"Although very vocal at the beginning, the movement fighting for Impacted rights eventually faded, replaced soon after by the next big scandal and that one by the next. Repression does not snuff out the flame of outrage. Time and apathy do. And so we forgot."
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The gray blanket of clouds blotting out the sun gave the city an odd washed-out feeling, and I couldn’t help but be depressed at the sight. I wasn’t particularly a fan of bright and sunny days, as I didn’t get out often, but I truly loathed what I called ‘grey days’. They felt gloomy and oppressive. But right now, I couldn’t muster the courage to do anything other than staring at the depressing view outside.
My current class would probably be quite interesting in another context. Right now, the techniques of masking and keyframe automation in motion graphics couldn’t be of less interest to me. There were two things on my mind. First, I was dreading tonight’s appointment with my therapist like few things before. Two, I was still bothered by the fact that I was an actual killer now.
I had pondered over the notion for a while and had determined that what was done was done, and so I shouldn’t obsess over it. But, aside from the obvious mental burden of my actions, I was now freaking out at the prospect of having cops—or criminals—knocking my door down to ask questions about the missing people. Alison had assured me that they wouldn’t find anything since we got rid of all the usable proof, but a nagging feeling at the back of my brain kept screaming that we could have missed something. And I thought that, for once, my erratic hind-brain could be right. I knew that this was mostly the usual paranoia speaking, but I also could think of many things we hadn’t taken the time to cover up. Our footprints, for instance. Or the miscellaneous ammo we had left embedded in the walls at the places we’d fought. Or simply the fact that we had never double-checked whether everything had indeed burned down after Alison had set the premises on fire.
Those nagging feelings were probably exacerbated due to my current mental instability, but I really felt that they were rooted in some kernel of possible truth.
We could have forgotten something. But I don’t see how I could act on them. It’s not like going back to those places would be a good idea right now. Maybe I should look them up online? But what if they can track that kind of stuff? Shit.
I turned my gaze away from the window and stared at my computer screen. The CSR University hadn’t updated its IT infrastructure in close to ten years, and it showed. The thin obsidian-colored CPU was deceivingly slow, and although the specs were good enough for the classes, most people preferred bringing their own laptops.
Since this is a school computer, it should make it harder for them to track it down to me, right? I don’t think anybody will remember who was sitting there at this particular time.
This class was directed in groups of 12 to 15, in rooms that housed about double that amount of computers, so I took the opportunity to sit as far away from the others as I could while still being close enough not to be noticed. The current setup allowed me to keep an eye on every other student and the teacher at all times.
I glanced at the empty seat next to me, which currently faced a black screen, and quietly leaned on the side to press the on-off switch. The relatively quiet fans whirred to life, and the computer booted up with a faint hum.
I discreetly turned on the screen once I was sure the boot sequence had ended. I then opened the browser in private mode and typed in the address of an online VPN. Can never be too careful.
I looked around to make sure no one was in line of sight of the monitor and typed in the various addresses of the places Alison and I had ‘visited’.
First, I looked for that abandoned precinct I had met Alison in. Although there were mentions of it burning down, nothing seemed to hint at the fact that people had died in it, never mind the fact that a human-trafficking gang had occupied it for god knows how long.
I didn’t move, but a faint feeling of relief bubbled in my stomach. That’s one down. Three to go.
My second query was Martel’s address, that house on the outskirts of town where we had found the first actual evidence that supported Alison’s claims. This one yielded more mixed results. The cops had definitely notified the press that this was a homicide, but they seemed to think that the most likely culprits were an escaped ex-con who wanted revenge on Martel. The bad news was that they had linked that story with Arnaud De Sevin’s disappearance a few days ago.
All things considered, though, it’s not as bad as it could be. They still think that some random gangs did it. They don’t even suspect the involvement of an Impacted.
My subsequent search was, of course, the place where I had killed De Sevin. Somehow, this one didn’t give any relevant results. This was worrisome, as I knew for a fact that the cops had been there to arrest the tough-skinned guy.
