《Thoughts on feelings [anti-villian, progression]》
1. Seeing the truth
The mind is a difficult thing to understand. No one knows where the conscience is placed inside the brain, or why the brain works the way it does. Neurons and pathways scientist would say. I would say predetermined actions through a data base of instructions selected by the little voice inside your head. I say so because I see it in everyone.
¡°Martin? You still with me?¡± Sarah said waving her hand in my face. ¡°You¡¯re spacing out again.¡± She took my pad from my hands and sat back in her chair again. I gave no resistance as she looked over the lines in my book.
¡°Is this one of your friends?¡± She would ask as I thought she would, support workers always had more interesting thought patterns. Solely based on the thoughts on how to improve another person other than yourself made it difficult to read what they want. Being selfless has one thinking of others more than oneself. and the fact that they want to put themselves in my shoes as they often put.
¡°No, that is you.¡± It was the thought pattern that made up what she was. ¡°Or at least an approximation of what you are.¡± Her head looking out into the distance, small spheres around her head like a halo. She has tried to model her thoughts and actions on how I felt and what I do. Each sphere around her head a personality she emulates to have an uncanny sympathetic connection with each of her clients.
She smiled as she usually does. Genuine and happy. ¡°Do you want a copy?¡± Free stuff usually made people happy. It was ingrained on them since birth. A child being supported by their mother. An instinct many try to get rid of to remove the need for dependency.
There are many instincts that get imprinted on child at birth. Pattern recognition being the strongest and most prevalent. It could explain why I could see thoughts, or at least one of the reasons.
She thought about it for a moment. A blush threatened to overtake her cheeks as she thought of the angelic image I depicted on paper. She shook her head and gave the book placed the book on the table. ¡°Once you¡¯re done maybe. And maybe finish after we had our catch up?¡± I put the pencil down with a sigh trying to indicate my reluctance.
¡°I¡¯ve been doing well. My landlord is still shouting at me.¡± I had tried to imitate the landlords¡¯ pattern before; the rage and sadness was overwhelming. Actions and words would calm the storm, but it wasn¡¯t a cure. ¡°I can not find a reason why she does so.¡±
¡°I¡¯ll check in with her. And your cat? How is Cath doing?¡± Her concern was palpable as her emulation of me told her it didn¡¯t bother me much. She took her cup and sipped on her tea. I knew it was indication of when I could speak. Another thing I could do without, but she was being thoughtful. Her assumption that my silence was hesitance to speak.
The thing with emulating a person without seeing what they are in perfect clarity makes your own image of them unperfect .The one issue that I have found with copying other patterns is that copying actions has no use without a reference. No experience with a tool was as useless as using a hammer to turn on a light. Possible but also destructive, and then you needed another tool to fix it.
¡°Cath is getting better. But she has started barking.¡± I was smiling at that particular success. ¡°I think the dogs are driving her mad.¡± I took my own coffee cup and sipped on it. Sarah put her cup down with a chuckle. ¡°She is a strange cat. Is she still angry with me?¡±
¡°She is calming down. Sorry again about her, I have no clue what got into her.¡± I have also realized that saying sorry before anything made people more sympathetic for the person saying it. Mayde it easier for them to ignore the thing that I was being sorry for.
¡°It¡¯s nothing you can control Martin. Don¡¯t ever be sorry for something you have no power over.¡± By that logic I should be sorry for every person I had my hands on.
¡°Cath is strange, but she is still my pet, I need to train her better.¡± I took my book and flipped to the page detailing Cath. Animals had simple patterns in comparisons. With no thoughts they had inputs and outputs. Simple minded creatures. What could be seen as smart behaviour was extra conditionals with more varied outputs.
¡°Attacking is not a thing she should be capable of.¡± I was sure to remove her danger sense. She was the best cat in the world that couldn¡¯t attack after being pet more than once.
¡°Maybe she was having a bad day?¡± She saw my frustration without even seeing the thoughts that could lead to it. ¡°Take it easy on her Martin. And on yourself, You had it rough.¡± I was amazed again at how she could emphasise with me so well. ¡°Come on, I¡¯ll walk you back to your apartment and have a chat with your landlord.¡± She finished her tea and placed the payment on the table with a tip.
She was packing her sunglasses and keys into her purse. I was staring at her again trying to find the predictive pattern she uses to empathise with me. The spheres around her head had no memories, each one a complex set of instructions and conditionals. Her main pattern actively adjusting and editing each sphere at all moments of the day.
