The Green Memory of Fear

by B. A. Chepaitis

  She knocked on his door, heard his voice, and stepped inside.

  “Hey,” she said, “What’s Jaguar got to do with Dr. Senci?”

  Alex, head bent over his computer, regarded her vaguely. “Another riddle?” he asked.

  “What?” Rachel said.

  “Never mind. What about Jaguar?”

  Rachel tossed the paper on his desk. “Look at that,” she said.

  He scanned it, saw Jaguar’s name. He also knew she avoided research like the plague, unless it was unofficial research into a topic that tickled her personal fancy. Like the rings of Saturn. Or varieties of mint. Or Greenkeepers.

  “What’s he being tried for?” Alex asked.

  “Child molestation. Your basic pedophile, it looks like. The Medical Board acts as judiciary panel, but it’s a criminal trial. Toronto’s system is strange.”

  “Strange,” Alex agreed. He thought about riddles, like how do you tell the difference between a pedophile and a Greenkeeper.

  “What do you think?” Rachel asked. “Why’d she sign up for it?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll ask her tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “We’re going out.”

  “Out?”

  “To dinner. I’ll ask her. I think.” He paused. Was it protocol to ask why she was lying about her interest in vampires while they were on their first date? He rubbed his hand over his face.

  “Going out?” Rachel repeated.

  He raised an eyebrow at her, dared her to comment.

  Rachel tucked her lower lip under her teeth, then released it. “Oh,” she said. “Then, I can probably have it for you in an hour or so.”

  “Did I ask for something, Rachel?”

  “No,” she said. “But I figured you’d want the full file on Senci. And I’d suggest that blue shirt with the salamander design on the sleeve. It’s a great color for your eyes.”

  She turned and left, while Alex took a moment to thank all available deities that Rachel wasn’t an empath. She was dangerous enough as it was.

  Chapter 3

  By the time Jaguar left the Planetoid office and got back to her apartment, she felt as if someone had pulled the plug on her energy core. The queasiness was passing, but her fatigue was inexplicable, and the joints in her wrist hurt, as if leaching out poisons. She wondered if she was still getting rid of the toxic waste from her last prisoner, a difficult case. She went to her kitchen and made tea from a blend of cleansing herbs One Bird taught her.

  She drank the mix, a bitter tasting remedy, then went directly to her bedroom, stripped off her clothes and wrapped herself in a gold silk bathrobe before she fell onto the bed. She dropped into sleep like a stone, only to be woken repeatedly by a series of disconnected dreams, all of them ugly. They woke her, then woke her again until she stuffed her face into her pillow and groaned, “Christ, just let me sleep, will you?”

  She gave it up when a dream of being telecommed by a horse in judge’s robes morphed into her own telecom buzzing, waking her for good. She twisted to her clock. 6 pm. Shit. She hadn’t been in bed that long, had she? She sat up and held her head. At least she felt better. Not nauseated. Not exhausted.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m awake.” She sat up, made sure her robe covered what she wanted covered, went to the telecom and pressed the receive button. Alex’s face appeared on screen.

  He scanned her. “Good nap?” he asked.

  She ruffled her hair further. “More like adventures in dreamland. What’s up?”

  “We are,” he said, “or did you forget?”

  She scanned the back of her eyelids for information. What she was booked for. Dinner with Alex. A date.

  “You forgot, didn’t you Jaguar?”

  “No,” she said. “I just didn’t believe you.”

  “You thought I was kidding?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe not. Serious as the plague.”

  “Alex, are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “No,” he said. “Not at all. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

  “We’re taking your wings?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said, trying to leave no room for discussion.

  “I don’t like wings,” she noted.

  He moved his lips away from his teeth in a close approximation of a tolerant smile. “Would you prefer to take your car and meet me at the restaurant?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I would.”

  “Right. Then let’s. It’s La Loba. In case you forgot. In an hour.”

  “Okay. I might be a little late. I have to get dressed.”

  He looked at the gold bathrobe she was clutching to herself. “That color’s nice on you,” he suggested.

  She looked down at the robe, then narrowed mischievous eyes at him. “You’ll be sorry for that,” she said, and clicked off.

  * * * *

  When she made her way across the restaurant to where Alex sat, he almost forgot to breathe. She wore silk the way some women wear skin, and the gold of her pantsuit was not far removed in tone or in proximity from her skin. It deepened the green of her eyes, caught at the gold in her hair, which caught at the air in his throat. He rose from his chair and gave her the bow she deserved.

  She lifted her gaze and he felt the brush of her thoughts against his. Just fishing. Just seeing what was hanging around. Her mouth twitched into a smile.

  “I would’ve worn the robe,” she said, “but it was wrinkled because I slept in it. I haven’t slept in this. Yet.”

  “Yet,” he repeated hopefully, and then walked over to pull her chair out for her, letting his hand rest briefly on her shoulder after she was seated. She didn’t shove him away in response, so he advanced to a caress.

  She opened her menu and said, without raising her head, “If you air kiss me, I’ll kill you.”

  “When I kiss you there won’t be any air involved,” he replied as he returned to his chair.

