suicidal urges. Existential angst. Rage.
Karen knew it was coming from upstairs.
“Hello, do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked Penny as she walked through the door.
“No, I’m actually here on some PsyOps business,” Penny replied. She flashed her identification at the same time she flashed what she hoped was a winning smile. The last thing she needed when following up a lead was for any apprehension she felt to get in the way of finding the truth, no matter what that truth was.
“Detective Penelope Dreadful. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your appointment book.”
“Aww, that’s too bad,” a stylist working nearby called at her. “You have beautiful hair, honey. I’d love to get my hands on it.”
“Well, I’ve seen your rates,” Penny said. “Not exactly scaled to a PsyOps salary.”
“Maybe we could work something out,” the stylist countered. “You never know.”
“Sure thing, detective,” the receptionist responded. “Now what would you like to know?”
“I wanted to check in on a client of yours. I believe she’s a regular. Euphemia Tender Lee,” Penny said.
“Ah! Miss Tender! What a character,” the stylist interjected.
“She comes here a lot. What were you looking into?”
Penny asked her about the date and time in question.
The receptionist flipped open the book to the appropriate page. She stared at it for a moment. “Ah yes. Tender Lee was scheduled for that time.”
Penny felt a wave of relief. Of course. Of course she was.
“But it says here she never showed up. There’s a note here that I called her about it, and she said she’d pay double the next time she came in. I remember that happening now. And come to think of it, she still hasn’t rescheduled. I’m gonna have to call her again here and ask about that. So it’s a good thing you came in.”
Penny’s heart sank. A good thing? Well, maybe a good thing for you.
“Thanks for your help,” Penny said. “I’d start tracking things in another appointment book if I were you.”
“Oh?”
“I have a feeling that one’s going to be subpoenaed and entered into evidence,” Penny said.
“For what it’s worth, officer, I always thought Tender was a nasty bitch!” the stylist interjected.
Penny reflected on how easy it was to find fair weather friends, as she trudged off to her next location.
Fear Visits
Karen had always hated how emotionally reactive her face was. No matter what she was feeling, it would soon be broadcast in her facial features, plainly visible for all the world to see. If she were lucky, she could catch the expression quickly and force her muscles into another configuration in an attempt to mask her true feelings.
But there was always going to be a microexpression that leaked through. One that flickered across and could be easily viewed by people who knew her well and those trained in detecting such facial fluctuations.
When it came to people who fell into both categories, Karen was frankly screwed. It had been that way ever since she was a little girl.
Because of this, there had been a number of personal relationships throughout her life in which she simply had no emotional privacy to speak of. Furthermore, tact was a rather strenuous undertaking, requiring extensive rehearsal before a difficult interaction and usually an anchoring thought to get her through it, something she could focus on while she spoke to the other person that would be sufficient to distract her from really absorbing what was said to her in real time, thereby lessening her microexpressions.
Developing empathic powers should have been a boon, but in this reality, Karen couldn’t escape a painful sense of irony at the fact that her own emotions were so easy for even normals to read. Empathic detection should have been an advantage like looking at people through one-way glass.
Instead, the glass was practically two-way. Perhaps there was a slight tint on her side, but most of what she felt still could be seen. She felt nearly as exposed as those she viewed with empathy. More exposed actually, whenever her powers were dampened by the presence of Viv and Penny.
True, that’s what had enabled her to fall in love with them in the first place, that vulnerability, that sense of calm that made every emotional act involving them feel like a blind leap of faith. At the same time, however, it had been unsettling and terrifying.
She’d managed to adapt over time, even developed auxiliary compensatory strategies for times when her empathic powers were dormant. She got quite good at reading microexpressions herself. That, at least, was a relief.
Some emotions were easier to detect than others. Karen found Fear the easiest. Not everyone found Fear so easy to read. The face of Fear was often confused by others with Surprise. Understandable, really, as both expressions included raised eyebrows.
But that was where the similarity ended. After all, anyone could see that Surprise’s raised eyebrows took on a different shape. Surprise’s eyebrows were curvier and raised higher, as though they were jumping into the air suddenly.
Fear’s eyebrows were flatter and lower, almost as though they were a creature crawling along on its stomach to get away or making itself as small as possible to shelter in place.
The eyes also opened wider in Fear than in Surprise. More of the sclera was visible. When someone was afraid, you saw more of the whites of their eyes.
