by Blake Pierce
“But he didn’t think so, did he? This…?”
“John.”
“This John, he seems interested. He keeps trying to get in touch. That’s a good sign.”
Zoe nodded. There was nothing else that she could say. Dr. Monk was making sense, even if she hated to admit it.
“Let me tell you what I see,” Dr. Monk continued. “You have expressed to me that Shelley has the kind of life you want. She is happily married with a child, doing well in her career, has skills that you don’t have. We will always be jealous of those who can do things we can’t. That’s human nature. The important thing is not to let it consume you, and to focus on the things that you can achieve.”
She waited for Zoe to nod again, to give an indication that she was listening, before she continued.
“Things don’t happen on their own. Or to put it another way, it’s unlikely that you are going to get married if you never go on any dates. My advice to you is to give John a call, and go out for that second date. Maybe it won’t turn out so well. Maybe it will turn out great. The only way to find out is to give it a try.”
“You think I should marry John?” Zoe frowned.
“I think you should go on a date with him.” Dr. Monk smiled. “And if he doesn’t work out, I think you should go on a date with someone else. That’s how you work towards your goals. One step at a time.”
Zoe was not entirely convinced, but she nodded all the same. Besides, she had something important to take care of now. “I think that is the end of our time.”
Dr. Monk laughed. “That’s my line,” she said, getting up to escort Zoe to the door. “And don’t think I am so easily distracted. Next session, we’ll circle back to this issue of social cues and seeing things differently from how others do. We’ll get to the bottom of it, even if you aren’t ready to be fully honest with me.”
Zoe avoided her therapist’s eyes as she headed out of the office, not wanting to betray the hope she had held that Dr. Monk really would forget.
CHAPTER TWO
At least lunch was something for Zoe to get excited about. It had been a long while since she had been able to meet with her mentor in person, and she had been looking forward to it. It was enough to get her through the therapy session and out the other side, knowing that there was something good coming.
Dr. Francesca Applewhite, a professor of mathematics who had worked at Zoe’s college, had turned out to be one of the best introductions Zoe had ever had in her life. Back then, still a teenager and way out of her depth in the social atmosphere of the dorms, she had been skeptical about one more meeting with one more specialist. But it turned out that the doctor understood her completely—saw that she had a special gift, something which needed to be nurtured. They had started with private tutoring, designed to lift her skills to another academic level. Everything else had developed from there.
“Doctor,” Zoe greeted, reaching their table and dropping herself down into the free chair. Dr. Applewhite had no doubt been there for some time, judging by the half-drunk cup of coffee and the worn paperback in her hands. Zoe could not help but notice that the streaks of gray were gaining strand by strand against her once-dark hair, a stark contrast to the version of the doctor in her memory of that first time.
Dr. Applewhite slipped a bookmark between the pages and put it to one side, smiling as she looked up. “My favorite graduate. How is the Bureau treating you?”
She had good reason to ask the question. It had been her suggestion, after all, that put Zoe on the path toward law enforcement. After her colleague, one of Zoe’s math teachers, had connected them, Zoe’s whole life had changed. She knew exactly who she had to thank for that.
“Good. My new partner is going well,” Zoe said. She picked up the menu to scan the items, but she barely needed to. She already knew what she was going to order. A scan of the column and row sizes told her that nothing new had been added, and they always met for lunch at this place.
Dr. Applewhite leaned over to grab the attention of a waiter, and while the doctor watched him walking over, Zoe watched her instead. She remembered that first meeting. How Dr. Applewhite had shown an actual interest in what Zoe had to say, one of the few people in her life who had actually really listened to her. The older woman had put on several pounds since that time, but had never lost an ounce of the compassion she showed to a young woman who had no idea of her place in the world.
Their relationship had grown over time. Zoe was slow to trust, slow to let her in. But eventually she had had to take a chance, to admit her secret. To tell her about the numbers.
It hadn’t been easy. After so many years of Zoe’s mother telling her that her gifts were given her by the devil, she had found the words caught in her throat many times. But Dr. Applewhite had been excited, not appalled, to learn of Zoe’s abilities. From then on, their bond had only strengthened.
“How about Dr. Monk?” Dr. Applewhite asked after Zoe had placed her order, her eyes twinkling slyly. “She told me you took me up on my recommendation.”
Zoe couldn’t contain a chuckle. “Checking up on me?”
“I always have to keep an eye on my favorites,” Dr. Applewhite laughed. It was an ongoing joke between them. Dr. Applewhite was not, of course, supposed to have favorites. But in many ways, Zoe had helped her career just as much as Dr. Applewhite had set Zoe on the way to hers. Dr. Applewhite had ended up specializing in the study of synesthesia with regards to math, and now mentored a number of others who had the same abilities that Zoe did. More or less, anyway.
“The sessions are going well,” Zoe acknowledged. “Dr. Monk has some good insights. I can see why you like her.”
“She has a very good reputation. Any progress you can share with me? Or is it all too personal?”
