I’m worried about Sasha.  (If you’re reading this, darling, I’m worried about you.)  Lately he’s been sleeping badly, even for him, and spends a lot of time in the shower, even for him.  Last night was the first time he's slept in two days.  The two days before that, we slept for only a few hours and spent most of it tossing and turning and shivering.  I’m wondering if this is just his usual anxiety or if there’s something else, something like with this case or maybe the one before it, that I completely overlooked.  Could I be that dense?  I feel like I'm a terrible girlfriend for not understanding  him.  (Sasha, baby, please let me in.  You know you can trust me.  I love you.)

I hope maybe he's just stressed out about the case.  It was stressful for all of us.

So now I have a nice transition to:  The Case.  We were supposed to talk to Mr. Mike Shedbar in Latvia, take Jenny back to headquarters, and fill out all the paperwork.  Things turned ugly.  (As usual?  [scoff]

But the odds were on our side.  There were seven of us and two of them.  On the other hand, they had the advantage of surprise and desperation.  The first few moments helped them a lot; before we could say “how do you do” the light fixture fell directly on Jack’s head, knocking him out immediately, and a transpsychic jolt from Mike immediately put Ayame out of the game.  (Transpsychosis is just a fancy way of saying confusion; an electrical jolt to the brain causes disorientation, unconsciousness, and sometimes even death.) 

This left me, Sasha, Raz (who is only a little boy and shouldn’t have even been on this case IMHO), Osterius, Sal, Mike, and Jenny.

Did I mention it was dark?  Yeah, the light fixture was draped gracefully over Jack’s head so we couldn’t see except for echokinesis.  I heard a loud clank and a scaping noise like metal.  Remember that scene in Titanic where Jack is running through the underbelly of the ship and finds that little kid, and grabs him, and then the dad grabs the kid and runs away and there’s that metal-straining noise and the wall collapses in a HUGE gush of water?  Okay, that’s almost exactly what happened, except Leonardo DiCaprio wasn’t around for it. 

Mike had broken open the stone wall of the basement and burst a pipeline.  Jenny, an aquakinetic, immediately made use of the water.  She froze a chunk of it the size of a bowling ball and threw it at Sal’s head.  He shielded just in time; the ice hit the psychic shield he project so hard it made him staggered.  It barely dented the ice.

I heard Raz screech.  (He hates water.)  Somewhere there was a massive splash and then a drowning noise; Jenny had wrapped a sheet of water over Osterius’s face and was smothering him.  He grabbed Jenny’s own ball of ice telekinetically and whipped it at Mike; Mike blew it into pieces, and everyone paused to duck as shards of ice like glass rained down on us.  A second later, I felt water on my face.  It was like a living thing, refusing to slide off.   

“RAZPUTIN!” barked a voice in my head.  “PROJECT!”

“She’s drowning me!” 

“Project, dammit!  Into her head!  Now!”

“Someone project!” yelled Sal.  All five of us were clawing at our faces, where Jenny was expertly holding the sheets of water over them.  I could see through a blurry inch of water that Mike was watching expressionlessly as we struggled. 

“I don’t have one of those door shaped things!”

“You stupid child, you don’t need a TED to project!  For Gott’s sake you’re an astral projectionist!  Now!  Razputin!” screamed Sasha. 

Osterius was silent; he had passed out already.  It was just the four of us and we were fading fast.  I couldn’t hear anything except Sasha screaming in my head.  Then, suddenly, there was a massive flash of light and for a split second I saw Raz and a thin band of light from him to Jenny.  He had figured it out; he was projecting.  Except I also saw (well, not saw; you couldn’t see it, it was more like feeling it; I think only a psychic would have seen or felt it or whatever it was) these bands of light between Jenny and Mike, and between Raz and me and Sasha, and between me and Sasha, and between Sasha and Sal.  And I realized that Raz hadn’t just opened Jenny’s mind to jump into it and stop her from drowning us.  In a panic, he had opened all the minds he was connected to in that room, which included me and Sasha.  And he had opened Jenny’s, and Jenny was connected to Mark, and Sal and I were connected to Sasha and everyone, everyone but Osterius, Ayame, and Jack, who were lying face down in the two feet of water on the floor, were being pulled into one mind by Razputin, who was too scared and is far too young to realize just how powerful he is.  All at once, all six of us—me, him, Jenny, Mike, Sal, and Sasha—were being pulled into Jenny’s mind. 