Plus, there was a difference in the mouth. A fearful face had tension in the lips. A surprised mouth opened and hung slack.
No, the faces looked nothing alike.
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That’s why Karen knew precisely who had entered her home when she looked up from her own misery, suffering in the intensity of Viv’s emotions, and saw the visitor.
“I hope I haven’t scared you,” Fear said. She attempted a smile, but what happened instead was an unsettling rictus.
“No,” Karen said. It was true. There had been no jump scare. No feeling of being startled. Even though the visitor had seemingly materialized from nowhere. “But I guess that’s to be expected. You tend to show up when I’m not feeling you but should be. Not the other way around.”
Fear nodded. “You are teachable, after all,” she said. “Anger wasn’t so sure.”
“Well, Anger’s inpatient,” Karen said.
Fear squeezed her face into that unsettling grimace again. It looked like a smile would if it were left out in the sun in a car on a hot day and allowed to partially melt. “That she is,” Fear said. “Always so certain of herself. Righteous about it. Doesn’t understand that’s not normal, or that anyone else could feel a different way.”
“You don’t have to try to be human,” Karen said.
“I know,” Fear replied. “But you don’t know that.”
Karen laughed. “Oh, trust me, I know I’m human.”
“Do you?” Fear challenged her.
Karen gestured in Viv’s general direction, where she was holed up in the upstairs bathroom. “I’d love to be able to do something about that… situation.”
“Who’s to say that you can’t?” Fear said.
“Oh please,” Karen replied. “I’ve stepped in it enough today. I’ll only make it worse if I go up there.”
“Defeatist,” Fear noted. “If you don’t stop stealing my lines, I’m going to have to charge you.”
Karen scoffed. “I’m not afraid of Viv,” she protested.
“No one said you were afraid of Viv,” Fear said.
“Well… you said I was stealing your lines, and you’re here, so clearly you think I should be afraid of something,” Karen said.
“Aren’t you?” Fear asked.
Karen stared at her. She didn’t respond.
“That’s fine,” Fear replied. “I’m used to being everyone’s dirty little secret.”
Karen chewed on her lip and tried to conjure up an anchoring thought. She focused on trying to remember the last twelve books she had read, the exact order, the spelling of every author’s name. Some of them had rather long, difficult surnames. She hoped it would be enough of a masking task.
“I used to think it had something to do with me, you know, the fact that people didn’t ever want to acknowledge me. I thought it meant that I was a weaker emotion than the others, lesser. Everyone was acting like they were ashamed to be associated with me, so there was clearly something wrong with me, right? I was weak. Forgettable,” Fear said.
Karen avoided Fear’s gaze. She switched to doing math in her head. Counting down from 600 by nines.
“But then I realized it was the opposite,” Fear continued. “People didn’t want to admit that they had fears because then the next thing everyone would be asking was what they were afraid of. And when people know your fears, that knowledge becomes a kind of leverage.”
Karen lost count. She started again, from the top.
“But that’s only if you let them be leverage. It’s difficult to shame a person who isn’t ashamed. It’s easy to manipulate someone with fear if they’re unwilling to acknowledge that they have any fears. That’s when I realized how powerful I am.”
In spite of her attempts at distraction, the words cut through the mess in Karen’s head. “Sounds like it was a good day for you,” she said glibly.
“Yes,” Fear said. “But an even better day for anyone who would join me.”
Karen sighed.
“I’ve been here all along, darling,” Fear said. “You’ve just been ignoring me. It’s starting to hurt my feelings, you know.”
“I don’t want to make it worse,” Karen said.
“I know,” Fear replied. “That’s what you’re afraid of.”
“Can you promise me I won’t make it worse?” Karen asked.
“No,” Fear said. “I can’t promise you anything.”
“Fantastic,” Karen said.
“I’m not in the business of making promises,” Fear said. “And even if I were, it’s not wise to count on promises made out of fear.”
Karen thought about that and begrudgingly realized Fear was right. Every time she or someone else had made a promise due to fear, it had dissipated the moment that the fear did. Fear wasn’t known for its loyalty – or, more fortunately, its staying power, provided you didn’t cater to fear or feed it too vigorously.
“I think,” Karen said hesitantly, “that the world would be a better place if everyone could see you folks. If everyone entertained regularly visitors like you and your friends.”