Her brain lit up clear to see as she thought of helping me. The conversation she was planning with the landlord. Ready with a list of points on how I was autistic with a brilliant mind and a creative eye that allows me to paint for a living.
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¡°Sarah, you don¡¯t have to do that.¡± I didn¡¯t want art or autism to define who I was. I needed to study people, I wanted to learn how people live. Live models were not difficult to come by. The difficult part was convincing Agnes that I was not a playboy.
She shook her head and walked around the table to help me stand up. I stuffed the book and pencil in my jacket pocket before allowing myself to be dragged across the street. ¡°She needs more than just a speech Sarah. This is the third time you are going to try this, and you know what they say about crazy.¡±
¡°I know! But she can¡¯t get away with it. If she succeeds one out four times, she will try to make it work again.¡± She pulled me by the arm and stood at the crossing with a frown. ¡°If she does it again, we escalate the issue.¡± She had a forgiveness streak 25 miles long. She was working herself up as we made our way back. The main sphere above her head -the biggest one by far- was whispering in her ear.
Before I could decipher it we were off again. The apartment wasn¡¯t far, across the street and a few meters down the road. The door man stopped us with a smile. ¡°Miss Meadow, I¡¯ll have to stop you here.¡±
Frankie Lawson was the kind old door man that met everyone and knew everyone. I had to show him what I was doing after bringing home the 5th person in as many days to get painted.
His own pattern was small and gentle yet strong and heavy. The need for approval at battle with his need to help. Two sides of a man fighting with himself. Somehow, he had them in equilibrium. With his sharp mind he could do so much.
¡°Frankie, you know it¡¯s unreasonable what Agnes does. She doesn¡¯t give grief to any other tenant, does she?¡± She dropped my arm and searched for something in her purse.
¡°Hi Frankie.¡± I waved at him and put a smile on my face. Frankie was the one that taught me to smile. I could see how he used it to ease people. A kind smile from an old man, made people nostalgic of their own family and it calmed them down because of it.
¡°Hey there Martin, I see you¡¯re still working on that smile. It¡¯s looking good so far.¡± Sarah found what she was looking at and pulled out a card. ¡°We have a lawyer if Agnes has an issue with Martin. You know he is a special case.¡± She held out a slightly frayed card that with the name Ethan Hart stamped in blue.
¡°I¡¯ll pass along your message Miss Meadow.¡± Frankie took the card and tucked into his shirt pocket. ¡°Please don¡¯t bother Mrs Pritchard for the near future.¡± He tipped his hat at Sarah with a smile. ¡°Martin, I look forward towards our lookout tonight.¡± He said stepping to the side his smile never faltering.
I was tugging on Sarahs¡¯ sleeve and pointed to the elevator. ¡°Let us not bother Agnes today, Sarah.¡± I was not bothered with Agnes the landlord; she had her uses. While I was a strong reminder of her son, her duty to the apartment building was far exceeding her morals. Her pride and life were all in this apartment building.
¡°She might be having a bad day as well. Let us give her a chance.¡± I made my way to the elevator Sarah was in her purse again fumbling around as she followed me. I already selected the second floor as she joined me.
¡°I¡¯m not forgetting this, Martin. She can¡¯t be mean for no reason.¡± I raised an eyebrow and smirked at her. ¡°Everyone has their own reasons for doing things.¡± I reminded her of her first words to me. I knew all the reason of why people act the way they do, they just never made sense to me.
¡°The end doesn¡¯t justify the means.¡± She shot back. She had taken her planner and noted her thoughts down. Tomorrow Thursday two pm Agnes would be getting a talking to. ¡°Should I be concerned with what you are writing in there?¡± I asked to fill up the silence. No one liked an awkward silence.
¡°Don¡¯t you worry about anything Martin.¡± She snapped the planner shut and stepped out of the elevator. ¡°Should I be worried about Cath?¡± Her askance reminded me of what I did the day after the incident. I was sure to cut out any aggressive patterns, triggers and thought that could lead to a relapse.
¡°I thought her a lesson, you should be fine.¡± I said opening the door. I could feel the concern radiating off Sarah in waves. I kept looking forward as I stepped into the apartment. ¡°Cath!¡± I called out. One of the first instruction that got written into her was to approach the person calling her name.