  So far, he thought, so good. She would keep it light. Stick to the surface like an Olympic skater. Probably he’d enjoy it immensely. By the time the waiter came by and they ordered their tequila and dinner, he knew he was right. She got the lobster. He’d seen her eat lobster before. Predation and sensuality, both at their best.

  “So what do we talk about?” she asked after the first shot of tequila was down, “First date, right? Politics are a no-no. Religion’s touchy.”

  “Maybe we should try sports,” Alex suggested.

  “No good. You’re a Packer Backer. I favor the Jaguars. You’ll just get pissed off when I talk about winning.”

  “Packers have more experience. More staying power. You know that.”

  “And once Jaguar’s latch on, they don’t let go. Not until they’re dead.”

  “I’m not especially worried about that,” he said.

  Arrival of their dinners interrupted further debate and, eschewing the bib, she cracked a claw and pulled white meat from the shards with her fingers. She dipped it in butter and licked the meat, the ends of her fingers, her own lips. Alex felt deep contentment.

  “If sports are out, then what do you suggest?” she asked.

  “We can start with the courtesies. That outfit looks lovely on you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and ripped a leg off the lobster, sucked meat from the end of it.

  He leaned an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand. “You like lobster, don’t you?”

  She cracked the tail and used her fingers to pull out thick pieces of sweet flesh. “One man said it made him sick to his stomach to watch me eat it.”

  “Some men,” Alex suggested, “have weak stomachs. Me—I’m just enjoying the show.”

  She continued to pursue her pleasure. Talk turned to food and its preparation, meandered from there to good wine, strolled toward music and always stayed on the safest grounds. Alex didn’t mind, as long as the lobster held out. When it was gone, he sighed, but regained his interest when the waiter brought c
hocolate mousse, which she savored in small lipfuls sucked from the end of her finger.

  “Good?” he asked her.

  “Very,” she replied. “But you haven’t eaten much. Not to your liking?”

  He shook his head. “I’m distracted.”

  “By?”

  He gestured toward the mousse. “The show,” he said. Then, to his own dismay, he kept talking. “That, and something at work.”

  Jaguar’s finger paused in its journey toward her mouth. “Oh?” she asked.

  He knew what he was about to say, knew he shouldn’t say it, and said it anyway. “One of my teacher’s done something out of character,” he said. “Way out. I want to know why.”

  He listened to himself talk with some amazement. He’d made up his mind not to bring up Dr. Senci. Apparently some part of him had vetoed his mind. He sincerely hoped it wasn’t the Adept part. That wouldn’t bode well.

  “Who?” she asked.

  “My best Teacher. She stays in the field. Never does research.”

  “I like her already.”

  “I thought you might. But she requested a research assignment today, gathering preliminary data on an accused pedophile. A Dr. Thomas Senci.”

  She finished licking her finger and stared at him. He didn’t blame her. If he had a mirror, he’d stare at himself.

  “News,” she said, “travels too damn fast. I just punched it in this morning.”

  “Jaguar, I’m your supervisor. The request came to my office.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “So tell me what it’s all about.”

  She smoothed her hair back from her face and looked at him, then past him. They were co-workers again, suddenly and without much elbow-room.

  “It’s about a four week gig, Alex. I thought the change would be good for me. Keep me from going stale.”

  He tapped a finger against the table. “And what if I say no?”

  She gazed down at his hand, pressed a finger against it. “Will you?” she asked.

  He laid his hand, tense and flat, against the wood of the table. She continued to press her finger against it. She was so much better at putting up ‘No Trespassing’ signs than she was at reading them.

  “I need to know why you want it before I decide,” he said. “And you don’t take research for fun, Jaguar, so try something else.”

  “You seem to know a lot about me, for a first date.”

  “I’ve had a few years of my own preliminary research. Look, if you want, we can talk about it tomorrow, in my office.”

  She sighed and stood up. “Get the bill, and meet me back at my place. I’ll show you.”

  * * * *

  Alex spent the ride to her apartment in a staff meeting with himself, asking questions about his general sanity. Like most staff meetings, everyone had a lot to say, and none of it was helpful. He ascended the stairs to her apartment and walked in the door, which was open for him.

  “I’ll make tea if you want some,” she said when he was in.

  “No thanks,” he said, moving to a chair at her kitchen table. “I’ll just sit and stew in my own juices.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said, and crossed the living room to her desk. She opened a drawer and pulled out the Senci file, brought it to Alex. As she handed it over, he saw a tremor pass through her hand, up her arm. He opened the file and read. She stood at his back and waited motionless for his response.

  He took his time, checking to make sure she hadn’t gathered any information he didn’t already have. When he was done, he closed the file and let his hands rest on it. Rachel had given him a more complete file, so for once he knew more than she did, except on one count—why she was interested. He decided to push at her about that.

  “Not much of a case,” he said. “A doctor who continues a successful practice in Toronto. Works with pre-teens to early adults, mostly on sequential dream modification and anxiety reduction programs.”

  “Yeah. He likes his clients young and scared. He moved to Toronto right after the Killing Times,” she said. “He was at Columbia until—well, until the safety squads blew it up. Then he packed it in for Canada. Oh, Canada.”

