Chapter Text
SUNDAY Jan '52
A child's scream pierces the air, drifting in through the open window. Everyone freezes. Listening. For a moment you all wait. Children scream, it's usually nothing, but you listen nonetheless. The scream repeats, this time obviously the frustrated scream of a toddler and oh so quietly, the calm tones of an adult trying to soothe the child.
Everyone relaxes. You return to the game. You're never truly off duty. You can never tune out the city, ignore the citizens that move through her streets like the blood through your veins. You may hear the city's voice, but everyone in this room feels her inhales and exhales, her moods and temperaments. You don't walk the streets of a city for years without syncing up with her.
However, Suzerainty can help take your minds off of it for a while. You invite the members of C-Wing over for a game night most Sundays. There are only four of you tonight. Jean, Judit, and Kim gather around your table, a shim under one leg to keep it sturdy. You invited Mack and Chester, but they rarely made it. The other – younger – patrol officers are too intimidated to take you up on the offer and you aren't ready to invite junior officers into your tiny apartment.
You glance at the game, looking at your pieces. At this point, Kim is taking a clear lead. Judit is frowning, watching Kim's face as he stockpiles cocaine. You frown, you're biding your time. Soon the workers will rise up.
Jean is watching you. He seems to sense your incoming, impassioned rant. He points his cigarette at you, smoke drifting upward. “No.”
“What?” Your face is the very picture of injured innocence.
“We do not need to do this every time we play.” He takes a long drag on his cigarette. You watch the nicotine stick.
[ELECTROCHEMISTRY] Bum one off of him. You did make dinner. He owes you.
[VOLITION] You've managed to avoid picking up any of your old vices for months now. You do not need the cigarette. Go get some coffee.
Judit and Kim ignore you and Jean. This is an oft repeated conversation and they know how it goes. You stand, grabbing your chipped bright green mug that says “Of course I talk to myself, sometimes I need expert advice.” It appeared on your desk one day. After suspiciously eyeing everyone in the room, you decided it was a compliment and took it home.
The pot is nearly empty. “Anyone else want coffee?” Kim and Judit simply shake their heads. Jean waves his mug in the air. You grab it and split what remains between the two of you. It's the burned remains of a smoky brew. You're too old to be drinking caffeine this late at night, but you need the soothing warmth to help you stay relaxed. Anything to keep your mind off how much you want a drink for a little while.
You return to your seat, sliding Jean his cup. “I just don't understand how building monuments for the Suzerain-” Jean waves his cigarette in your face again.
“Shitkid, I said no.” You let out a huff.
“I do admire your willingness to lose to stick to your morals,” Kim murmurs as he pulls another contract card.
You cross your arms and nod. “That's me. A highly moral creature.” Jean groans, tossing his tokens aside. You both know the game is down to Judit and Kim now. Judit is silent, her lips pursed into a thin line. The group doesn't always play Suzerainty, but you and Jean care less about the actual game than the routine. Meanwhile, Kim and Judit both have a highly competitive streak. You narrow your eyes. Looks like she might be trying to build the victory column. You haven't been paying enough attention to know if she'll succeed, but it's worth a lot of points.
Jean stands and opens the window, leaning against the sill and blowing smoke into the night air. You lean forward, watching Judit and Kim, studying their faces. It's easier than watching the game. Kim is nervous – a small flicker of his right eye, Judit might just win this. And then, Judit's eyes widen. Triumph. She's built the column, the game is over. You lean back. They begin the laborious task of tallying their accomplishments, but Judit has won. You clap her on the shoulder and laugh at Kim's polite acceptance of defeat.
The evening ends, the apartment, so recently filled with the smell of food and coffee, the sounds of people together and talking, now feels abandoned. Kim is the last to leave, he helps you tidy up, clean the dishes, move the furniture back around.
When you walk him outside to his MC, you pause and watch him as he gets in his car, a small smile as he departs. You stand on the steps and sigh. The night air is frigid, winter is truly here. The city sighs with you. The acrid tang of something tickles your nose and you sneeze. Somewhere, something is burning. With a grin of satisfaction for an evening well spent, you open the door.
