SEVEN: DRIFTERS
JODI
Monday brings yet more snow, and it's still falling when Jodi wanders down to join her mother at the kitchen table, the world beyond the window blurred with white like an untuned TV screen. Through the chatter of the radio – Johto 2, her mother's favourite station – Jodi can hear Ella and her father grunting monosyllables at each other as they shovel the driveway with Lucille. It's been their job for as long as Jodi can remember; she herself never had the strength to use a shovel, even before the avalanche. Something about hearing the three of them at it is comforting. Johto does its best to kill all its inhabitants every winter, but here they are regardless. The snow comes down and they just shovel it out of the way.
“Morning, chickadee,” says her mother, handing her a cup of coffee without being asked. “What's on the agenda for today?”
“Maybe go to the library and get some work done,” she replies. “I'm meant to be writing an essay on psy-acoustics.”
This isn't a lie. She is meant to be writing an essay, and she is thinking of working in the library. It's just that the work she plans on doing there isn't anything to do with university. Going on what Sam said yesterday, someone must have been killed here in Mahogany about ten years ago – and it must have been connected to the chapter house. The library has microfiche archives of the Mahogany Courier going back at least thirty years; if Sam's investigation back then really was into another murder, that's where Jodi and Tacoma will find the evidence.
“You know,” says her mother carefully, not quite looking her in the eye, “nobody's gonna be home. You can work here if you like.”
“I might need some books other than the ones I brought home,” says Jodi. “I don't know if they'll have them there, but it's worth looking.”
“Hm. Okay.” Her mother takes a meditative sip of coffee, furrows her brow. “You've been spending a lot of time out this past week, Jodi.”
She leaves it at that: no need to actually ask the question. Even if Jodi wasn't psychic, she'd be able to tell it was there.
“Everything is okay,” she says. “I guess I just miss this place. It's nice to see everything again.”
“Is that it?” asks her mother. “It's just – you know, there's a murderer out there, chickadee, and I know it's not dark and you're careful, but … you know.”
Oh, Jodi knows. Hard not to. She's spent far too much time recently thinking about killers. The thought had crossed her mind that her parents were probably worried about her getting killed – she's worried about it, so if they weren't something would be pretty badly wrong – but she didn't really know how to reassure them. Learning what she's up to certainly won't make them feel any better.
“Yeah,” she says, in lieu of anything better. “That's it. It was a long term, and everything is so weird. Just want to … feel like I'm here again. If that makes sense.”
“I think so.” Her mother chuckles, though Jodi can tell she hasn't stopped worrying. “The big city losing its charm already? Kids today are so jaded.”
It's an offer to move on, and Jodi takes it gladly. The conversation isn't over, but it's on hold, for now at least.
“It's probably all that TV rotting our brains.”
“It probably is,” agrees her mother. “Here's trouble.”
Thumping from the hall: Ella and her dad, stamping snow off their boots while Lucille clomps heavily along in their wake. They come in, Ella complaining about her friend Stacy, with whom she has for whatever teenage reason fallen out with.
“… and like I don't even get what her problem is,” she's saying, while her father nods and hmms as if he can actually keep up with the speed of her thoughts. “I mean so what if―” She catches sight of Jodi and breaks off, startled. “Oh. Heya, sis.”
Okay. So it's like that. Why can't people just be nice? The bombs could fall tomorrow; this kind of hate just seems like a waste of everyone's time. But Jodi smiles, knowing that Ella doesn't want her to acknowledge that she can tell what the problem is, and says good morning.
“Yeah, good for people who don't have school,” Ella says. She's good at this – you can't see the nerves beneath the sarcasm – but of course Jodi can sense it anyway. “Honestly. How come you get so much holiday?”
“Because we have essays to write,” says Jodi. “I'm going up to work in the library today. So think of me when you're having fun in art class.”
“I don't have art today.”
“Whatever. Lothian, stop bothering Lucille.”
He pulls away from her and gives her his best innocent look, although the effect is slightly ruined by the way Lucille is glaring at him, a nimbus of greyish light shimmering around her fists.
“Morning, kiddo,” says her father, leaning down to plant a kiss on the top of her head, the way he does with Ella. It isn't something he ever did with Jodi, and he does it now hesitantly, like he isn't sure if it's appropriate; Jodi blushes and tries to smile through her awkwardness, hoping he understands that the gesture is welcome. “You ready to go, Chelle?”