She strutted down the hallway head high and tail swinging behind her. ¡°Who is my good girl.¡± I said bowing down to pick her up. As soon as she was in my arms, I started activating her satisfaction and pleasure patterns I instilled in her as she looked at Sarah. My tendrils snaked into the cat as I scratched her head. Just as I wanted, she struggled to get out of my arms and wanted to be held by someone else. ¡°Cath please.¡± I barely put up a fight as I place her into Sarah¡¯s arms.
¡°Please do not drop her.¡± I said needlessly as the cat snuggled into Sarah and purring as loud as it could. ¡°Treats and an image of you goes a long way.¡± Experimentation and restraints too.
I saw the concern bleed off Sarah as her main pattern changed the thought sphere of what I could safely now assume was me. Like text placed into a file I could see that I wouldn¡¯t torture my cat be added to my emulated pattern. People loved it when a happy animal let you pat them. ¡°I think I need a new cat.¡± I said with another smirk.
¡°Thank you for all your help, Sarah. I know Agnes might seem uncaring. But she loves this place. The anger doesn¡¯t help but please give her a little space.¡± I took my own planner out and flipped it to today¡¯s date, then flipped it to next week. ¡°Next week same time?¡±
She bent down and placed Cath on the floor. The cat was immediately between her legs rubbing her face on Sarah¡¯s legs. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll bring by Ethan. I¡¯m sure he would love to talk to you about the case.¡± She took a step over and forward before she wrapped me in hug.
I put my hand on her back, fingers together as close to her spine as I could. Tendrils snaking into her I pushed and pulled. The pattern crossing over her back relaxed and slowed down. The pulsing no longer as frequent.
It took many attempts to understand and apply this technique. Relaxing the muscles and slowing thoughts down had a calming effect. But too much and they think they might be drugged. The simple feedback of the relaxed sensation while she hugged would reinforce the need for more.
Of course, an extreme of any sensation or emotion would trigger another pattern that induced paranoia and scepticism. ¡°God you give the best hugs.¡± She whispered before pulling away. I gave the Frankie smile and winked at her. ¡°It is one of my defining traits.¡±
¡°I wouldn¡¯t believe it till I saw it.¡± I jumped for the first time in my life and turned around. Standing not far outside my door was a man in a sweater with glasses. No thought lines or patterns visible within him, a man as empty as a blank canvas. A void to my senses.
2. Hiding the truth
My eyes locked onto his. With just visual input I could tell he wasn¡¯t surprised at all. There was no reason to believe he could see what I can do. If he did see what I could do, then it didn¡¯t matter what I was going to do in the next minute.
Sarah pulled away from me and looked over her shoulder to the man. ¡°Sarah, do you know this man?¡± My hand stayed on her back; I pulled her closer trying to display protection. My tendrils sped up the pulsing in her pattern. Tightened muscles ever so slightly.
She was on High alert in an instant. ¡°Excuse me, can we help you?¡± she stepped forward pushing me away. I suppressed a smile as she came to my defence.
¡°Sorry no. I was curious as I passed by.¡± He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked on his way like nothing happened. I took Sarah by her arm before she could rush after him.
¡°Maybe don¡¯t jump on every person that thinks strangely. You already have me.¡± I saw the effect I had on her. The tense shoulders and the paranoia, she was mistaking my ministrations as a gut feeling.
¡°Something tells me that man is not good.¡± She stepped out pulling me along. ¡°How would you know? We barely spoke. Maybe he just wants a painting of himself?¡± I took a step outside and looked around.
The elevators were not running. He either has a room here or he took the stairs. I knew almost everyone in the building. I would have to check if Agnes had a written record of everyone in the building.
I turned back to Sarah and calmed her down again. ¡°Let us put this behind us. He is just a random man. Go talk to Ethan and we will meet up next week. I will let Frank know about that guy.¡± I would have to speed up my ministrations with frank as well if I wanted the outsider apprehended in timely fashion.
¡°Call me as soon as you need anything.¡± Sarah hugged me one last time, one last time I snaked my fingers onto her spine and pulled on the fibres of her being. She would not feel better, and I could see her thoughts focusing on the man in glasses as the source of her unease.
¡°I will call as soon as anything stranger happens.¡± I squeezed her shoulder as we separated. ¡°Now go and meet the other people that need your help as much as I do.¡±
She took a deep breath and nodded. She quickly checked her watch before shooting out the door. ¡°Call me!¡± She shouted one more time. I couldn¡¯t see what went through her mind from so far away, but something else flashed through her thoughts.