You return to your apartment. You step into your bedroom. Instead of truly cleaning, you'd stashed anything unsightly in here and closed the door. Dirty clothes, your jackets, your nine pairs of shoes.
[INLAND EMPIRE] Like a monument to disorder. The Suzerain would give few victory points to this sculpture. Still, it feels right in this space. A monument to you, Harrier Du Bois, a sentient mess.
∞∞∞∞
MONDAY January '52
You arrive at Precinct 41, cheeks red, toes frozen. You are wearing a pair of brown suede ankle boots. They look great, but they are not as warm as needed for the windy day. You walk to work most days, although when the weather is really bad, Kim often shows up en route and picks you up. It's only a 30 minute walk. It does mean you are late most mornings, but you work late pretty much every night, so it balances out.
You collapse with a sigh into your desk chair. It sags with your weight, creaks once and then settles.
“Don't get comfortable,” Jean says with a growl. He points to the communication officer, “Oldboy's just taken two calls.” You and Jean are no longer partners, it was too tense after last March. He remembered too much and you too little. More and more scraps of memory reappeared as time went on, but still not enough to rebuild the past. So, when Kim transferred, you became his first partner in years and Jean was partnered up with Judit who'd been promoted to sergeant. You've built something new together, something fragile, but you're not sure you'll ever remember what was lost.
Jean took over as head of C-Wing while you were on probation, which brought a promotion to lieutenant. He hated it. He didn't like taking over alone and it was strange for him to be in charge of a higher ranking officer – even if that officer was shitkid Harrier Du Bois. However, as the months passed, Jean remained in charge in name, but in practice it was a little more democratic. Captain Pryce had brought up reinstating your leadership role, but for now things work best with Jean in charge. Jean handles the responsibility better and it lets him aim you in the right direction. You both know it won't be indefinite, it is already highly unusual, but 'highly unusual' could be your middle name.
“Shit,” You mutter as Jean stands to talk to Jules 'Oldboy' Pidieu. “I need coffee first.” You stand and head down to the small canteen. An old industrial coffee maker which has been perpetually brewing coffee as long as you can remember – so 10 months – is filled with the bitter, dark brew that powers Precinct 41.
When you return, Jean and Kim are discussing something. Kim is slightly louder with Jean than he is with you, but Jean is quieter with Kim than he is with you as well, so it all balances out. You make a face as the hot coffee burns your tongue.
“What have we got?” You lean against your desk, shifting so your good hip takes the weight.
Jean holds up two slim folders. Empty for now. “Your choice. A murder or. . .“ He drags it out.
“Or a murder,” Kim finishes for him. You stroll forward assessing the empty folders. You close your eyes and reach forward.
“What are you hiding,” You mutter.
[EMPTY FOLDER ONE] Revenge
[EMPTY FOLDER TWO] Longing
You snatch at the second folder. “We'll take this one.” Jean sighs at your theatrics. Judit lets out a small huff that might be laughter.
“Good enough, you're probably a better fit for that scene anyway.”
“Oh?” You ask, already grabbing your ledger.
“Yeah, looks like they tried to cover it up with fire. At least you can decide if the building is safe to investigate.” You nod.
You raise your brows at Kim. He stares back evenly, “After you detective.”
Communications Officer Pidieu had written down the few details he had received. After an apartment fire was put out, a body had been found inside. The caller reported the person had died before the fire.
“Hmmm,” you look at the scant details. “I've seen it before, trying to cover up the crime with arson.” You pause as you chase that train of thought. “At least, I'm pretty sure I've seen it before. Don't ask for details. I can't give you any.”
“I too have seen it,” Kim nods, navigating his Coupris Kineema into a small space between other vehicles. He steps out, zipping his bomber jacket up. He will not admit his conceit in continuing to wear the lightweight jacket despite the freezing temps, so you walk next to him, your bulk blocking the wind.
