This is becoming a collection of stereotypes out of a bad movie. I am lifting a drugged semiconcious women out of a trunk.

I’ve settled and fed the cats. But if I leave her in the trunk I could just have shot her and be done with it. So she rests tied to the garden table, having trained my ability to make complex loops and connect them, while I put everything I have unpacked into my storage space. Did a longing for having a home lead to this clusterfuck?

I sit down on a chair and contemplate my next steps. In fact I use a notepad to write them down

I – I let her go. Very bad. The car will be identified. I will be much easier to trace. If the Network has not used the police they will certainly look for me after that. And they chase cop killers a lot harder than deserters

II – I kill her. Objectively the best solution. Except …

III – I wait until civilization collapses or something. But I don’t have that much time. It is the most attractive solution though.

IV – I convince her to shut up. The best outcome as far as I am concerned. But how? I am a nerd, not a politician

V – I ask for help. Whom? The mysterious phone? My well being is unlikely to be high up on their agenda. They have a very questionable sense of morality. And they might even be easy to annoy. I haven’t dared to use the latest stone, heeding their note. And they may be watching anyway. And I may not be able to get the phone to call them.

I can’t even conjure a servant to watch her and I will have to feed her. So I warm up a can of Ravioli and sit down in the garden to meditate. Well, try to meditate. Meditation requires a certain peace of mind. Let’s be honest. In terms of effect I sit around in the garden.

--

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She came back to her senses and required me to lead her to the bathroom. I have decided that approach IV can be combined with III. But I had not counted on police training asserting itself in somebody barely hale enough to use a bathroom by herself.

SH: You did not want to do this. It was an unfortunate overreaction.

P: Of course I did not want to do this, why would I want to do this? The point of hiding is wanting to meet nobody.

SH: You do not want to make it worse?

P: Of course I do not want to make it worse. Why would anybody want to make things worse.

SH: Do you have anything to drink? Can we sit down in your beautiful garden.

I get her a can of coke out of my inventory

P: It is not my garden. I took it over from the old guy who had killed himself.

She is, slowly either because of the aftereffects or to not provoke me, on her way to the door. I have to follow.

P: And I am asking the questions here.

SH: You want to ask me questions?

P: No. I need to explain things to you.

SH: Why don’t you start with what you were doing in that pharmacy?

P: I was getting medication and kitten formula for that little kitten of this stray cat that came to my door, I mean actually the dead owner of this hous respectively his heir’s door.

SH: You care for people and cats?

P: No, I care only about cats … Stop! Shut up! I am asking the questions here!

She looks at me with a slightly tilted head.

SH: So what do you want?

P: I need you to forget everything.

SH: This isn’t up to me.

P: Of course it is.

SH: A man is missing. You have killed a man.

P: Yes.

That stops her.

SH: He was a man with dreams and hopes …

P: So were the men who died next to me fighting. You can forget the guilt trip.

SH: You are with the GDN.

I snort.

P: If I were GDN, you’d be now sitting in a lab, where men with hard faces would make it clear why you have seen nothing and want to say nothing and that you have had an accident clouding your memories.

She looks highly sceptical. It matches my aura sense. That makes it less useful. I need it if I can’t read a face.

P: Have you ever met GDN people?

SH: No, but you weren’t one of them. Were you a Merlin then?

P: Yes.

SH: Tell me about it. How were you fighting?

P: I am not giving you information that makes me easier to identify. We fought. We fougt with shitty equipment because the GDN had kept it secret for centuries.

She looks at me sceptically. Scepticism is kind of her thing. How do I argue against scepticism? It is the right way to look at the world. I have to break the ice.

P: Are you hungry?

She nods. I materialize a plate of ravioli right before her eyes and conjure a spoon.

Why have I bought camping gear for cooking if I can do that? Because the stuff I conjure does not survive being put on an oven.

She actually flinches. The emotions I get seem to be a sequence of startlement, wonder and annoyance. Going by her speed she is quite hungry.

SH: Are you angry that they made you fight?

P: No, not at all. I could at least shoot back.

SH: And fighting the monsters did something to you?

I hesitate. She is too good with people.

P: Yes. Too many encounters where only luck meant that I survived. And those bastards of the GDN had it all. We had to take equipment of their dead bodies to fight on, when the opportunity arose.

SH: Do you want revenge for that?

Does she understand.

P: Yes!

SH: And what do you want to do for that? Kill them?

No, she does not understand.

P: This is not productive. Come with me.

This home has a second bathroom. It holds a shower, a sink, a mirror and a toilet. It is lit not with a window but with transparent glass bricks, which used to be very fashionable here. I lock her in there and put Dalek #1 up as a watchman.

I do not sleep well that night.