Zoe shrugged, studying the two inches of water in the bottom of the vase on their table, which would not be enough to sustain the two chrysanthemum stems for long. The internal calculations of how long it would take for a total wilt distracted her enough to allow her to say what was on her mind. “She said I should go on more dates.”
Dr. Applewhite grinned heartily, her own wedding ring glittering in the light from the sun as she raised her coffee cup to her lips. “She could be right.”
“I really do not think it will be the solution to all my problems,” Zoe huffed, lifting the fresh cup of coffee brought by the waiter to her lips.
“Maybe not all of them, but some,” Dr. Applewhite said, serious now. “I’m not saying that you have to feel bad about who you are. You’re functional—more than that. You have turned it into an advantage in your work. Others aren’t as capable as you are. I just worry about you. You know I do.”
Zoe nodded. “I appreciate that,” she said. She figured that, with all things considered, Dr. Applewhite might be the only person in the world to actually worry about her. That was a comfort, to have at least one person.
Before she could complete the thought, and even go so far as to take the recommendation to call John seriously, her cell rang in her pocket. Zoe grabbed it out and answered the call, seeing Shelley’s name on the display.
“Special Agent Zoe Prime.”
“Hey, Z. Hope you’re not doing something nice right now.”
Zoe sighed, looking down at her half-finished plate of food. Not that she had even really noticed the taste, with her mind on other things. “I take it we have a case.”
“I’ll meet you at HQ in thirty minutes. The chief says this is a big one.”
Zoe offered Dr. Applewhite an apologetic smile, but the doctor was already waving her away. “Go do your duty, Agent. But there’s one more thing I have to tell you…” Dr. Applewhite hesitated, taking a breath. She seemed reluctant to speak, but forged on, looking down at Zoe’s half-empty plate as she did. “One of the others in my research group—another synesthete. We thought he was doing better, but… I’m sorry to say, he killed himself last week. Without a support network beyond myself, he was struggling. Humans ne
ed other humans around us, to help us emotionally. All of us do. Even those who think a bit differently.”
Zoe paused, staring down into her coffee cup and the several millimeters by which it had been underfilled, leaning back against the chair for support. She had never gone to meet any of Dr. Applewhite’s “research group”—test subjects, Zoe called them in her head when she was being unkind—but all the same, it was a blow to hear. Someone like her, who wanted to die for the sole reason that he was exactly like her. That was something to swallow, all right.
She picked up her bag mechanically, walking away without really seeing anything around herself. In her head she was reframing. Thinking back on Dr. Monk’s comments. Work towards your goals. One step at a time.
What did she have in her life, really? One mentor, who served as the closest thing to a mother figure she was ever going to find. A partner—Shelley—who was the closest thing she had to a friend. Two cats, Euler and Pythagoras—and though she loved them both, she knew that it was in the very nature of cats that they would be just fine if she was gone and they lived with someone else. A career that seemed to be on the rocks more than it was on the up and up, even if right now was one of the better times. A small apartment to call her own.
And a condition, or an ability, or whatever you wanted to call it, that made her so different it drove people like her to kill themselves.
It was a sobering thought to confront.
CHAPTER THREE
Zoe strode along the corridors of the vast FBI HQ building in Washington, DC, heading toward the particular briefing room where Shelley had said she would be waiting. Buildings like this were soothing for Zoe: built long enough ago but with enough planning and precision that each floor was easy to predict and navigate.
The J. Edgar Hoover building had been built with intent. Although from the outside it was square and gray, the kind of architecture people described as an eyesore, the blocky, geometric composition was exactly what Zoe loved about it. The corridors branched off in the exact same way no matter where you got off the elevator, and the rooms were numbered in a logical way. Room 406, quite naturally, was the sixth door that you would come to after getting off on the fourth floor. That was immeasurably pleasing. Not all buildings were created equal.
Sure enough, Shelley was already sitting in the briefing room, studying notes and color photographs placed at neat intervals along a boardroom table. She looked up and smiled as Zoe entered.
Zoe could not quite figure out how Shelley, with a young child at home and no particular advantage in distance from her home, could beat her to the HQ. Not only that, but how she could be neatly dressed in a suit that fit her curvy yet slim frame, accentuating the angles between her hips and waist and breasts, without a speck of the normal dirt one would expect to accumulate around an infant. Even how she could be perfectly made up, with a slight hint of pink lipstick on her lips, and her blonde hair tied just-so into a chic chignon. But there it was.
Their superior, Special Agent in Charge Leo Maitland, stood at the front of the room, waiting with the coiled impatience of a jaguar on the hunt. He was an Army vet with a soldier’s bearing, and after a successful career through the ranks he had come home to switch to law enforcement. That had all been fifteen years ago, but the graying hair at his temples gave no indication that he was any less the fighter he had once been. He stood at six foot three, with a forty-five-inch chest and fifteen-inch biceps that still strained at the hems of his uniform.
“Ah, Special Agent Prime,” he said. “Welcome. I’ve handed out the briefing notes to your partner. Please take a seat and go over them.”