The building is intact. You scan up and see the burnt corner on the third floor. You point. The exterior walls are burned, but the building is made of brick. From down here, it seems safe enough. You hunch your shoulders against the cold. “Building looks safe enough.” You slap Kim on the back, “Let's go in.”
It doesn't take you long to locate the burned out apartment. You step in first, going just far enough in so that Kim can step in beside you. You hear him tell the apartment manager that they will talk to him later.
[PERCEPTION] The room's walls are blackened with soot. The carpet squishes beneath your feet, the result of the bucket chain the other tenants formed to stop the blaze. There is a figure on a burned sofa, hunched over, as if curled up for a nap. The burns in the floor seem the most severe in front of the couch. The single room contains a living space and a kitchenette. The window is shattered, but you can still smell the acrid smoke. And something else. Gasoline?
You squint, looking around the room. There. A plastic container, distorted by heat and flames, lies under a table. You point.
Kim nods, taking out an evidence bag. With a last look before stepping into the scene, you move forward. “An incendiary device,” you mutter, setting it into the bag Kim is holding.
“Indeed, we'll need to get D-Wing involved, they usually investigate cases of arson.” You nod.
[LOGIC] How did the caller know the victim was dead before the blaze?
“Khm,” Kim murmurs, pen already scratching across his notebook. “Look at the position of the victim's body – looks like they were fighting.”
[VISUAL CALCULUS] The slumped position of the body indicates it was at rest when the fire started, though its arms are pulled up in front of it as if it was going to throw or catch a punch. There are no obvious signs of an escape attempt.
[ENCYCLOPEDIA] The pugilistic pose is a common pose in burn victims caused by dehydration and shrinkage of tissue. Exposure to the fire and heat causes the body to form a boxer-like pose.
You step carefully over the wet, soot stained carpet to the body. It appears to be a woman, curled up. You frown. “This could be a variation of the pugilistic pose burn victims are often found in,” you relay to Kim.
“It could be.” He's still writing in his notebook, but his eyes look up and survey the room. “What I'm not seeing is a clear indicator that she was dead before the fire started.” He turned around to see the whole room. “What did our caller see to make them believe the victim had been murdered?”
You move forward, pulling on gloves. Gently, you try to pull the victims hands down away from their face. When they've been moved as much as they can you perform the stations of breath. Kim watches, autopsy form ready.
[PERCEPTION] This close, the body smells like cooked meat and while there are worse smells, a cadaver that smells like dinner does not do any favors to the stomach.
Kim reads out the autopsy form, you give him what information you can. However, with this level of tissue damage, processing will need to do more work on her. Parts of her back were protected by the sofa and the skin is still intact. You guess Occidental.
“Who killed you?” You mutter. Kim says nothing. He's familiar with you questioning the dead. You close your eyes and listen. A groan. No, a muffled gasp. You open your eyes again, peering intently at her face. You reach a hand forward and gently rub the skin around her lips. You pull back a fiber and hold it up.
“What is it?” Kim doesn't bother to lean in to look. He's content to let you describe it.
“It looks like someone held something, a cloth maybe, up to her face.” You shrug. “If that's true, it is unlikely she was dead before the fire, we'll need a more thorough autopsy – someone to check her lungs for smoke inhalation.” You sit back on your heels. “We can't finish this here.” You stand and stretch. You stalk around the room, eyes flickering back and forth. There is something. . .
[PERCEPTION] The door is hanging off its hinges, presumably where an enthusiastic neighbor knocked it down to get to the blaze. However, underneath the smoke and physical damage, the handle is loose. The lock still engaged.
You put a tentative hand on the knob and twist. Nothing catches. The tumbler on the inside is broken. The woman may have thought the door was locked, when in reality, nothing clicked.
“So here's my theory,” you announce. “Someone followed this girl home, broke into her apartment, possibly did something to her that either began or ended with a cloth being held over her face.” You gesture expansively. “Then, to hide his-”
“His?” Kim asked.
“You're right, the odds may be that it is a man, but we should be open minded.” You shoot him finger guns, “Way to be a feminist.”
“Then to hide his or her crime, a device is left.” You scratch the back of your head. “I'd guess one that didn't ignite immediately, but it is hard to say just based on what we found.”