And then it went dark, and the last thing I heard in my head was a little splashing, and I swear I thought I saw a hand reaching up for me.

We stepped into the hall coughing, stomping slush off our shoes, our faces red with cold like little kids coming in from making a snowman. 

I'm calling it a "hall" because it sort of looked like those medieval halls in movies, made of stone.  It was probably  once an old, one-story barn, and the barn had been made into the living room and then additional rooms had been tacked on as an afterthought.  From the outside, through the snow, I had seen it was mostly one-story, except for a single loft that was probably now a study or a bedroom.

The place was barely furnished.  There was a table and some metal folding chairs in the middle, but no other furniture worth noticing.

And there were dogs on the floor, but none barked, because all  of them were dead.  Most were only skeletons.  A few had that dried, leathery look of mummies.

Jenny patted one on the head absent-mindedly.  Ayame stifled a noise of disgust.  I probably did too. 

“They sure take ‘play dead’ seriously,” Razputin whispered.  Sasha elbowed him in the stomach.  Hard.

“I’ll get Shedbar,” she said, sitting down at the table.  We looked at each other.  I looked at Sasha.  Sasha to Jack.  Jack to Ayame.  Ayame to Osterius.  Osterius to Sal.  Sal to Raz.  Raz brought the whole circuit back to me.

“Nice dog,” blurted Raz suddenly. 

Sasha elbowed him again, but Jenny had already turned.  Her eyes were less scared than before and a little bit more focused.  She observed him carefully.

“Thank you,” she said.  “Would you like drinks?” 

“No thank you, Jenny,” said Jack.  “Actually, we want to talk to you and Shedbar.  Remeber?  You were going to go get him?”

She rose.  “He’s downstairs.  I’ll get him.” 

“You just said—” began Osterius.

Raz elbowed him.  Hard.

“We’ll come with you,” said Osterius pleasantly, unwilling to let our subject out of sight.  She gave us no adknowledgement, so we followed her to the other end of the room.  Our footsteps echoed on the stone floor.  We were careful not to step on the bones.

“This is creepy,” I thought to Sasha.

“Seems Truman always gives us the worst ones, nah?” he thought back.

Jenny opened a door.  It led down.  We followed her down a widely curving staircase.  I was surprised that the old barn had a basement, and I was more surprised at its depth; it must have been at least two stories underground, and it was much more expansive than a normal basement.

Jenny turned left at the bottom (you could only turn left or right) and began making her way down the hall.  Jack nudged me suddenly.

“This is a cave,” he thought.  “A natural cave; they built the barn over it and made the staircase, but look at the walls.” 

I looked.  The walls were stone.  Sure enough, this was a natural cavern, which explained how large it was.  The walls had been carved down so that they were even, and one wall even had a shrine thing carved out.  (For those wondering, there was another pile of dog heads in it.)  Obviously, Shedbar had inherited or purchased the barn; he couldn't have made a basement from a cave in so short a time, even if he was psychic.

We followed Jenny through a metal door, all of us reciting in our heads what we would say to Shedbar to convince him that we were good guys and only wanted to help him and Jenny.  The metal door led into a room creepily different from the rest of the basement; this room was immaculately white.  It was warm and well-lit.  It was pleasant.

Shedbar was at his desk.  He hardly looked up; then, taking notice of us, dropped his checkbook and leaned back. 

“Jenny, who are all these people?” he asked sweetly.  His voice had a bitter aftertaste, like he wasn't really happy to see us at all.

“Guests,” she said. 

With a universal motion, EFP, ESP, JPA, and PTU badges were displayed.

“We’re with the EFP/ESP/JPA/PTU,” we chorused.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” we said. 

He stood up.  “I’m Michael Shedbar,” he said.  He extended a hand.  We introduced ourselves, shook hands.  We took our cue from him and ignored Jenny, who leaning against the wall chewing a nail, looking young for her age and absent-mindedly twirling one of the dog collars on her belt.  (She hadn't taken off any of her layers when we came indoors and she was starting to resemble a caveman with her matted hair and bulky clothes.)