Not wanting to dwell on the matter, I looked up the fourth and last place Alison and I had been. That abandoned house we had found the kids in. To my immense relief, I didn’t catch anything I hadn’t seen before. People still thought of it as haunted, and there wasn’t any report of any kind of incident.
Deep down, I knew that this quick search was an exercise in futility. If what Alison had told me was true—and I was still having a hard time believing some of it—it would be impossible to find out if the IHI truly knew about us through conventional means.
“Hey, Alex, right?” a feminine voice asked.
I froze, and my blood ran cold. I quickly clenched my right fist so that my index finger wouldn’t be visible and tried my best to hide my left pinkie’s last phalanx without looking suspicious. I was so focused on these searches that I forgot to watch for people. I fumbled while trying to close the browser window with my left hand, as it was the one with the least noticeable scars.
“Uh, yeah,” I finally muttered nervously as I kept my gaze on the screen. To my growing frustration and horror, the browser window had frozen, and the most recent search about the ‘haunted house’ was plain for all to see—or in this case, for whoever was talking to me. I hadn’t looked at the person who had spoken yet, frozen in my panic, so I decided to do what I probably couldn’t have done a few weeks ago and turned my head to smile at the person who spoke.
“I’m sorry, I seem to have crashed that computer. Do you mind using another one?” I said in the fakest cheery voice I could muster.
Now that I was facing her, I recognized the girl talking to me. She was the Student Office representative of our year. Lisa? I think? She was red-haired and petite, with freckles, and wore her hair in a ponytail that made her look older than she was.
Her perfume smelled way too sweet for my tastes, and she exuded an aura of utmost confidence. Those combined factors made me involuntarily tense up when she leaned in closer to reply.
“Oh no, that’s fine. I’m not here for the computer. I’m doing a census because we want to move Mrs. Pelissier’s class to tomorrow morning so that we can get the whole Thursday off,” she said with a beaming smile.
“Uh, sure. I don’t care either way,” I replied noncommittally. I honestly couldn’t care less about those kinds of issues right now. I just wanted her away from me.
“Awesome. By the way, I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Lisa. Nice to meet you, Alex,” she spoke in a tone I would qualify as ‘earnest’ if she hadn’t had something to ask from me a few seconds ago.
“Nice to meet you too,” I replied mechanically. Maybe if I don’t engage her too much, she’ll leave me alone…
“Wow, is that that haunted house in the Abbaye district?” she said suddenly as she pointed a finger at the still-frozen screen beside me.
Once again, I froze. I couldn’t afford to raise suspicions… Wait, she’s not with the IHI. She’s probably just interested in spooky stories and stuff.
I calmly collected myself and put on my best intriguing expression.
“Yeah, you’re a fan of haunted places and spooky stories?” I said with a level of confidence I didn’t quite have.
“Pffft, no,” she said with a dismissal gesture. “That’s baby stuff. What I’m interested in is the Impacted underground life going on in this city.”
Her reply elicited a quirk of my brow.
“Oh, really?” I asked with genuine interest. “Mind sharing notes, then?”
This could be my way of getting more info on what the public knows that the Scanner doesn’t hide.
Lisa cast a cautious glance around us before sitting down in the chair next to me.
“Okay, so I need to know how much you know, like, to be sure you’re not making fun of me before I tell you anything.” Her demeanor had changed entirely. She wasn’t the bubbly and cheerful girl asking me to move classes a few minutes ago, now she was full-on Serious Mode.
“I’m not sure I can tell you before I know how much YOU know,” I replied in earnest. I would be cautious of what I would tell her, but I couldn’t let the opportunity of getting more information go away.
“Alright, fair is fair. I was the one who barged in while you were sneakily doing your searches and all,” she said with a smile, this time showing much more teeth than the ones before. “I’m what you’d call an Impacted aficionado, but I like to think I know a bit more about the topic than the average super-power nerd.”