Kim nods, “We will need to look at other arson cases and see if this is similar to any other cases. Perhaps the arsonist is escalating.”
You sigh, “Right, time for interviews.”
∞∞∞∞
It's after noon before you and Kim head back to the precinct, stopping at a bakery for some pastries for lunch. Neither of you are interested in meat for a meal today. You put in a records request for recent arson cases with similar devices found at the scene. You reread Kim's notes from the interviews, then take out a scrap of paper and begin doodling.
[LOGIC] Someone made the call about the women being dead before the fire. No one interviewed admitted to making the call and Oldboy says it came from a payphone. No name was given.
[INLAND EMPIRE] Perhaps the perpetrator wants to be caught. Maybe this isn't the first time. Maybe they want people to be afraid.
[HALF-LIGHT] They should be afraid of you. They wanted attention, they got attention.
“Working hard?” You know Kim well enough to hear the slight smile in his voice. To others he might sound upset. You look at your sheet. A doodle of a girl (you can tell because she has a dress) is next to a flame surrounded by a box.
“Thinking, Kim. It's part of the process.” You lean back in the chair, feeling it tilt as you do. It hasn't dropped you yet. “I'm wondering if this is a pattern or a one off. If it is a pattern, could they have called us themselves? Craving attention?” You tap your jaw with the pen. “I'm gonna ask Oldboy if he knows what payphone was used to make the call.”
Communication Officer Jules 'Oldboy' Pidieu does know, and so you convince Kim that it is more important to follow this lead than to read through the backlog of arson cases that are currently piled up on your desks. The payphone is about a block from the apartment building. It is on a corner near a mailbox. You and Kim stop and look at the payphone for a moment, making sure it still works. You tap a short drumbeat on the mailbox. It rings hollowly against your touch. It has been emptied recently.
The nearest shop has a large glass front. Perfect for seeing out into the street. With wordless agreement, you and Kim head over. Hunching your shoulders against the wind, you open the door grandly. The lieutenant precedes you, his notebook at the ready.
[PERCEPTION] The air is an intoxicating mix of spices and flowers. Some smells are sweet, some bitter. Darkened glass containers line a wall and seem to be full of dried... plants?
You lean forward, looking at them curiously. You hear the lieutenant take in a deep, slow breath.
“Welcome, welcome,” a small gray haired woman emerges from behind a curtained door. Her voice has a smile in it when she says, “Always a delight to see officers of the RCM.”
[AUTHORITY] Is she mocking us?
[DRAMA] No, she seems sincere.
You open your mouth to ask about the phone booth, but she continues on blithely. “So what do you want today? Something soothing?” She frowns, “Or maybe something to energize you?” She turns to her glass containers. “Hmm, maybe something to destress?”
“I'm sorry ma'am,” Kim interrupts smoothly, “We are here on official RCM business.”
“And I'm more of a coffee drinker myself.” You add quickly.
[EMPATHY] Rude.
You wince and shift, your feet causing the wooden floorboards to creak.
“Oh, well that is too bad.” When she turns to face you both again, her smile has faded and it makes her look older. “Well, what can I help you with?”
Kim steps forward, “Do many people use the payphone outside your business, ma'am?”
She looks at it and considers, “Hmm, a fair amount. I probably see at least a dozen people use it each day.”
Kim is writing, so you continue, “What about early this morning? Around 7:00 am?”
“It's true I was here that early, but it's so dark out at that time.” She's rubbing her hands together. “I think someone was out there, it might have been the municipal trash collector using the phone, there's a dumpster in the alley.”
“The person you may have seen, what did they look like. Male? Female?”
[PERCEPTION] She is twisting her fingers together now, her joints are swollen. Arthritic perhaps?
“Um,” she mutters, “well. . .”
[EMPATHY] She doesn't want to get anyone in trouble.
You step forward and place a hand on the counter, gently, so as not to startle her. “No one is in trouble, Ms. . .” You pause, waiting for her to give you her name.