Michael—we were all suddenly on a first-name basis—was a very normal-looking man.  He was average height, had an average face.  Dark, short hair, a square jaw, glasses for reading.  If we didn't already know he was psychic, then he might have passed for a non-psychic.  He looked serious, but also like he threw good Christmas parties.  I felt bad we were meeting for the first time like this.

“I take it you’re here for Jennifer?” he asked. 

“Yes,” said Osterius.  “You already know she’s wanted.”  He said it like it was half a question.

“Am I wanted, too?” he asked. 

“You’re one of us,” said Osterius tactfully.

Michael shook his head, smiling wearily.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t, in good conscience, let you take her.  I don’t agree with your organizations’ practices.”

“Our practices are designed to protect you.” 

“Really?  Or to protect the rest of the world from us?” he demanded.

“Listen, Mike—we want to do this the easy way.  We don’t want to have to fight,” said Jack gently.  “Come with us.  Please.”

“I’m sorry.  You seem like nice people.  But I can’t.  Jennifer and I discussed this already, and we both agree we would much rather die.”  He opened his arms.  “So… if you have to kill us, then kill us.” 

Raz looked up at me.  Ford and I had “forgotten” to tell him that sometimes have situations like these.  I felt even worse that what should have been an easy talk and a nice, easy mission were slowly turning hostile. 

“Surely you didn’t want to arrange negotiations just so we could kill you?” asked Ayame.

“Is there another option?” he asked. 

“Come with—”

“No.” 

“I have to warn you,” said Jack gently, “that it’s sort of policy that we try our hardest to take you alive and not kill you.”

I heard a little crackle next to me.  I looked down.  There were sparks on Raz's fingertips.  Just like any other little boy, he was ready to jump in and do some psychnautical ass-kicking.  I decided it was my turn to elbow him, so I did.  Hard.

“If you try to take us, we’ll fight," said Michael.

“We don’t want to fight," I told him as sincerely as I could.  I kept my elbow poised and ready to kill Raz's enthusiasm.

“I’m not going,” said Jenny suddenly.  She pushed off the wall, standing with her legs slightly apart, body tense, eyes wide.  I could tell she was on the verge of one of her violent explosions.

“Mike,” pleaded Jack, looking at Michael.  He merely shrugged. 

“We’re not going to give ourselves over.  I’m sorry,” he said. 

Maybe we would have talked more.  Maybe it would have gone better, but Jenny isn't on our Wanted list for nothing;  with a shriek, she lunged at us, and Mike’s pen flew at Osterius, nearly impaling him.  Just like that, our negotiations had ended.

Yea, so I was gonna be all deep today but don't feel like it now.  So instead I have a SURVAY from j_l_bate and then I'm gonna go clubbing.

She came to us as we were coming to her.

It was cold out, but not really freezing; I could tell by the rain.  It was an awful freezing sleet that coated everything in a layer of ice.  We got lost after only a few minutes.  Salvador Canola said we should have turned right, and Ayame Inoue said we should have turned left (those two never did get along) and Osterius just pulled his hood up and scoffed at all of us like a grumpy little owl.

The wind made it hard to tell which direction we were even facing.  The street we were on might have been two feet away from a village, or we might have wandered off the path and been very far out in the country.  Sal started suggesting that the negotiations weren’t worth it, and if we were late then we might now bother going, and Jack Harris began suggesting we carjack someone, even though the walk was only supposed to be less than two hours.  (Assuming we were going the right way.)

Then she appeared, like the White Witch in the Narnia books.

Like a ghost, in a perfect cinematic manner.  I knew it was her immediately, but her appearance has changed.  Her hair's longer, sort of matted even though there's more of it.  I don't think that her hair (it's a dirty, dishwater blond) has ever been washed or combed.  Her face still had this expression of wild, feral opposition, like she'll bite if you get too close  She looked warm.  She was wearing layers, the top of was fur, and heavy boots.  I noticed that she had on a belt, and there were dozens of dog collars on it—some were nylon, some homemade leather, some rusted chain, and some still had tags or the metal end bits from leashes.  I looked over at Sasha.  He looked back at me with a blank look that said, "It is not my job to interpret the workings of the criminally insanes’ minds." 

Okay... we could have taken her.  Right then and there, we could have killed her and the mission would be over.  Like Sash said later, one photokinetic shot to the head.  A single shot.