“Ooh, juicy,” I said with a faint smile. “I think I know more than the average Joe myself, but I have to admit that there are some pretty large gaps in my knowledge.”
“Such as?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Well… Let’s say I stumbled into that world recently due to a series of… unfortunate events. And now I’m trying to gather as much information as I can.”
“Right,” she said, tone impassible. “Mind being a little bit more specific?”
“Well…” I started as I tried my hardest to think of a way to tell part of the truth without putting her or myself in danger. “Let’s say I stumbled upon a place with… abnormal activity recently. So I started gathering info on all the locations that seemed to have similar stuff going on.”
“What kind of abnormal activity?” she asked in a conspiratory whisper.
“Well, you know, Impacted stuff,” I said in confusion. The topic had seemed pretty clear to me until now.
“Wait, you mean to tell me you’ve met a real one?” she exclaimed in a whisper.
“Well, yeah... Is that so rare?” I replied with a quizzical look.
“No, but it’s not, like, a super common occurrence. Was it dangerous? What were you doing there? Where was it?” she bombarded me with questions as if I had opened the floodgates to a river of curiosity.
“Err… It’s like… You know urban exploration?” I cringed at my half-assed lie. She nodded, and I continued. “Well, I was exploring this abandoned… warehouse with a friend. And we stumbled upon… a shootout. And one of the guys was deflecting bullets with his bare skin.”
What the hell am I doing?! Not only is this lie going to come back to bite me in the ass at some point, now I got a chick obsessed with my Impacted story. She could start snooping in all the wrong places. I need to defuse this situation.
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“Holy shit!” she exclaimed a tad too loud. “I knew it! There are underground wars involving Impacted people in this city!”
More than you know…
“Yeah, it’s pretty bad. I don’t know whether telling you all this was such a good idea, though. I don’t know how much danger I’m in, to be perfectly honest.”
At least that was the truth.
“Holy hell! I knew you must have had a reason for being, like, all broody and stuff, but I could have never imagined how extensive this was,” Lisa said as she cast another glance around to make sure no one else was listening.
This again? Does she know Alison?
“Yeah. I don’t know how bad it really is, so I’m trying to look for as many clues as I can,” I explained.
“Do you want to get together later and discuss what we both know on the topic?” she asked eagerly.
“Err, sure.” Once again, the words escaped my mouth without me having the time to mull them over.
“How’s tomorrow night? At the campus library. We don’t have any classes after 15:00,” she said.
“Sounds fine,” I replied as I tried making sense of what was going on.
“Alright, see you then,” Lisa replied. She stood up and waved as she left, leaving a trail of sweet-smelling perfume behind her.
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For the first time since I had started attending his sessions, Dr. Santos admitted me immediately, without making me wait in the waiting room first. I greeted him with an awkward smile and a timid ‘Good evening’ as I entered his office, and his worried expression did nothing to soothe the internal stress I was feeling.
Every step towards the familiar seat in front of the wooden desk was like a stab of anxiety in my gut, and my insides knotted in anticipation as I frantically tried to think of what to say to my therapist during the next hour.
“Good evening, Alex,” my therapist said as he sat down behind the wooden desk in front of me. “First off, are you alright?”
“Uh, yeah,” I simply replied, not sure what to say. “How are you?”
“I’m doing well,” Dr. Santos replied without skipping a beat. “Listen, Alex, I know you don’t get to see me worried often, but what you told me yesterday isn’t just some random event in your life. This could mean a real life change for you.”
“Yes, I know. And I’d like to avoid the worst possibilities regarding that,” I said in frustration. I knew that my therapist meant well, but if there was one thing I was fully aware of, it was the magnitude of the shitstorm I was currently standing in the middle of.
“I know you do. And I’m here to help,” he said simply.
“How?” I simply asked.
“Well, first, you could start by telling me a little bit more about your current… situation,” the doctor said, tone more mellow than before.