“Sure thing.” Her mother drains her cup and gets up. “Ella? I found your chemistry homework down the back of the sofa. Put it on the coffee table.”
“Oh. That's where it was? Thanks, Mum.”
“'S what I'm here for,” she says drily. “Have a good day, kids. I got to make sure Mr Martell doesn't strain his wrist typing out his own letters.”
“You're the real hero of the mill, huh.”
“I sure am, darling.” She crosses to the counter and clicks the radio over to the Goldenrod Underground. The signal's terrible out here, but it's the only station that has a chance of playing any electronic music. “See you tonight. Jodi, if you pass by the store today, can you get some more potatoes for me? Get Lothian to carry 'em, if you're sure he won't eat 'em.”
“Sure. See you!”
Off they go, her mother and father and Lucille, and then it's just her and Ella. Jodi wonders if she should say something, and then she's wondered for so long that the moment is past and Ella too is preparing to leave.
“Bye,” she says, folding up her errant homework and stuffing it in her bag. “Catch you later, sis.”
“Yeah,” says Jodi, a little less certainly than she meant. “Bye.”
If Ella notices anything wrong, she doesn't show it. The next thing Jodi knows, the door is closing again and she's alone with the crackly voice of the Underground DJ.
“…. next up, got some Black Peaches to start your day off right. Here's 'Electric Number Eight'.”
The music starts. Jodi closes her eyes, concentrating hard on the chiming of the synths, and makes herself a promise to talk to Ella properly sometime soon. She did know that this wasn't going to be over with just that first conversation, that there would be complications to deal with and teething pains to soothe – but she was kind of hoping that she'd be wrong.
Okay. No point brooding, right? Just feed Lothian, get Tacoma, head out to the library. There'll be time enough to deal with Ella later on.
And if not – well, she's just going to have to make some.
Don't you think if someone got murdered here we'd already know about it? Sam came back in what, 1966, so go two years back from that – yeah, we were here in '64. We would have heard.
“Well, I dunno,” says Jodi, turning the corner onto Pine Street. “Sam implied pretty clearly that she was investigating for the same reason I am. So …”
Yeah, I know. Just doesn't seem to make much sense.
“Checking won't hurt.”
No. Guess not.
She doesn't sound happy about it. She hasn't really sounded happy at all this morning; it feels like something's on her mind, though she doesn't seem to want to talk about it and Jodi hasn't wanted to pry. It's not just that she'd rather not upset her, it's also that she suspects that it might have to do with what they talked about yesterday, and Jodi isn't sure she's up to that right now. Tacoma clearly still feels bad about what happened back on their trainer journey, and that's a problem that they're going to have to deal with, eventually. But that was seven years ago now. It's been three since the last operation on her leg, when she finally stopped growing and they didn't need to adjust the bolts any more. Jodi would be lying if she said she didn't still think about all of this – she dreams of it even now, especially in winter, and wakes up whimpering in a way that makes her feel small and ugly – but it's over, for her.
Not for Tacoma, though.
Like Jodi knows how to even begin helping her through that.
“Anyway, I'm gonna stop in at the store,” she says, trying to put the issue out of her mind. “If I leave it till the way back I'll forget. And Lothi doesn't mind carrying stuff, do you?”
His nostrils quiver and an eager hum buzzes through the roots of her teeth. She isn't actually sure he got what she meant, but she can't fault him for enthusiasm.
Okay, sure. So we're there, right?
“Yeah. Sorry. Forgot the rock's in my bag.”
'S cool, says Tacoma. I'll just … wait here. Like usual.
It's the kind of bitterness that demands that you ignore it. Jodi obliges, not wanting to make a whole thing of it just yet, and motions for Lothian to shove open the door to Sarah's store. She steels herself – this will be her first visit since coming out – and then follows him in.
This place never changes: flickery yellow light that doesn't quite compensate for the windows that are half-covered up by extra shelves, a million and one products crammed into far too small a space. The merchandise is stacked higher than most people can reach; it's usually Tacoma's absurdly tall brother Everett who gets things down from the top shelf for you, but Jodi suspects he's probably not working today. Sarah's aipom will have to pick up the slack.