“Gossert,” she says quietly and then more firmly, “Etta Gossert.”
“Etta, we're looking for someone who phoned in a tip, we just need some details.” You keep your voice quiet.
“Oh, well. . .” She shudders, “I can't really tell you much. I think a man may have used the phone, but I can't say what time. I wasn't really paying attention. Black jacket, er, maybe gray?” You can hear the friction of Kim's pen against his paper.
[ENCYCLOPEDIA] The Trash Collection Service, CS Municipal, wears a dark gray zippered jacket and white cap as part of its uniform.
“Anything else? Physical appearance?”
“Light hair? But its hard to say, it could have been a cap.”
[SHIVERS] All through the city, municipal garbage trucks take to the streets, carting away filth. A driver swears as a dirty soup of muck and grime pours out of a bucket onto his shoes. A woman across the street feels a moment of sympathy and relief. Sympathy for the man's job, relief it isn't hers.
A small snap. “Thank you for the information Ms. Gossert, it's been helpful.” A ghost of a smile runs across her face. A thin lead. You look at Kim and nod. He slides his notebook away. Then you turn back to the old woman.
[CONCEPTUALIZATION] This woman looks like a master of the art of tea making. They say you can read the future in the tea leaves. All you'd need is a saucer and an imagination.
[ENCYCLOPEDIA] Tasseography is the practice of fortune telling by looking for patterns in the leftovers of tea leaves, coffee grounds, or wine sediment.
[ELECTROCHEMISTRY] We should try that, but with wine.
[VOLITION] No.
[CONCEPTUALIZATION] Imagine the secrets we could uncover about ourselves if we tried.
[VOLITION] With tea if you must.
Task Accepted: Read Your Future in Tea Leaves
You raise your voice slightly, “You know, since I'm here, do you have any tea you'd recommend?”
∞∞∞∞
“Ten reál for two bags of tea?” You stare at the small paper bag in front of you. Etta had given you a special blend she'd mixed herself with a wink and Kim one that she promised would remind him of home. Kim coolly informed her that Revachol was his home. She had just laughed and insisted he try it anyway. Harry, sensing Kim's mood souring, had paid for it quickly. Kim insisted that Harry take both.
“I could buy like... six cups of coffee for that much. Decent coffee,” You complain.
“Maybe it is really good tea.”
“Maybe it will give me superpowers?” You open the bag and sniff, “I don't feel like I've teleported recently.”
“You have never teleported at all, detective,” Kim says stiffly.
“You really need to broaden your mind, Kim.” You stand outside the Kineema. It wasn't much of a lead anyway and it hadn't gained you much new information. “What do you think we should do next?”
The lieutenant unlocks his door, “I think it might be time to look over some of the other case files D-Wing dropped off.”
∞∞∞∞
“I'm going to tell my future,” You stare down at the steaming mug of tea. You'd poured in the tea lady's specially concocted tea, there was a lot of tea in the single packet, so you split it in half. If this tea reading goes poorly, then you can try again
“Do you know how to read tea leaves?” Lieutenant Kitsuragi asks blithely.
Do I?
[ENCYCLOPEDIA: failure] I have nothing.
“I mean. . .” You stare at the mug. Then you sniff the tea carefully. It smells florally? Maybe minty? You aren't sure.
“Well, detective, if any prophetic visions hit while you drink the tea, please share. In the meantime,” Kim's quiet voice manages to convey the immensity of the work ahead of them as he looks over your desk.
D-Wing really took the opportunity to off load some of their cases. Your desk is teetering with files, some thick, some thin. “You know, I don't think they actually looked for anything that met our criteria. I think they just dropped off all their recent arson cases.”
Kim takes off his glasses with a sigh, “I guess we will need to sort them then.”
[LOGIC] Organize, prioritize, and then look for patterns.
[VISUAL CALCULUS] And fix those stacks, they are about to fall over.
Afternoon moves into evening, you've made 4 piles to start with. Pile 1: similar incendiary device; Pile 2: single victims; Pile 3: similar device AND victim; Pile 4: none of the above. Kim takes Pile 1 and begins reviewing it. Pile 2 goes to you.