“Maybe,” Fear said. “But I like it this way. Besides, I’m busy enough as it is.”
Karen laughed.
“Stop resisting me,” Fear said. “You can be afraid and do what you need to do. They’re not mutually exclusive.”
“I just wish I felt naturally brave,” Karen replied.
“No such thing,” Fear replied.
“You don’t have to say that,” Karen said.
“No,” Fear insisted. “There really isn’t. Bravery isn’t something you feel. Bravery’s what you do. Have you ever been visited by Bravery?”
Karen thought about that. “No, I haven’t.”
“Neither have I,” said Fear. “Haven’t even heard of such a being. Probably for the best, too.”
“Why’s that?” Karen asked.
“I’m fairly certain that whoever it is would be my competitor. Or worse, my sworn enemy.”
Karen laughed.
Fear sighed. “I am what I am, I suppose… and so are you.” Fear snapped her fingers.
Karen felt terrified, overwhelmed, like she wanted to hide. The emotion was so intense that it matched Viv’s projections and in a few moments swallowed them whole, overtaking them.
Karen leaned against the wall with one hand, feeling as though she might vomit. As she steadied herself, she took several long deep breaths, deliberately slowing her breathing.
“Okay,” she said to herself. “It’s time.”
She climbed up the stairs.
“Hey Martin,” Penny said.
“Penny,” he replied. “I thought you were off today.”
“I was. But breaks happen when they happen. You won’t believe what’s happening in this case.”
She told him.
As he listened, the blood drained from Martin’s face.
“Penny,” he said finally. “We’re way beyond conflict of interest here. You’re all in over your heads. You have to hand off the case.”
Penny nodded. “I don’t see any other way… but I need one thing from you.”
“Name it,” Martin said.
“Let me be there when she’s arrested,” Penny said.
“No, the team can’t be there when that happens. Especially not Viv.”
“No, Martin,” Penny said. “Not Viv, not Karen. Me. I want to be there.”
Martin sighed. “That we could probably do. But can I ask why?”
“You can,” Penny replied. She didn’t say anything else.
“And can I get an answer to the question?” Martin persisted.
“Because Viv needs to know how it happened. And she needs to hear it from someone she trusts. At this point, I think the list is just down to me,” Penny replied.
“Oh geez. Viv and Karen having a tiff?”
Penny nodded. “Viv’s basically shooting the messenger. I’m not an empath, but I’d be willing to bet she’s really angry at her mom and herself, for n
ot figuring it out sooner, for not suspecting. But all of that is too painful, so it’s easier to just be mad at Karen instead. To displace that anger and frustration on a safer target.”
“Alright, Penny,” Martin said. “I’ll see what I can do.” He lifted the receiver of his VoIP phone and began to navigate the bureaucratic maze that Penny had seen him deftly maneuver so many times.
She did a quick salute to him as she stepped towards the door to leave. Martin waved at her with the same motion that he might swat away a fly.
Once Penny had closed the door behind her and was standing in the empty unmarked hall outside of Martin’s office, she began to cry. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to arrest the tears, but it only made it worse.
She stood in darkness for about a minute before wiping her tears away.
“Hey,” a woman said. Penny recognized it as Amarynth’s voice.
When she opened her eyes, she was in Connections.
Penny didn’t remember walking to Connections, but she must have. Her feet must have taken her there. It was curious to her sometimes how much of what happened inside of her body wasn’t under conscious control. She’d had to learn a lot about the human brain as an intuitive living in a normal world and as a detective. The more she learned, the more amazed she’d been that so much of what we do, what we are, happens automatically and actively defies logic.
Meanwhile, the conscious mind fumbles to make sense of it all, becoming a defense lawyer for indefensible, inexplicable behaviors.
We want to make sense so desperately, Penny thought. But we don’t.
“Penny, you look like someone tried to make a copy of you but failed,” Amarynth said.
“What?” Penny said.
“You look like Hell,” Amarynth said.
“Geez, Amarynth,” Penny said. “Tell me what you really think.”
“I always do,” Amarynth replied. “Someone has to. And sometimes someone has to look like Hell. Today it’s you.”
Penny sighed.
“Want a donut?” Amarynth asked, gesturing to a box next to her.
Penny noted that every single donut in the box had a bite taken from it. Even the filled ones, which oozed custard from their puncture wounds.