Frankie Lawson was the son of a law man, as he would tell everyone. I was sure to dress appropriately when I got ready for our weekly stake out. It was a routine we started when I joined him three weeks after I moved in. I would wear a white button up shirt with a black trench coat. Black shoes that were specifically not shiny with black chinos.
The average man blends in the best.
The truth was no one gave a shit about any of it. Society has grown so large that people have adapted to not get attached to anything about anyone they don¡¯t know. If it slows down the morning commute it needs to be ignored. Meetings to be had and people to see.
I was downstairs by 6pm sharp. Reusable coffee cup at the ready and in the corner of the lobby. With a short whistle I had Frankie looking over his shoulder. Hegave me his customary wink before looking back to the front. He loved the idea of being a secret agent, a big dream he never let go of. I could see he was always making notes on everyone, always thinking he will spot the villain before anyone else. He was certainly a wealth of information on who or what came in the building.
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As Frankie looked around, pretending to be inconspicuous. Drawing attention himself as he usually does. He turned around and casually as possible for a person like Frankie locked the door open and strutted inside.
Norman in the opposite corner gave a rare chuckle as he emptied the trashcan. I smiled into my cup trying to cover up the coy smile from my own lips. Frankie took his cap off, Hung it on the hook behind the reception desk. Then sweeping his head around one more time across the lobby before he took off his concierge jacket and hung it next to his hat.
He slipped on his black jacket, grabbed his matching coffee mug and sauntered over. slowly sitting down like an old man after a long day, He relaxed back and brought the mug to his lips. ¡°Martin.¡± He greeted as usual.
¡°Frank.¡± I greeted him back my eyes cast foreword to the front door, my mug still covering my mouth. ¡°Any events on tonight, Frank?¡± I glanced to the left my focus on his mind. I saw notes he took. The faces he checked all day. He saw 9 people with glasses. 5 with sweaters. None of two categories had anything overlapping. The most notable person was Agnes with her pink coat and black cat in hand.
¡°We have a party on the 6th floor. It¡¯s Daphne¡¯s dogs party this time.¡± I pushed out a chuckle and looked ahead. It was no surprise Daphne had another party. She was my main source of income. With her collection of my paintings of her. She was also the reason most of my client¡¯s knew about me.
¡°Any chance one of her people came in early? A man in a black sweater with glasses?¡± I glanced again at his mind. No flashes of insight or remembrance.
¡°Any more details than that?¡± Frankie took out his small notebook. He flipped through it.
I thought about what I saw 2 hours prior. My mind stuttered to a halt.
No other clues.
He had glasses.
He had a sweater. Was it even black?
¡°Arrogant? We briefly talked; He creeped out Sarah as he looked into my appartement.¡± I pulled up the memory into focus in my mind. The man was dead centre. Glasses and sweater. On top of cloud of uncertainty. His face was someone you just couldn¡¯t make out in the distance.
The pages flipping drew my attention. I looked over at Frankie again. He shook his head as he went through his physical notes. ¡°Got a man in a green sweater with thin glasses come in 2 days ago.¡±
He flipped to the back and took out his pen. ¡°I¡¯ll pay special attention to anyone like that.¡± He wrote it down, repeated the description in his head 10 times and repeated the letters s g twenty times after that. I was frowning as I sat back. My eyes glued to the front door. This was man was starting to get more than just interesting.
If he could see what I really do, he must have something of his own. Why was I not concerned. This unknown in my life, this person. He could be unmaking all my progress as I sit here and talk to this old decrepit man. I was so close to making it past animal trials. He made me use Sarah, the queen piece of my life. A move that should have made me more cautious.
I would have to take it slow. He needs me to make a mistake. I¡¯ll perfect my memory transplant first on Cath. Then I¡¯ll move on to human trials.
¡°Keep an eye out Frank, I¡¯ll get us some coffee.¡± Took his cup from his hands and slipped into the staff room near the reception. Instant coffee wasn¡¯t the best, but it would do. I was back within two minutes. As I handed the mug back to Frankie I could feel and see the proudness lighting him up like a Christmas tree.
¡°Let me guess.¡± I dove into his memories. From his point of view, I could see his eyes scanning the room. He could feel how his attention would slide away from the staircase door. His habits and his practise at memorising people had him focus as hard as he could.