Until processing finishes with the body, your best guess is that the victim is an Opal Doering – the apartment's tenant. The guess is solid, as no one has been able to contact her at work or with family, but you should know for sure by tomorrow. You grimace as you swallow the last bit of tea, long since cold. You look at the leaves but no inspiration hits. Are they supposed to spell something? You empty the mug and go to find some coffee. You will try again tomorrow.
[CONCEPTUALIZATION: failure] The amorphous blobs are a representation of your lost past. There is no message.
You review the victims, looking for patterns in appearance, job, age, anything that might form a pattern. You begin pulling files from pile 3. You stand, extending your work area to your chair and an open desk. You reorganize the subpiles by date.
Then you go and stand over Kim who has tidy, neat piles with small written descriptions. He's taken off his jacket and sits looking intently at a file.
[RHETORIC] He's accustomed to you watching him, so he knows you will wait until he has a moment.
The lieutenant sets a folder into one of his stacks and then makes a note in his Mnemotechnique A6 notebook. You're itching to start sorting them, but instead ask, “Anything?”
Kim gestures to the piles. “These match the device we found most closely, although I am not an expert, so I think we need to talk to someone in D-Wing to be sure.” He runs a finger down the stack, “It is an alarmingly large number.”
He rests his hand on another pile. “These occurred in a similar area to our victim, but the devices and methods seem too disparate to be connected.”
You nod, “There were a few that matched the device and had a victim. Several of the fires with victims were so large that they may have been started by a device but it was too damaged to be easily found.” You sigh, “Not to mention, some of the casualties weren't at the source of the fire, just adjacent.”
In Jamrock, there were few houses and many, many small apartment complexes. Squat concrete buildings with anywhere from 4-20 apartments crammed inside on a corner. It was a luxury to live somewhere where you didn't smell your neighbor's meals and bowel movements. A fire in one apartment would be an immediate hazard to any adjacent units.
“I've made a few piles,” You begin gesturing and Kim looks over at your stacks. “I want older cases where the ignition source seems to match.” You run a hand down your mutton chops, “I think it's possible this has been escalating, so older cases without a clear victim might match. Then we can look for a pattern in the victims themselves.”
[CONCEPTUALIZATION] These stacks aren't the way to solve this. You need to reorganize. They form a pattern, you just haven't found it yet.
Kim nods and stretches, looking at his watch. C-Wing is empty, although Jean and Judit left a while ago to follow a lead and never returned. “It's late, we should head home.” He puts his jacket on, takes his Armistice out of his drawer. “Would you like a ride?”
[EMPATHY] The lieutenant is tired, but won't mind a little detour.
[ELECTROCHEMISTRY] Maybe you can make a stop somewhere, get some wine, invite him inside. . .
[VOLITION] He is your partner.
[ESPRIT DE CORPS] You half brother.
[VOLITION] Do not subject him to your alcoholic desires
It's so easy to be comfortable with Kim. You want him to visit so much your teeth ache, but when the voice in your head is trying to get Kim together with alcohol. . . It's a bad idea. You know it would be a bad idea. You know yourself, your own addictions, your own desires. Kim can not become another one. Other nights you accept the ride, but tonight, you don't trust yourself.
“Ah, no Kim,” You shake your head. “I think I'll walk, maybe grab some food on my way home.” Kim looks surprised, but accepts with a nod.
You wrap your jacket tightly around yourself, the air is so cold it hurts to breathe. With a wave, you set off towards home, when the cold becomes too much, you duck into a gyros place and order some food, by the time you get home, the food is cold, but you eat some of it anyway.
When you return home, you kick the radiator on and collapse onto your couch. The stuffing has flattened, but it still keeps the springs from poking you. You close your eyes and see burnt corpses.
When you finally dream that night, you see Kim burning, trapped in a locked room. He doesn't scream, just watches you, watches as you throw yourself toward him, trying to save him. The last thing you see before you wake is Kim's body darkening into a charred corpse, his eyes never leaving your face.