“You didn’t answer the question,” I said with irritation. This pained me. During my whole year and a half of therapy, I had never had any kind of open disagreement with my therapist. And this was a heavy burden on the mind. More so, it was a gust of wind on the raging fire of my emotions. He’s too curious, and I don’t like it.
“You’re right. I didn’t. I apologize for that,” Dr. Santos said in a calm voice. “To be able to help you, I need to know the full extent of your situation, lest I give you advice that ends up being harmful to you.”
“Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think you’re qualified for dealing with that particular aspect of my life,” I said through gritted teeth. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but you’re here as my psychologist, not as my super-power counselor.”
“Please tone the aggressivity down, Alex,” the man said with a frown. “I ask you to please believe I don’t mean to pry out of a misplaced sense of curiosity. I’m merely interested in knowing how I can best help you. If you don’t want to talk about it, so be it. But know that as with all the other issues, it won’t get better until you open up a little.”
I breathed in deep. He was right.
“I’m sorry,” I said in a whisper. “I’m so stressed, and I don’t even know where to start.”
“Can you start by telling me what your power is? I know this is hard, but I need to know how much of a potential danger you could be in,” he said with that signature soothing voice of his.
He said how much of a potential danger ‘I could be in’. Maybe he’s trying to know how much of a danger HE’S in. No, wait. That’s paranoia speaking.
My addled mind was turning the outside world against me, even one of the people in whom I had placed the most trust in my entire life. That had to stop. I took a deep breath and replied.
“It’s nothing harmful. It’s just gross. I’d rather not get into too many details, but know that it’s basically just a fast healing ability,” I said as I stared at my hands, currently resting on my lap. Wearing long sleeves and gloves had been an automatic decision now. Plus, if I’m honest, I very rarely stare at other people’s fingers. The risk of somebody noticing my scars is rather low in my day-to-day life. Still, I wasn’t too keen on the idea of it getting out.
“I see,” the therapist said cautiously as he pondered on the matter. “And how did you come across this newfound ability? Again, I’m not trying to pry. I just want a little bit of context.”
I winced. I was now caught between a rock and a hard place from the lies I had told before.
“It was during that time when I… helped someone like I told you the other day,” I started. “I kinda hurt myself pretty bad, and it healed super fast.”
“Did you hurt yourself, or did somebody else hurt you?” Dr. Santos asked with a deceivingly sweet voice.
“I got hurt. But it’s okay now. That person can’t hurt me anymore if that’s what you’re wondering,” I replied as I squeezed my right index finger.
“What do you mean, they can’t hurt you anymore?” the doctor asked.
“Can we please change the topic? This is making me uncomfortable,” I replied truthfully.
“Once again, I’m terribly sorry,” the bald man said in a genuine tone. “Let’s not dwell on painful memories. You were right. From what you told me, I don’t think you’re in any kind of immediate danger. But I still strongly advise you to reach out to an IHI representative, as they are specially trained to handle people in your situation. I can give you the number of their center in town if you want.”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” I replied. “As I told you before, I’m seeing an Impacted specialist who ran a bunch of tests on me to make sure I wasn’t going to suffer unforeseen consequences from my power.”
“That’s good, then.” An invisible tension seemed to disappear from Dr. Santos’ body as he spoke. “So, who is in the know regarding this little secret, aside from us.”
“Well… There’s that girl who I met. The one I told you about. She’s… She’s okay with it. But she’s a bit weird. But I think I kinda like hanging out with her.”
“Oh?” Dr. Santos said with a raised eyebrow.
“No, it’s not like that,” I said hurriedly. “She’s like a good friend. But I would never, ever, in a million years, date someone like her. I think she’s got a few screws too loose.”
“But you get along well with this person, right?” the therapist asked.
“Her name is A—Ashley.” I quickly corrected myself. I didn’t think Dr. Santos would do anything with that information, but the less he knew, the better. “I think she might seriously be a bit crazy, but of the good kind, you know? The kind that makes you feel more human, in a way? I don’t know if I’m making sense…”
“Maybe you could give me an example of why you refer to her as ‘crazy’ in that context?” Dr. Santos said.