Then out of nowhere in popped the mysterious man. It was blue sweater, he had square
Glasses. His shoes were black. The details were scarce. Fading quick, I¡¯m sure if Frankie wasn¡¯t practicing memory tricks, he would have forgotten it by now.
¡°Our mystery man was here?¡± I said with a grin. ¡°Any details I missed?¡± His smile slipped and he scratched his head. ¡°He had black Shoes.¡± I smile and sit next to him. ¡°Must be a trained spy, slipping your attention must have been taken more skill otherwise.¡± I said jokingly.
His brows furrowed as he tried to remember more. He took out his notebook and added the detail below glasses and sweater. ¡°He gave me the slip that¡¯s for sure.¡± He took a sip of his coffee and looked to the entrance. His worries ever so slowly faded, the memories degrading in his head faster and faster. I made sure to check my own memories.
It was without a doubt something that was out of the ordinary. I set up a simple loop in my pattern. A back up of the memory every minute. Should make it easier to remember this man.
3. Ones own truth
I focused back on the entrance of the lobby. It was 6:20 people in shorts and sweats with dogs slowly filtered in. I can see Frankie had the foresight to print a helpful sign for the party goers. ¡°Nice touch on the with the lamination.¡± People loved it when you notice the effort they put into the small stuff. Especially Frankie, It made his day anytime anyone would compliment him.
¡°Thanks, I thought it would be useful to use the old lamy for the occasion. I thought of adding some confetti but that seems a bit childish.¡± He took a sip of coffee, and I could see in his memories that he tried it. He even tried adding a dog treat to it and a collar.
I looked at the sign and the pillar it was on, ¡°Maybe some lines in style of the supporting pillars. Make it fit the establishment not the occasion.¡± I took out my own note pad and scribbled for a second. Then turning the book to Frankie I trace the straight line on the side from the bottom to the top that turned into a half spiral.
¡°A template for any other occasion that is professional and informative.¡± I gave the book to him and the pencil. ¡°Have a go at it. Sometimes some straight lines are all you need.¡± He nodded and opened the book. He whistled as he went through my sketches.
¡°Are you sure? I don¡¯t want to ruin this collection you have here.¡± He said as he stopped on a particularly beautiful sketch I have been struggling with. ¡°What is this one about?¡±
¡°You tell me. I personally, have been struggling with it.¡± I looked up to the lobby and sipped my coffee. More people brought dogs while others brought their babies. On further inspection it was actually just dogs in prams.
¡°Fear.¡± Frankie finally said. I looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. On the page was a mess of black lines, circling a white sphere. ¡°A bit a general art piece in my opinion. Has been overdone quite a bit.¡± The tortured artist theme was starting to get a lot more traction these days.
Frankie turned the page quickly and kept going until he found a blank page. ¡°If I was in that dark space, I would be terrified. Or just dark rooms in general.¡± He said jokingly, His compulsive need to help made him always try to keep the mood happy.
¡°Are you sure I can write in your book? ¡°I could see he was a little more concerned about the mess of art than I initially thought. The flashes of his past came up, Sadness and jealousy.
I placed my hand on his shoulder and connected myself to his pattern. I increased the pulse ever so slightly and relaxed the fibres of his thoughts ¡°Of course, Art is a beautiful way to express yourself. It doesn¡¯t matter if you want to make a nice sign or a stick figure. You¡¯re only limited by yourself and what you want.¡±
His fingers tightened on the pencil, and he smiled. I disconnected from him and patted him on the shoulder. ¡°If you want art lessons, we can set something up. Just move the pencil and we can see about technique later.¡± He nodded and got to it.
He was scribbling like he found a new passion. I on the other hand was looking at people coming and going. It felt like the pit of my life slowly got brighter with the people I added to it. I wasn¡¯t alone, not anymore.
That mysterious man, whoever he was. He had more than me to worry about. I looked over my shoulder, my watcher and sentinel, slowly learning a new skill. Once I perfect a memory transplant, I was sure I could increase his speed tenfold.
¡°I was hoping. Once Agnes has a free moment could you help me set up a meeting? Without Sarah of course. No need to have a shouting match again.¡± I needed a list of the tenants and a building plan.
The mysterious man had been here for 2 hours. With or without someone. if it was with someone It would be easier to see if anyone had gaps in their memories. If he could be selective of his targets, I had a way in from there.
