by Alana Melos
“The name is Capricious Whim, you little snot,” I said. The sitting one shook his head back and forth and my smile grew. It was nice to be recognized. From behind me, Septimus cleared his throat. I glanced at him, then back to the floating thug. “If you ask nicely, I’ll let you down instead of throwing you out the window.”
His face screwed up, and the sitting one spoke up, “Do it, man. She’s one of the big dogs. I heard her name on the police scanner a couple days ago. She escaped from jail, man.” He looked at me and gave me a weak smile, trying to look friendly. “I’m very sorry, ma’am,” he said, then whipped his hat off his head in a sign of respect.
“You’ve proven your point, now let him go,” Septimus said as he stood up. He put a hand on my shoulder, causing me to give him a sidelong dirty look. “Our stop’s just up here anyway and do you really want to get blood all over yourself? Can’t go to a restaurant looking that way.” He conveniently ignored the fact he stood there covered with blood and his coat ruined.
I heaved a big, exaggerated sigh. “Alright, you get to live,” I said, lowering the thug to the ground. I didn’t quite let go of him, holding him in place with my teke. “But, I’m going to give you a little something to remember me by.” With that, I looked at his arm and snapped it, making the appendage stick out at a forty five degree angle in the middle of his forearm. Shrieks filled the air, none louder than the thug in front of me. When I let him go, he cradled his arm. “Be sure to thank your friend, and Tim here,” I told him. “If we meet another time, you won’t be so lucky.”
He moaned something under his breath. It could have been another ‘fuck you, bitch’ or a weak ‘thank you, ma’am’. I didn’t care which it was. My point had been made, and I felt better. Maybe it was petty and selfish to exert myself over these two, but they’d made themselves targets. It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When I looked to Tim, his face was grave as he frowned at me.
The train pulled to a stop and the second thug helped the first one limp away. “Reaper… he said this was a Reaper train. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Low power metahuman gang, mostly centers in Brooklyn,” he said. “Most of them really aren’t dangerous.”
I fingered the vibroblade. “That one was.” I gave him a cheery smile and slapped him on the shoulder. “See? I did you a public service!”
Septimus shook his head, half scowling at me. “I really wish you wouldn’t have,” he said. “That kid will just be more dangerous next time. Wounded pride and all.”
We exited before the doors shut and walked up the stairs. Septimus checked his side. The initial blood splatter had coated his white shirt there. The jacket, while ripped, hid it pretty well as the material was dark and soaked it up. It could have just been a wet spot from snow. His jeans, on the other hand, didn’t hide the blood a bit, but too much hadn’t had the chance to fall as he’d healed the wound. “They were dangerous now, Tim,” I pointed out. “Just look at what he did to you. You could have been a civilian.”
He arched a brow. “You’re not in position to lecture about hurting civilians,” he said. “I’ve read your file.”
I shifted, not exactly uncomfortable but not at ease as I normally would be. “That security guard needed to be taught a lesson,” I said. “No one steals from me without being punished.”
The handsome man sighed as we crested the top of the stairs and hit the street. “This way,” he said. “I’m just saying there’s other ways to contain violence. We need to rehabilitate people, show them a better way. Treat them like people.”
“As long as the justice system is the way it is, that’s not going to happen,” I said, enjoying the friendly debate. “Right now, all you do is send people to criminal school, and it’s been that way for decades. Even if you do change the system, it’ll take years… and there are some hard screws who won’t ever change. They’ll nod and smile and say all the right things, but when they get out, they’ll go right back to their old ways.”
“What would you do, then?”
“Kill on the first offense,” I replied without hesitation. “If you wanted to maintain order, that was. Fear is a big motivation to stay out of trouble.”
The aghast look which came over his face made me want to laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious,” I said as we stopped in front of an Italian restaurant, DiNunzio’s. A chill passed through me, and I touched my cheek with my fingertips. “But I’m for a… a… dictatorship, remember? You can’t leave any threats to your power alive.”