  Alex could feel her at his back, motionless as ambient light, but bristling with anger. Canada gave a general amnesty less than a year after the dust settled from the Serials. No one would be prosecuted for the crimes committed during that time. Jaguar found that appalling.

  “Lots of people left Manhattan after the Killing Times. Lots of them went to Toronto. That doesn’t mean he’s either a murderer or a pedophile. Besides, he still maintains a residence in New York.”

  “I know. He’s a respected neuropsych specialist, and blah blah rat fuck blah.”

  “Since you’ve made your mind up about the Doctor, what do you know about the boy?” he asked.

  She walked around to the table and sat across from him. “Nothing, yet. I’m not cleared for the information until my supervisor approves the assignment.”

  “If he approves,” Alex amended. Then, “The boy’s name is Daro Karas. Must be quite a kid because he got a voxchip recording of Dr. Senci admitting what he did. He’s twelve, likes baseball, and his family would greatly prefer if he kept the hell out of it.”

  “How do you—“ Jaguar started.

  “—It’s that supervisor thing,” he cut in. “I’m cleared for all information—except why you’re doing this. That’s not in the files, so you’ll have to fill in the blanks.”

  She stayed cool, casual. “I work a lot with pedophiles. It’d do me good to track one from the prelims. That’s reasonable, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Alex said. “And I’m guessing it’s also true, since in fact you’re a lousy liar. But you’re a master of evasion, and I smell one here. There’s more, isn’t there?”

  She’d known him long enough that she didn’t deny it. “It’s—complicated,” she said.

  “Like I’m not used to that? If you want the gig, you’ll have to tell me.”

  She pressed the tips of two fingers against her forehead. Gesture of the empath. She went subvocal.

  I’m called to it, Alex.

  Show me, he requested.

  She obliged, and he saw her chasing something into an alley. A little girl. Spirit child, by the feel of it. She wasn’t solid—just an image projected into space. The girl disappeared and there was a newspaper flapping at Jaguar’s ankles, an article about Dr. Senci visible.

  “Okay,” he said out loud. “I see.”

  She was called to it, by a spirit child. Not the sort of thing she’d fake for any reason. But it was, as she said, complicated. Senci had no record of molesting girls, for one thing, so who was this girl child and what did she have to do with the case? And what was she? Ghost, traveling thought, projection?

  “Do you know the girl?” he asked.

  “No. But she—she wears my clothes. Clothes I wore when I was a girl,” she said. “I’ll ask One Bird and Jake about it. See what they have to say.”

  If she planned to talk to Jake and One Bird, this was serious. She lived with them after her grandparents were killed in Manhattan, made her way from the City to their New Mexico village, mostly on foot, to find them. They were her guardians, her elders, her guides. He’d met them once when Jaguar took him to their village and he thought as highly of them as she did. They kept it simple, like the point of an arrow aimed at a bull’s eye.

  “Does this have anything to do with your interest in Greenkeepers?” he asked.

  She startled just enough to scrape her chair back. That answered his question.

  “All right,” he said. “Tell me what this has to do with your interest in Greenkeepers.”

  She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Adepts,” she said, “are so manipulative.”

  “And chant-shapers,” he replied, “are so elusive. Tell me, Jaguar.”

  “It might be related,” she said. “And it might not. I don’t know yet. The two things occurred at the same time, but I’m
not convinced they’re causally connected. If I find out they are, I’ll tell you.”

  “Jaguar,” he said, “look at me.”

  She brought her eyes to focus on his, and he felt the force of their pull. That unrelenting, tidal pull. He let himself wash into it, skimming the surface of her emotions. They were turbulent, but not hidden. She was telling him the whole truth, as she knew it. This was all he was going to get.

  He pushed his chair back from the table and stood to leave. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll grant the assignment. You’ll be there a few weeks, but you’ll keep in touch with me while you’re away.”

  “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

  “For one thing, it’s procedure to report to your Supervisor when you’re on a prelim. For another, I’ll miss you.

  “In that order?” she asked, still making light of it. But he didn’t want to. Not anymore.

  “There isn’t any order for us, Jaguar. Just complexity, and maybe emotional chaos.”

  She ducked her head down and raised it up again. Reading him, just at the surface. One helluva date, he thought. He might as well finish it right.

  He moved to where she sat, leaned down and kissed her, cupping her face in his hand and drawing her to him. When he let go, she pressed forward to him. A slight gesture, but he noticed and it gave him joy.

  He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed the back of it. Her breathing was finely controlled and her hand deliberately relaxed. He turned it palm up and traced the lifeline. With some satisfaction, he saw her shiver lightly at his touch.

  “You have two breakpoints here,” he noted.

  “I’m aware of that,” she said, voice low and husky. “One is from the Killing Times.”

  “And the other?” He pressed a finger against it, feeling the tingle that spread across her palm as she tensed slightly.

  “I live dangerously.”

  “You do, in some ways,” Alex agreed. “In other ways, you take the safest route possible.”

  He loosened his hold to give her the chance to gracefully retreat. When she didn’t, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the broken places, as if that would knit up the dangers into a solid and dependable line. Then he released her, and her hand dropped to her lap.