If not, his whole existence would be a lonely one. Talking with anyone about anything without having to worry about the consequences. I imagine he never had someone like me to worry about.
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¡°Ever thought of being a sketch artist for the police Frank? With how you identify and memorise anyone you come by, if we can get your fingers to put your thoughts on paper you would be indispensable at a police station.¡±
It was a goal that aligned easily with mine. An idea that already played on his dreams of being a spy. He could be my way into the police force, or at the very least my camera on the lobby.
¡°It was an idea; I already have a friend on the force. But I could never do anything more complicated than two lines.¡± His sadness resurfaced. His best friend a police officer. He couldn¡¯t even make it past the fitness test. His mind far outpaced his thoughts. Where he could remember the junkie 2 weeks ago by the shape of his chin, he couldn¡¯t do anything about catching him.
¡°How about three lines? and then we go to 4. If every day you could add 1 detail. 1 line to the picture. And the next week you do 2 lines a day. You could be an artist like me in no time.¡± Frank looked to me and sighed.
¡°If it was that simple everyone would do it.¡± His thought lines faded and slowed. I tapped the book in hands.
¡°It is that simple Frank. You did it the last 2 hours.¡± The page he was filled with simple line art. It was a beautiful mess of man that had fun. No shapes, just lines wandering the page, neither crossing nor colliding. Branching and meeting in places without rhyme or reason.
¡°Get me a meeting with Agnes and as fair payment. I know you love being fair. Then we can do a lesson in my studio.¡± I took the last sip of my coffee then, savouring the strong taste. His eyes were glued to the page.
¡°Martin, you¡¯re a far more empathetic than you realise.¡± He chuckled and handed back my book and pencil. I smiled and placed it to the side. ¡°And you are far too young to give up on dreams. Even while you are an old fart.¡± I said with a chuckle as well.
¡°Let¡¯s teach an old dog new tricks shall we.¡± I stood and patted him on the shoulder one last time before heading for the elevator. ¡°No skipping classes either!¡± I shouted over my shoulder. I would need consistent contact to enforce new habits. I would do it right the first time. No screw ups this time.
The elevator dinged; I stepped inside. Once the doors closed, I dropped the smile and checked my watch. 8:20 pm.
I still had a few hours for Cath.
I stepped out at my floor and made my way to my apartment. My door was closed as I left it. But the studio was door was open. I had the studio made soundproof, as a result I had to slam the door close to make a nice seal. It seems my visitor had no clue.
I was inside in a moment and looked around. Nothing was missing. I couldn¡¯t find anything that was added. It was a little mystery for later.
Then the memory of the mystery man refreshed in my head. I frowned and looked around again. My eyes rolled over the room, I relaxed as I found nothing. I closed my eyes and looked inside myself, searching for the paranoia plaguing me. Then the memory of the mystery man refreshed in my head. My brain pulsed, the contradictions pulling it every which way.
A headache formed as I took a step outside. I was starting to get angrier at this man, I couldn¡¯t understand why. Instead of going back in I reviewed the memory of me inspecting the room. My eyes sweeping from the left to the right.
On the mantle just below the portrait of my father, was a framed picture of nothing. I couldn¡¯t see what it was. It wasn¡¯t pitch black, nor was it white. I couldn¡¯t see what it was, I was staring at nothing, and it knew.
I took a breath and closed my eyes, I opened the door again and stepped inside. Then slowly making my way to the nearby fireplace I felt around for the picture frame, finger moving over the rough surface. once I found it, I laid it flat on its face. Ever so slowly I opened my eyes. Behind the picture, a microphone with a transmitter attached.
¡°Cath! Where are you darling!¡± I called out. If they wanted to listen, I would give them a something to listen to. I would need to check the main rooms and the bedroom as well when I had the chance. I set up another memory back up of the microphone and turned to where Cath was on her chair.
¡°There you are darling!¡± I scooped her up and set her down on the display stage in the middle of the room. ¡°You ready for your grooming?¡± I took out a her faviourate brush and brushed her fur. While I was pampering the creature I had one hand on her head. My tendrils attached to her skull and snaked into her mind.
As I prepped her, I made a copy of a memory, I was coughing incessantly as dust was blown in my face the first time I came here. ¡°How¡¯s my good girl feeling?¡± I asked playing it up. I sliced at the backup. The strands connecting the feelings and emotions to the memory came loose, where the strands of the memory detached I held the tiny pattern from unravelling. The urge to cough built up as the idea became simpler. The sensations of the memory were stronger without extra complexity. My throat felt scratchy, my breath hitched for a moment.