But we didn’t.  Because diplomacy is always preferable to force. 

“Do you hear them?” she called to us.

We cocked our heads but no one heard anything.

“No,” we all shouted back. 

“You’re lost,” she concluded.

We nodded vigorously in agreement. 

“Follow me,” she shouted, and turned.

Me and Sal and Sasha looked at each other.  Both were asking me the question in thought: should we?  I thought we should.  Weren’t we here to find her?  Now that we had, it would be dumb to let her go.  And what is the worst that could happen?  There were seven of us and one of her.  We could take her.  Maybe she would show us to others and we could recruit them and offer them a better life under the protection of the agency.  Yeah… it seemed like the only thing we could do was to should follow her.

So we did.

And, like Sasha said later, all it would have taken to have ended it all, right then and there, would have been a single shot.  But in the interest of humanity and diplomacy and freezing our tails off, we followed her instead, and that's how the whole thing started...

Sasha... please, please, please come back.  I miss you.  I'm worried about you.  Home is here with me, Sasha.  I don't understand why you're running away...

My font is weird and I dunno why.  :(  I was trying to use Comic Sans it but I thiiiink I might have failed a little bit.

ANYWAY.  Last week, I walked in on Justin Lutefisk.

He was was banging his head on his desk.

“Honey?” I said. 

“Oh, hello, Milla,” he said, freezing with the corner of his desk still pressed into the edge of his head.  I was thinking "ow."  I poked his head and lifted it up.  He was bruised around his eyes.  Reiterate: "ow."

“Whatcha doing?” 

“Thinking about the motives for lacing coke with psitanium.”

He slammed his head on the desk again.  “But it’s like one big impossibly jigsaw puzzle.  I don’t know, Milla.”

Jigsaw puzzle = awesome.

I went back to my office and made one.  Sasha walked in without knocking while I was on the floor trying to solve it.

“Ach,” he said wearily.  He shoved some of my pieces around with his foot.

“It’s a puzzle.”

“I can see that.”

“A puzzle of motives!”

He crouched and picked up a piece.  His forehead wrinkled.  (BTW, he really looks hot blonde.)

“Vodello, although I may not ever understand how your mind works… I must say, it is brilliant."  K, I think that was Sasha-speak for a compliment.  But I didn't want to spook him by acknowledging it.  

“So you like my puzzle huh?”

Sasha mixed around the pieces.  I tried to put one potential motive on each piece, how they got the psitanium and why it’s in cocaine.  Here’s some Sasha and Justin and I thought were best: 

1) It’s a psychic with the vendetta against non-psychics, purposely poisoning them.

2) It’s a psychic trying to reach out to other psychics, since only other psychics would feel the effects of the psitanium.

3) It’s a non-psychic unaware of what psitanium does, possibly accidentally synthesizing the stuff and contaminating cocaine with it.  He/She is probably already insane if that’s the case.

The first two theories make the most sense but they don’t explain where all the psitanium is coming from.  Truman is REALLY stressed about this case because having psitanium floating around in public is a HUGE security breach and has MAJOR implications.

Well, now they've arrested Foster so I had to redo my puzzle.  All the theories are still valid, is the thing, except more complicated. 

Example:

1) It’s a psychic with the vendetta against non-psychics, purposely poisoning them.  But that doesn't explain why Foster would go with such an easily traceable method.   He was employed by the agency and had WAY better resources.  Also, why would he need outside help?

2) It’s a psychic trying to reach out to other psychics, since only other psychics would feel the effects of the psitanium.  But wait, he knew Foster, and Foster knows the agency and lots of other psychics.  Why would he need to reach more and why would he be doing it under the agency's schnoz?

3) It’s a non-psychic unaware of what psitanium does, possibly accidentally synthesizing the stuff and contaminating cocaine with it.  He/She is probably already insane if that’s the case.  BUT we know Foster, at least, knew.  Why would Foster be giving it to non-psychics if he knew its implications?

Also, can non-psychics get addicted to psitanium?  I know psychics can buuuutttt...

Meh, I dunno.  That's all I wanted to say now.

I want this case to be OVAH.  I'm gonna miss the Kowalski Halloween party.  :(

Also, my userpic is perfect for this entry, and I don't care what anyone says, I think wombats are very lovable.  <3