"In the meantime, leaving him here is the most humane thing." I shook off thoughts of the boy and turned toward Amanda Sullivan. "That is candidate number one."
As Trsiel looked over at her, his eyes blazed. His right hand clenched, as if gripping something… like the hilt of his sword.
"Good choice," he said.
"You can see already?"
"Enough to know she's a good choice. More than that requires concentration." He glanced at me. "I could do this for you."
"It's my job." I held out my hand. "Let's get it over with."
A montage of images flipped past at hyperspeed, so fast I saw nothing but a blur of color. Then the reel slowed… on darkness. I waited, with growing impatience, like a theatergoer wondering when the curtain is going to rise.
A voice floated past. "I want to hurt him. Hurt him like he hurt me."
There are many ways to say this line, many shades of emotion to color and twist the words, most of them angry, the flash fire of passion, later repented, or the cold determination of hate. Yet in this recital, there was only the petulant whine of a spoiled child who'd grown into a spoiled adult, never learning that the world didn't owe her a perfect life.
Another voice answered, a whisper that rose and fell with the cadence of a rowboat rocking on a gentle current. "How would you do that?"
"I—I don't know." The pout came through loud and clear, then the demand. "Tell me."
"No… you tell me."
"I want to hurt him. Make him pay." A pause. "He doesn't love me anymore. He said so."
"And what do you want to do about it?"
"Take away what he does love." A trill of smug satisfaction, as if she'd surprised herself with her insight.
"What would that be?"
"The kids."
"So why don't you do it?"
I waited, tensed, expecting the obvious reason—the natural reason, mingled with a stab of horror for having thought of such a thing in the first place.
"I'm afraid," she said.
"Afraid of what?" the voice asked.
"Of getting caught."
I snarled and threw myself against the confines of the darkness that surrounded me.
The voices vanished, and I found myself in a small room. I was humming, rubbing my hands together. I looked down at my hands. A bar of soap in one, a washcloth in the other. A splash and a shriek of delight. I looked up, still humming, to see three small children in the bathtub.
I tried to wrench my consciousness free from Sullivan's, my mental self kicking and screaming. The scene went mercifully dark.
Hate washed through me. Not my hate for her, but hers for another. I was back inside Amanda Sullivan, in another dark place. Dark and empty. The Nix was gone.
Gone! The bitch! She abandoned me, left me here alone. She promised I wouldn't get caught.
Promised, promised, promised!
The world around me cleared, like a fog lifting. The endless litany of hate and blame and self-pity still looped through my brain. Before me sat a pleasant-looking man in a suit.
"This voice…" the man said, his voice an even baritone. "Tell me more about the voice."
"She told me to do it. She made me."
The man's eyes pierced Sullivan's, probing, not buying this line of bullshit for one second. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. She told me to do it."
"But when you spoke to the police, you said she encouraged you. That's not the same as telling you."
"My children were dead. Dead! And I used the wrong word, so fucking sue me, you son of a bitch. I was devastated." A practiced sob. "My world… ripped apart."
"By your own hands."
"No! She did it. She… she took me over. It was her idea—"
"You said it was your idea. You thought of it—"
"No!" Sullivan flew to her feet, spittle flying. "I didn't! I didn't think of it! It was her idea! Hers! All hers!"
Again, the scene went dark. A few others passed by… the arraignment, the hearing where she'd been denied bail, the failed insanity bid, two attacks by fellow inmates who wanted her punished as much as I did. Then it ended.
Trsiel released my hand.
"Nothing," he said. "The Nix has crossed back."
"Huh?"
"She's returned to the ghost world, probably right after the crime. So long as she's there, the link between her and this partner is severed until she returns to this dimension."
"What if we kill her?"
Now it was Trsiel's turn to go "Huh," though he did it only with a frown.
I continued, "We kill Sullivan, she goes to the ghost world, and hooks into the Nix there."
He continued to frown.
"What?" I said. "You don't think it'll work?"
"Well, yes, I'm not sure it'll work, but I'm still stuck on the first part of the solution."
"Killing her? Oh, please. Don't give me some cock-and-bull about letting human justice run its course.
Screw that. She killed her kids. She deserves to die. That's what that big sword is for, right?
Administering justice. Doesn't get any more just than that."
"Yes, well, uh—"
"You don't want to do it? Here, let me. Be a pleasure."
For a moment, he just stared at me. Then he gave a sharp shake of his head. "We can't do it. Even if she were dead, I might not be able to contact the Nix through her."
"So? No harm in trying. Worst thing that happens, she dies, goes to her hell and, whoops, it didn't work after all. What a shame."
"No, Eve. We can't."
I strode over to the bars and glared through at Sullivan, then turned that glare on Trsiel. "So her life is worth more than those of the Nix's next victims? Oh, geez, no, we can't kill this murdering bitch because that would be wrong. Fuck this! Tell you what, you've warned me, right? You've done your job. So how about you just pop back over to cloud nine, or wherever it is you guys hang out, and let me do my job."
"You can't."