In that moment, I attached it to Cath and severed my own connection. The feeling vanished. Suddenly Cath had a Terrible cough as she tried to expel the imaginary dust from her throat. ¡°Aww baby, are you okay?¡± I ask in fake panic and pat her on the back.
I smiled as Cath continued to cough for a second more. The small expel of air from the small creature gave me satisfaction. I was sure the normals would call it cute if they saw it. It was the second success I had today, it could only get better.
4. The worlds truth
I scratched the cats throat trying to sooth her. My left stayed on top of her head my tendrils attaching more strings to the memory of my feeling the need to cough. Once I was satisfied with the woven tapestry, I removed my filaments and started stroking her back.
¡°Its okay baby, we¡¯ll go the to the vet tomorrow.¡± I picked her up and placed her on the floor as close to the microphone as reasonable. Then taking a rag from the nearby wash basin I covered the frame on the mantle as securely and quietly as possible.
The cat was still trying to cough the imaginary hair out without success. I smiled and tucked the small frame into my pocket. If there was one in my studio, I doubt the person that placed it here would have stopped with just the one. It was going to be a hassle to find if there even are any in the rest of my apartment.
I stepped outside the studio into the living room and closed my eyes. I made a backup loop in my memories of the microphone in the studio and set to do so again in 15 seconds. My eyes opened again and looked around. Scanning over walls, the corners and on top of any surface. I counted down the seconds as the memory refreshed in my head. I looked again to be sure.
The timer ticked down in my head again. No memory loss or attention deviation. It seemed at least that the dining room adjacent to my studio was safe. Methodically I paced through the apartment my step slowing as I looked over every inch of my household.
I came to my bedroom and relaxed. The memory refreshed and I was on edge again. My fingers curled into a fist, and I closed my eyes again. I counted down the seconds. With 3 seconds left I opened them again and looked close to my bed. My mind focused in on itself.
The feeling of my eyes relaxing. I could see a fractal pattern spreading out of the fresh memory into my being. A tree of sharp ice impacting anything that resembled itself.
The memory of microphone on the mantle refreshed in my mind, my paranoia spiked. I closed my eyes again. My fingers strained. I focus on my mind.
In the last second before the memory of the microphone, was a jagged hole carved expertly. I could see the threads of thought and memory weaving it back together. An automatic response to fill any void or lapse in memory. Using what was and what is to rebuild a pattern of what could have been.
I forced myself to breathe, to relax my fingers. My eyes still closed; I inched over to my bedside table. If they were bold enough to place a microphone on my mantle, they wouldn¡¯t hesitate to place one so close to where I sleep.
I felt around on my bedside table, in the middle was a round object. I took it slowly and felt if there was anything attached my hand exploring the object. It had a square base with a hollow bottom. With no other defining trait.
I stuffed the object under my sheets and opened my eyes. I saw the bulge under the blankets and smiled. The table next to it was not in such a good state. Right where the globe stood was hole in the table. Messy and done in a haste. In that hole was another microphone.
It seemed like they limited themselves to audio means only. Which means it works though digital mediums as good as anything visual.
¡°I wonder what Sarah is up to?¡± I said aloud as made my way to the wardrobe. ¡°I bet she is barely resting with all the people she helps.¡± Spreading misinformation was a dangerous game. Give them something they can easily verify makes it easy to see if you are feeding them lies or truth. Build trust before you try to betray someone. Otherwise, they see right through you and shoot you first.
I opened my tie drawer and took out a handkerchief. ¡°I¡¯ll have to offer her a chance for a painting session. Maybe she¡¯ll like that¡. I hope she likes it.¡± With the handkerchief unfolded I made my way over to the bed. I closed my eyes again and reached beneath the covers.
I wrapped the object in the cloth. The shape a little difficult to get fully enclosed, I opened my eyes and set the memory of both microphones to refresh every 5 seconds within my mind.
In my hands was without a doubt the deadliest snow globe I could imagine. The person placing it had to have a way to counteract the effect. if they could counteract it why limit it audio recording only? Why setup memory altering objects in an apartment with a man you might suspect having memory altering abilities of his own?
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Am I the real target of this infiltration?
Fact one: No one has been in my bedroom, other than the spy.
Fact two: the only people that comes to the studio are clients or patients.