“That’s pretty mercenary,” he said, digging into his pocket.
“I am a mercenary.” I kept looking at the sign. I’d never been here before, but something about it rang in my head, back and forth and back again. “Can we get it to go?”
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s go in and order. It shouldn’t take too long. Few minutes.”
“I’ll wait out here.” When he looked at me askance, I gave him a tight smile. “I’m fine. I just want fresh air.”
“If you say so.” He went inside and I stood out there waiting. Watching the people walk by on the street, I sighed at how quiet everything was, how bland and boring. I’d been either running high on emotion or too busy to take the time to really notice how the world was flat and lifeless now without my telepathy. I looked up at the red neon sign advertising the restaurant then away, that chill running through me once more. I brooded on where I’d heard that name before. Nothing came to mind.
Septimus exited, carrying a couple of big white bags presumably full of food. “My place is this way. C’mon.”
I fell into step beside him, and we walked the couple of blocks to his apartment. It was a pretty decent neighborhood, though the sidewalks were still clogged in places with snow. Before long, we were at his apartment building. After riding the elevator up to the seventh floor, we got off and entered his place. It wasn’t big, but it wasn’t small either. The living space was large and spacious, spilling over into a dining room of sorts, which connected to the kitchen. A hall left the large living room, which must have led towards the bathroom, bedroom, and any other living space left over. A beige couch stood in the center of the living room facing the windows, back to the dining room. It was flanked by two stuffed chairs of the same color. A chocolate colored coffee table stood in the middle, covered by magazines and notebooks. It looked like he did most of his work out here.
Septimus set the bags down and gathered up the folders, files, and notes. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t get much company.”
I shrugged and wandered around. He had some New York sports memorabilia on the walls in nice framed shadowboxes, including a Yankees uniform for some player I didn’t recognize. Most of the other decorations were neutral, a landscape painting, a painting of some woman in a fancy dress, and an abstract painting in neutral colors. He had set up tall but thin tables in front of the windows which held plants, situated so they could get the best sun when it was up. Scattered on those thin tables were framed photographs, snapshots of Septimus himself, a pretty blond lady, and a small girl.
I picked up one of the photos. It looked as though they were a family. I heard the bag rustling stop and, when I looked up, Tim stood a few feet away, looking at the photo. “Family?” I asked, being polite.
He plucked the picture from my hand. “My ex-wife and daughter,” he said. “She divorced me. I see my daughter every other weekend.”
“Ah,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “Why’d she divorce you?”
“I worked too much,” he replied as he set the photograph back. “I didn’t spend enough time with her.” Nodding his head towards the coffee table, he smiled, “Food’s on.”
We sat down and once he opened the boxes containing a variety of pasta with a couple of side salads, my stomach growled. Other than drinking from Adira, I hadn’t eaten today. It was probably due to her blood I was still on my feet at all, even though after the adventu
re in Rory’s head I hadn’t pushed my body too hard. I stuffed myself, eating as neatly as I could. Tim ate with me, but slower, tasting his food instead of inhaling it. Food was just another task for me, one I wanted done with as soon as possible. This was pretty tasty though, and if you had to do a chore, it was better to do one you at least liked in part.
Once done, I pushed the containers from DiMuccio’s aside, leaned back, and let the food settle. He finished soon afterward, then cleaned up the mess. I watched him. He hadn’t bothered to change his shirt, but the wound had been long healed. I had a feeling he was used to having bloody clothing. He said he wasn’t a hero, but this was twice now I’d seen him put himself in harm’s way to protect someone, the first being the night I met him at the Underground.
“You say you’re not a hero,” I said as I patted my stomach, “but you keep getting hurt. What exactly do you do then?”
He sat down heavily on the couch next to me. “I’m a liaison between heroes and the police,” Tim replied. “Vigilantes too.”
“That doesn’t answer anything for me,” I said.
“You’d call me a fixer,” he said with a shrug. “I help organize task forces, recommend metahumans to specific bounties or investigations, keep in touch with the different independent heroes around, foster goodwill with the police… that sort of thing.”