Zoe sat as she was bidden, setting down a takeout coffee in front of Shelley. It had become a habit of theirs. Zoe provided the coffee, and Shelley would provide all the polite conversation that was needed during the case. Each of them taking care of something that they could actually manage.
“Special Agent Rose has all the information, but I’ll give you an overview. We have two bodies on our hands already, and this looks like a local case, so you won’t need to travel.” Maitland folded his arms over his chest, causing the material of his suit to visibly strain at the shoulders. “We’ll be under some pressure from the local press given that one of the victims was high-profile in the community. You are no doubt also familiar with the urgency of preventing a third death and having the term ‘serial killer’ attached by journalists.”
Zoe nodded. That kind of reporting could cause hysteria and end up impeding the case. It was also likely to spread the news further—and that meant more national or even international press to deal with. FBI agents were used to dealing with high-pressure situations, but that did not mean they were welcome. Particularly for Zoe, who would be counting microphones and analyzing the lengths of television camera cables rather than concentrating on her press conference speech.
“Given your lateness…” Maitland continued. Zoe felt her mouth beginning to open in protest, but she clamped it shut. She had arranged to take some time off this morning for her brunch, exchanging some of the many, many hours of unpaid overtime she had worked. She was hardly late. But one did not argue with the Special Agent in Charge of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. “I have already briefed your partner. I will leave her to dispense the details to you. Given your proclivity for math, we thought this would be an excellent fit for your skillset. Don’t let me down.”
Maitland swept out of the room without pausing to look back. Zoe noted his hand straying immediately to his pocket as he left the room, and figured the inch-thick bulge was likely a cell phone. He was a busy man, with calls to make and further briefings to give. It wasn’t likely that they would see him much until the case was done—unless they messed something up, in which case he was liable to come down like the figurative ton of bricks.
Given Maitland’s size, and that a ton was two thousand pounds, he wasn’t really like a ton of bricks at all. More like a tenth of that value.
“Two victims,” Shelley said, grabbing Zoe’s attention without so much as a polite triviality to start the conversation. She was starting to know Zoe better, and she must have realized by now that such comments would make no positive difference to their relationship. Zoe had noticed at least a seventy percent decrease in small talk since they had begun working together. “Both of them in our own backyard. DC metro area.”
“I hope not in either of our actual backyards. As federal agents, you would think we might notice.”
Shelley’s eyes flashed with a spark as she nudged Zoe in the ribs. “Was that an actual joke? What’s in this coffee?”
“I was with an old friend this morning. I suppose it put me in a good mood.”
“Then I’m sorry to break that.” Shelley pointed to the two victim files, spread out carefully and separated in a deliberate way. “This is the first victim, from about a week ago. He was a young grad student, found on the grounds of the Georgetown campus. His head was bashed in with a heavy object—forensics say that it was probably a bat.”
“Six days,” Zoe murmured, her eyes scanning the file. She picked up his information: six feet tall, one hundred eighty pounds, twenty-three years old.
“Sorry, yes.” Shelley was evidently still getting used to the precision that Zoe expected, even if they were finding it easy to settle in in other ways. “The second victim was last night. An English professor at Georgetown, his head was smashed repeatedly against the side of his own car until irreparable cranial damage had been inflicted.”
“The college is the connection.”
“Not just that.” Shelley shuffled the photographs, drew out overhead shots that showed the crime scene in full. “Both of them had their shirts ripped open—and I mean ripped, with some violence. It seems the act of killing wasn’t enough to sate the killer’s anger. Then there are these… well, see for yourself.”
Zoe all but snatched the images from Shelley’s hands. She had already begun to recognize the form of the markings scribbled across both men�
�s torsos, and a closer look confirmed it. They had both been emblazoned with complex mathematical equations—complex enough that Zoe pulled out a chair and sank into it without taking her eyes away.
“Have these been shown to any potential witnesses? Friends, faculty members, students?”
“In the case of the first victim, yes. The local cops showed the image around. Heavily cropped to just the equation itself, of course. They just finished circulating the other shot this morning, though we may still be able to dig up a few more leads, I suppose.”
“And?”
Shelley shrugged. “No one knows what it means.”
Zoe knew well enough that the math department at Georgetown had a good stock of professionals, and if they couldn’t figure it out, that meant that this was some serious kind of equation. “It looks like quantum math.”
“That’s what a few of the professors said. But they don’t recognize it as anything that any of them have seen before, or been working on.”
Zoe continued staring at the equation, her mind racing along and through all the complex signs and numbers and letters, trying to find at least an entrance into the pattern. “What other leads do we have?”
Shelley sifted through a few more pages. “I was just getting there when you came in. Let me see… the student’s roommates and friends have all been questioned, as well as his family and teaching staff. He was in an area of the campus which isn’t covered by cameras, right in a dead spot.”
“Convenient,” Zoe sighed. She wished that just once, they would get hold of a case that had been committed in full sight of witnesses or caught on camera. Of course, they didn’t usually call in the FBI for the ones that were easy to solve.