Fact three: They can only record audio as far as I can tell.
Any clients that want a painting of themselves are out. The target would be any one of my therapy patients, Or maybe a combination of me and a client? A confession?
A high value target confessing incriminating information to an unlicenced person of questionable origin. Sounds almost like a romance novel.
¡°Early day tomorrow. But maybe there is some time to check on Daphne.¡± I tucked the memory globe into my sock drawer before making my way outside. Cath was calming down in the studio, I could faintly hear her clearing her throat less violently.
I smiled again, the thought of making someone feel soul crushing depression. The feeling of love undeserved. Hate more powerful than the idea of self-preservation. I could have a everyone in a police station feel the need to protect me. Give them the gut feeling that no matter what, I could not be the monster that anyone says I am.
I closed the door behind me and locked it shut. I stopped and looked up at the ceiling of corridor. I looked around again and spotted the camera. The annoying part of today was that I failed to even think of the cameras. The need to extract and transplant information and making biological servants was too narrow focus.
I needed to think of not just what I could have people do. I need to learn how to use people outside the scope of just a product of my own goals. They could do so much more if I elevated them. A council of brilliant minds all serving to achieve the goals of the one.
¡°I need this mystery man dead. even if his presence has pressured me into new discoveries and ideas.¡± I made the promise and reinforced the memory in head.
I put on the smile of Frank and made my way up to the party upstairs.
The top floor was a penthouse suite, the owner was the richest on the block. Her husband died in an unfortunate accident, or so she claims. It might have a been an accident, but he was not dead. Neither was he alive.
As she threw parties and had many guests over. She her man locked in room hung up by chains and draped in silks more expensive than anything I could afford on my own. In front of him monitors of cameras all over the penthouse suite. Hidden cameras in every nook and cranny looking at everything all at once.
He could not call for help. His vocal cords surgically removed. His tongue ripped out and scarred over. His jaw permanently open with a golden ball gag. Kept alive with the best medical equipment money could buy.
Specifically, money made from the medical equipment Daphne was forced to design under threat and fear of torture. A family of vengeful psychotics with greed far outweighing their morals.
Daphne was a brilliant person. A genius of her generation, forced by the rich to make them more money. She made her escape and planned her revenge. Meticulous in her approach she was extremely successful in her plans. Everything worked out as she just how she wanted. Except for the trauma. Her pattern was vast and deep, I couldn¡¯t possibly parse all the knowledge she has accumulated. The nebula of sparks was in a violent storm. The centre of her being was a rigid cube with wires reaching out into the ocean of knowledge. Growing out on a corner of the cube was an ugly tumour of hate and desperation.
She was the best present a man like me could luck upon. I would help her, and she would help me.
I knocked on the door with a smile and waited. The door opened and there she stood. ¡°Daphne! It¡¯s great to see you!¡± She smiled just as brightly as she wrapped me in hug. I took the opportunity to use my tendrils as I used them on Sarah. She hugged me tighter as she felt the relief in her entire being.
She pulled away and kissed me on cheek ¡°Martin! I¡¯m so glad you are here! Have you met my friends?¡± She dragged me in immediately after the hug. Everyone at the party had a dog or a puppy it seemed. The house was a mess of animals and people mingling with each other.
¡°I have seen them walk past in the lobby. How is Kurt doing?¡± The name of her dog was the same as the man strung up. It never ceased to amaze me how attached someone could get to the thing that hurt them the most.
¡°Wonderfully. He just turned 5!¡± She shouted out to the crowd. At the exclamation everyone cheered and took a drink. I kept my smile up and cheered with them.
I raised my voice above the crowd as I looked to Daphne ¡°That¡¯s wonderful! Listen I need to talk about our sessions! I¡¯m almost done with the painting, but I need to refill on paints. Would you mind if we can schedule a time and have a look together on what colours you would like?¡±
Her eyes narrowed, the smile on her lips never faltering. She took a long sip of her Champaigne again and cheered one more time for her dog. ¡°Lets party!!¡± pulled me by the arm her lips coming close to my ear. ¡°Tomorrow lunch.¡± She kissed me on cheek and smiled before dancing to the centre of the dance floor.
I smiled like an embarrassed teen, two ladies giggled off to the side. I made my cheeks blush a brighter red before turning around and leaving. Daphne was the highest target on my list of potential targets for the spy. I needed her expertise and medical equipment if I was going to get these memory artefacts figured out.