“Yet you broke me out of lock up,” I observed, sitting up straight and staring at him. “You said things needed to be changed. That still doesn’t seem like that’s the way to do it.”
He shifted his body to face me. Capturing my gaze with his intense grey eyes, he shook his head, “I told you before. You being there was my fault. If you hadn’t been agitated from finding out what I do, you wouldn’t have killed that guy.” He paused, his brow furrowing, “I know it doesn’t make sense to you, so you’ll just have to accept it.”
I scowled, wishing I had my telepathy to read his mind. I’d been in such a rush to get out that I hadn’t had the opportunity while I was in the middle of escaping lock up. “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense, Timmah.” I cocked my head to the side while meeting his even stare. He didn’t look agitated or ruffled, just intense. I wished I could see what was behind those eyes. “Why?”
Heaving a sigh, he frowned. “I tell you what,” he said, choosing his words, “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, answer as honestly as I can, if you promise to do the same tonight.”
I arched my brow. Septimus continued to stare at me, intent and earnest. It didn’t appear he was hiding anything or have an ulterior motive. I didn’t really have many secrets, and those I had no one had ever asked about, not even close. Hesitating, I tried to think of the worst case scenario and really couldn’t find anything objectionable. Damn, I missed my ‘pathy. I would have known his intentions instead of trying to guess at them from his facial expressions.
“Alright, but I reserve the right to refuse to answer if it deals with someone else’s secrets,” I said. That would cover anything I’d find offensive to answer.
“Same goes for me, then,” he said, his smile changing the tone of his words. “Ask away.”
“I don’t think you wanted me in lock up,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “Why did you want me out?”
He had the grace to look a bit chagrined. “What I said before is true--it was my fault you got captured,” he said. “And Emily’s, of course. But… you’re a hireable talent.”
I blinked and leaned back. “You want to hire me for something?” Of all the answers I could have gotten from him, that one surprised me the most.
“No… well, yes… potentially,” he said, holding up a hand to let him continue. “I told you I’ve read your file. Once you get hired for a job, you see it through to end. Telepaths are pretty hard to come by, and you’re honest… and you’re anti-mind control. That makes you a pretty unique commodity. Even ‘white hats’, as you call them, use mind control too often. It’s a slippery slope, and one I’d rather avoid.”
I kept goggling at him, flat footed from the answer. A small bit of pleasure did well up in me; I was known. People were paying attention to me and my rep, and not just villain side. “How did you learn about me?” I asked, wanting him to stroke my ego a little more. Maybe he’d heard of my exploits.
“Harry talked about you,” he said. “It wasn’t just that last job you worked for him. Telepaths, like I said, are pretty rare.”
My pleasure at being known soured at Harry’s name. “I am never going to live that down,” I grumped. “What else did he say?”
“That you worked hard, and got it done,” Tim replied. When I raised a brow, he added as his face flushed, “That you were hot too, and wore a lot of leather.” I rolled my eyes at that. Before I had the chance to add anything, he asked quickly, “Why did you kill him?”
“Because he double-crossed me,” I replied. “I told you that before.”
“How did he double-cross you?” he asked.
“He was going to turn me in to some organization,” I said, shrugging. “They paid him a finder’s fee, I would guess, but he had me do a last job with him.”
Septimus’ brows shot up at that. “With him? What are you talking about?”
I couldn’t hide the sneer from my voice, “Didn’t your friend Emily tell you?”
He shook his head, “No… I haven’t talked much to Em after he died. She changed. I think she’s still grieving. What job? And how? He didn’t have powers.”
My turn to be surprised, I blinked. “He did, though,” I said. “Nanotech of some kind, stolen from Titan Industries. I guess it didn’t take well, or something was wrong with it. He needed some kind of gizmo to… I don’t know, stabilize it or something.”
Septimus leaned back, whistling between his teeth. “That’s why they were asking me those questions.”
“What questions?”