"Can't read her mind? I know that. I can't follow her into her ghost-world dimension, either. That's your job. I'll just deliver her."
As Trsiel looked over at her, his eyes blazed. His right hand clenched, as if gripping something… like the hilt of his sword.
"Good choice," he said.
"You can see already?"
"Enough to know she's a good choice. More than that requires concentration." He glanced at me. "I could do this for you."
"It's my job." I held out my hand. "Let's get it over with."
A montage of images flipped past at hyperspeed, so fast I saw nothing but a blur of color. Then the reel slowed… on darkness. I waited, with growing impatience, like a theatergoer wondering when the curtain is going to rise.
A voice floated past. "I want to hurt him. Hurt him like he hurt me."
There are many ways to say this line, many shades of emotion to color and twist the words, most of them angry, the flash fire of passion, later repented, or the cold determination of hate. Yet in this recital, there was only the petulant whine of a spoiled child who'd grown into a spoiled adult, never learning that the world didn't owe her a perfect life.
Another voice answered, a whisper that rose and fell with the cadence of a rowboat rocking on a gentle current. "How would you do that?"
"I—I don't know." The pout came through loud and clear, then the demand. "Tell me."
"No… you tell me."
"I want to hurt him. Make him pay." A pause. "He doesn't love me anymore. He said so."
"And what do you want to do about it?"
"Take away what he does love." A trill of smug satisfaction, as if she'd surprised herself with her insight.
"What would that be?"
"The kids."
"So why don't you do it?"
I waited, tensed, expecting the obvious reason—the natural reason, mingled with a stab of horror for having thought of such a thing in the first place.
"I'm afraid," she said.
"Afraid of what?" the voice asked.
"Of getting caught."
I snarled and threw myself against the confines of the darkness that surrounded me.
The voices vanished, and I found myself in a small room. I was humming, rubbing my hands together. I looked down at my hands. A bar of soap in one, a washcloth in the other. A splash and a shriek of delight. I looked up, still humming, to see three small children in the bathtub.
I tried to wrench my consciousness free from Sullivan's, my mental self kicking and screaming. The scene went mercifully dark.
Hate washed through me. Not my hate for her, but hers for another. I was back inside Amanda Sullivan, in another dark place. Dark and empty. The Nix was gone.
Gone! The bitch! She abandoned me, left me here alone. She promised I wouldn't get caught.
Promised, promised, promised!
The world around me cleared, like a fog lifting. The endless litany of hate and blame and self-pity still looped through my brain. Before me sat a pleasant-looking man in a suit.
"This voice…" the man said, his voice an even baritone. "Tell me more about the voice."
"She told me to do it. She made me."
The man's eyes pierced Sullivan's, probing, not buying this line of bullshit for one second. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. She told me to do it."
"But when you spoke to the police, you said she encouraged you. That's not the same as telling you."
"My children were dead. Dead! And I used the wrong word, so fucking sue me, you son of a bitch. I was devastated." A practiced sob. "My world… ripped apart."
"By your own hands."
"No! She did it. She… she took me over. It was her idea—"
"You said it was your idea. You thought of it—"
"No!" Sullivan flew to her feet, spittle flying. "I didn't! I didn't think of it! It was her idea! Hers! All hers!"
Again, the scene went dark. A few others passed by… the arraignment, the hearing where she'd been denied bail, the failed insanity bid, two attacks by fellow inmates who wanted her punished as much as I did. Then it ended.
Trsiel released my hand.
"Nothing," he said. "The Nix has crossed back."
"Huh?"
"She's returned to the ghost world, probably right after the crime. So long as she's there, the link between her and this partner is severed until she returns to this dimension."
"What if we kill her?"
Now it was Trsiel's turn to go "Huh," though he did it only with a frown.
I continued, "We kill Sullivan, she goes to the ghost world, and hooks into the Nix there."
He continued to frown.
"What?" I said. "You don't think it'll work?"
"Well, yes, I'm not sure it'll work, but I'm still stuck on the first part of the solution."
"Killing her? Oh, please. Don't give me some cock-and-bull about letting human justice run its course.
Screw that. She killed her kids. She deserves to die. That's what that big sword is for, right?
Administering justice. Doesn't get any more just than that."
"Yes, well, uh—"
"You don't want to do it? Here, let me. Be a pleasure."
For a moment, he just stared at me. Then he gave a sharp shake of his head. "We can't do it. Even if she were dead, I might not be able to contact the Nix through her."
"So? No harm in trying. Worst thing that happens, she dies, goes to her hell and, whoops, it didn't work after all. What a shame."
"No, Eve. We can't."
I strode over to the bars and glared through at Sullivan, then turned that glare on Trsiel. "So her life is worth more than those of the Nix's next victims? Oh, geez, no, we can't kill this murdering bitch because that would be wrong. Fuck this! Tell you what, you've warned me, right? You've done your job. So how about you just pop back over to cloud nine, or wherever it is you guys hang out, and let me do my job."
"You can't."
"Can't read her mind? I know that. I can't follow her into her ghost-world dimension, either. That's your job. I'll just deliver her."