“Well, I think she doesn’t really understand what danger is. Like, she keeps cracking jokes all the time. She never stops. Even back then, when we were in actual danger…” I trailed off.
“Some people find in jokes what others find in silence and contemplation. Maybe it’s her way of dealing with stress,” Dr. Santos said.
“Right. That’s kind of what she told me,” I replied. I hadn’t noticed until now, but talking about my ‘friendship’ with Alison put me in a better mood than before. For a moment, I almost forgot about the other issues.
Almost. I thought.
“She does seem like an interesting character,” the man said pensively.
“Oh, that she is. I don’t think I’ve ever been bored when I’m with her. She’s crazy in all the ways I’m not. And she makes me see and do things I’d never had done otherwise.
That sounds sweet and happy, but I can guarantee that the actual truth is not what he thinks.
“I think I see your point. So this Ashley is like a foil to you. She contrasts your qualities and complements what you consider to be your shortcomings. Am I getting this right?” Dr. Santos asked.
“Pretty much,” I said honestly. “I also think I can help her in many regards.”
“That’s good. It sounds like a mutually profitable friendship, then,” the therapist said with a genuine smile. “It’s the first time I hear you talking about making friends, Alex. I think this is really good.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed. “Speaking of which. I think I made a second friend today.”
“Oh? Well, this is way better than I had initially expected. Where did you make this other friend?” the therapist said with a pleased expression.
“At school. She’s like a representative for the Student Office in our year. She randomly came up to me, and we hit it off. We share a… similar interest.”
“Sounds like the beginning of a great story,” the doctor said with a kind smile. “I’m glad you’re seeing people, Alex.”
I couldn’t help but smile in turn. He was right. Despite all that was currently wrong with my life, I had actual people I shared things with for the first time.
I’ve determined that I’m going down a dark path. Nothing is forcing me to do so with a frown. I decided.
The end of our session was like the end of a good TV show or movie. I felt a pang of regret as I exited the room to go back home. This time I didn’t take any shortcuts and made sure to give the Capucine District a wide berth, but still, I made sure to make a small detour to get a Kebab and a serving of fries in the Stake Corner. Tim seemed to be pleased to see me and insisted on giving it away for free, but I ignored the plea, as usual, and paid for my meal.
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I found myself eagerly awaiting 15:00 the next day. Not only did I have a ‘date’ with a pretty girl, but I might also find out valuable information about the world I was now a part of.
The second my class ended—Lisa and I were not in the same one at this particular time—I immediately exited the room and ran to the library at a brisk pace. Although the library building was a good ten minutes away from the building, I was currently in, getting there felt more like a few seconds. I was so excited!
I stopped before the building as I looked at the massive lettering above the door. It simply read: ‘University Library Of Corman-sur-Rhône’.
I had to admit that I hadn’t set foot in that building until this point; I was vaguely aware that it was the preferred place for most people to study and sleep during off periods, but I had yet to actually see what was inside. I took a deep breath and entered.
The inside was, unsurprisingly, composed of mostly bookcases and study tables. Although the bright blue and yellow colors of the floors and walls were somewhat of a bold choice for a place of peace and quiet.
The linoleum floor squeaked comically with each of my steps as I trudged through the quiet room to look for Lisa, and I had to stop myself from chuckling as the sound reminded me of Squidward from Spongebob. After a couple of minutes spent searching, I finally caught a whiff of a familiar sweet smell. I turned my head in the direction the smell was coming from and, sure enough, Lisa was sitting at one of the tables, reading something on her laptop.
“Hey Lisa,” I said in what I hoped was a cool-sounding voice. “Been looking for you.”
She immediately shushed me but smiled afterward. She then started whispering. “This is a library, be quiet.”
“Oh, shit, sorry,” I whispered in turn. “I’ve never been here before.”