“About him, his background mostly,” he explained. “Nothing… you know, weird, but the timing after his death, that was unusual.”
“Did they ask about his accomplices?” I asked, leaning forward to fix him with a stare.
He nodded. “Yeah, but there wasn’t much I could say. I only knew Nosferatu by reputation. You, well, all of that’s classified. Most of the things I know are.”
“Huh.” I didn’t lean back, but my eyes dropped to the floor as I tried to think all this through. They must have gotten what they wanted as in the last couple months since that job, Titan hadn’t been harassing me, and there wasn’t a bounty out on my head. Arrest warrants, yes. Bounties? No. “How much do you know about the metahumans in the city, Tim?”
“A lot,” he said. “But we keep it classified. It’s not… there’s a trust issue. Much of the police is corrupt. Not all, but a lot. Heroes have their own agendas. And, well, you know all about the other side. My turn, why were you so upset before?”
I glanced up at the sudden change. “I told you, didn’t I? My ‘pathy…” I sighed again, clenching my jaw at the reminder.
“Anger, yeah, I get,” he said, scooting forward on his side until our knees touched. “But it was more than that.”
“I don’t like feeling weak,” I said, hedging around the reason. It was true… just not the whole truth.
He arched a brow at me, then reached forward and touched the back of my hand with his fingertips. “Caprice, you promised. Why were you upset?” When I looked at him, his eyes were sharp. They pierced me, held me in place.
“I don’t know!” I said, the words exploding out of me in a rush of rage. “I’m upset because I’m upset!”
He leaned back at my outburst, but kept his hand on mine. I struggled keeping my emotions in check. After the thing with Rory, they ran wild. I didn’t have anything to keep them in place as the blanket of not-feeling-much faded slowly, without even a whimper to see it going.
“If you want to talk about stuff, this is a safe place,” he said. “I’m not judging you and I won’t say anything to anyone. I keep a lot of other
people’s secrets.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, I want them to be gone,” I snarled, pulling my hand away from him. “I want to stop feeling all this stuff!”
“What stuff?” he asked, his voice calm and soothing.
When I looked at him, his brows pulled up in an expression of sympathy so obvious it was comical. I started to laugh, but the laugh caught in my throat and turned into a sob. I closed my eyes and willed myself not to cry, telling myself harshly not to show weakness in front of an enemy… except I really didn’t view him as an enemy. He’d helped me to get out of a situation (of his doing, but still), and had been nothing but kind. I shook my head as those tears still threatened to fall, gathering behind my eyelids. Gerard would be nothing but kind too, in preparation for some trap or manipulation.
All the same, I wanted to let it out. I kept telling myself to ignore it, to push past it, to stop being weak… but a funny thing happened. With each vicious admonishment I administered to myself, the urge to cry grew greater instead of less. My lip trembled and my hands shook. I felt his hands encircle mine. He rubbed his thumbs against the backs of my hands soothingly.
“Everything,” I blurted, finally unable to keep silent any longer. “There’s something wrong with me, wrong with my head.” The first tears began to fall, which made my inner self wail even harder. “I can’t keep feeling these things. They’re not natural. It’s making me unstable, crazy.”
“Feeling what things?” he asked, his voice caressing me.
I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Feelings,” I said, my head shaking back and forth slowly. “I’m not like you. I shouldn’t be like you. I don’t feel things like compassion or sadness or empathy… they are not in me to feel.”
“They are now,” he said.
“They shouldn’t be,” I said, the tears piling up. It was all so frustrating and overwhelming. Every time I thought I should stop crying, the emotion welled up even more. “It’s wrong! I’m wrong! There’s something really fucking wrong!” Thoughts of that other telepath, Sarai, and her acknowledgment of this sickness in me, telling me I should get help… that caused the dam inside to burst. I began to sob. I bent over and held my face in my hands as I did, trying to make it stop. I ground the heels of my hands into my eyes as if that would stem the flow. Nothing worked. It was impossible… impossible!