“I would think that somebody who hides as much as you do likes to spend time in libraries,” she remarked with an amused expression.
“I find the confines of my apartment to be the most suitable place to hide away from the world, thank you very much,” I replied with a smirk.
It hadn’t hit me until now, but being in close proximity with Lisa made me more confident. I managed to quickly shoot back witty replies that I would otherwise fail to deliver. If I had to put it into words, I would say that she made me feel… comfortable.
“So, where do we start,” I asked as I sat down in the chair next to hers.
“Well, I thought I’d bring you up to date on what stuff you have to know about the local criminal scene,” she said with a severe expression.
“Oh. That sounds serious,” I whispered.
“That’s because it is. What I’m telling you isn’t exactly common knowledge. My mom’s a police detective, so I get more information than other people.
I smiled faintly. That might be a real good opportunity for me to get helpful information.
“Anyway,” she continued. “The first thing you have to know is that there are indeed some Rampants and Impacted folks working with criminals in this city. I don’t have estimates, and I’m pretty sure my mom doesn’t tell me the most important bits, but from what she told me and what I’ve gathered online, there are around ten to twenty Impacted folks in this town alone. Out of those, about six to ten of them are known for being involved with the underworld.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “That’s like, a third to a half of the Impacted population in town! How can half of them be criminals?”
Also, twenty or so of us? That sounds like a rather low figure. This town has more than a million inhabitants. There’s no way that there are only twenty impacted people in the vicinity.
“Lower your voice,” she said as she swatted at me gently. “I said that they were involved with the underworld, not that they were criminals. Some of them are just known to work for shady people, like the restaurants along the Orme banks.”
I had heard about that. A large number of Italian-mafia-controlled restaurants had popped up around the river after the second world war and had kept “control” of it all up until now. I had first dismissed the notion as rumors, or at worse, an exaggeration, but after seeing a couple of stories of people getting stabbed in that neighborhood, I had re-evaluated the possibility of said rumors being true.
“I see. So they work with the mob,” I said.
“Some of them do. Others work with gangs. Some probably work with both. What I’m trying to figure out is whether you’ve met the former or the latter. You haven’t told me yet, by the way,” she said with a frown. “What exactly happened between you and them?”
“I… uh. I’d rather not get into details. But I met their Impacted goon face to face, and he knows what I look like,” I replied anxiously.
“That’s it? Just the one guy? No one else saw you? Were you chased?” she asked.
“No. We weren’t chased. But yeah, I’m pretty sure that he’s the only one who’s seen my face.”
Aside from the one I killed…
“Okay. Now. Can you tell me what he looked like? Or any information that you could use to identify him?”
“He was bald,” I said quietly. “And had very tough skin. Oh, and his name was Serge.”
“Oh! You’re talking about Serge Degenhardt!” she exclaimed in a loud whisper. “I know him. Everybody at my mom’s work knows him! He’s famous for getting in and out of jail very often.”
“Okay, so?” I asked nervously. “How bad is it?”
“Mmh. Honestly, I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “Degenhardt isn’t known to be very violent. I don’t think that he’s ever killed anyone. But that’s the intel my mom gave me, so I don’t know how reliable it is.”
“So, you’re telling me that I’ve been through this whole emotional roller-coaster just for you to tell me that you don’t know?” I said in irritation.
“Hey, calm your horses. I told you I didn’t know everything. But if it can assuage your fears, I’m pretty sure he won’t be able to find you just from having seen your face. Plus, I can tell my mom. If he goes snooping around for someone that fits your description, she’ll know right away.”
Not very reassuring. I guess it was my mistake to place too much hope on this.
“Alright, I need to change topics, or I’m going to obsess over this. Tell me about your family. Your mom’s a cop, you said?” I asked.
We spent the rest of the afternoon discussing various topics, and despite the lingering anxiety linked to the issue we had brushed, I was feeling… alright. Should I be worried about that?