“Good morning!” calls Sarah, craning her neck to see from behind the counter. And then: “Oh,” she says, the chirpiness draining from her voice. “Alex.”
Jodi clears her throat.
“Jodi, Sarah,” she says, nudging Lothian out of the way so she can get by. “I go by Jodi now.”
“Of course,” says Sarah. “Jodi, sorry.” Forced smile. Her aipom climbs onto her shoulder and slips his tail-arm around the back of her neck, unable to tell why she's worried but wanting to help anyway. “What can I get for you today?”
“Just some potatoes. It's fine, I know where they are.”
“All right,” says Sarah. Jodi thinks she probably knows she's staring, but she can't make herself stop. She's starting to feel shocked herself, half breathless just at the fact that she exists; this is definitely not her emotion, definitely just something she's picked up from Sarah, but it's very hard to remember that. She tugs off her gloves and is so startled to see her painted nails she actually stumbles a little on that one loose tile by the canned peas. “You … let me know if you need anything.”
“Sure.” Just get the potatoes and get out, Jodi tells herself. It will be fine. You will be fine.
The silence as she picks out her potatoes is deafening. She wishes the vegetables weren't directly in Sarah's line of sight; it feels like her eyes are about to burn a hole in the back of her neck. Lothian paces anxiously behind her, and because he's too nervous to be careful of his wingtips he brushes some cans off the shelf with a clatter that makes Jodi jump half out of her skin.
“Oh, don't worry,” says Sarah immediately, before she's even had a chance to apologise. “Roy will get that. Roy?”
He hoots and leaps down to gather up the fallen cans, edging warily around Lothian. Most small pokémon are like that with him. Noivern only eat fruit, but if something looks as much like a dragon as Lothian does then other pokémon tend to give it a wide berth.
“Thanks,” says Jodi, watching as Roy shuffles the cans adroitly between his three hands and back up onto the shelf. “I … yeah. Sorry.”
“Oh, don't worry,” repeats Sarah. “It happens.” Brief pause. “Have you seen the news?” she asks. “We might get that Gym after all.”
“Yep. We might.” No, come on. She can do better than this. At least, she can if she can get over her second-hand astonishment at the fact she's wearing a dress. And no, it shouldn't be down to her to help Sarah through this, but you have to work with what you've got, and what Jodi's got, right now, is someone who has temporarily forgotten that she's known Jodi all her life. “Here's hoping we do,” she says, taking her bag of potatoes up to the counter to be weighed. “We could use some more jobs around here. You could branch out into trainer supplies.”
“Better not let the League know,” says Sarah. “They'll want to put up a Pokémon Mart here.”
“A little healthy competition never hurt anyone.” Smile. No one but Jodi has to know how much effort it takes. “Right, Sarah?”
“I guess not,” she agrees. Her head is clearing now; Jodi can feel the pressure on her own mind easing a little. Sarah's starting to remember that Jodi is a person and not just a spectacle. “How, um, how is Goldenrod?”
Jodi shrugs.
“Like everywhere else,” she says. “But it's okay, I guess.”
“Is that so?” Jodi dislikes that phrase. She has never heard anyone mean anything by it except I think you're wrong. “I read in the paper that they have terrible problems there at the moment. With all the immigrants, you know, there's even less work to go around.”
“Is that so?” asks Jodi, before she can stop herself. Sarah blinks, and then she gets it and laughs.
“Oh no,” she says. “Not you, Jodi.”
No, it's never Jodi – not Jodi, with her mother's pale skin and green eyes. But it is her sister, and her mestizo father, and there is almost nothing that Jodi hates more than being taken for someone who can share in your disdain for people who don't look like you.
“Sure,” says Jodi, with a smile. She can't argue. It's never worth it. “So how much is that, then?”
“Hm? Four and six.”
“Huh,” says Jodi. She isn't actually surprised; she just wants to say something, to put more words between this moment and the one in which she failed to challenge Sarah. “Okay.”
The coins change hands. Jodi is about to say goodbye when she remembers that she's meant to be a detective.
“Oh, one more thing,” she says. “Uh, quick question – there's this word I found in my book, and literally nobody I've spoken to can tell me what it means, so I'm asking everyone – anyway, d'you know what a chapter house is?”
It's like Jodi just threw a kitten out of a window: there's that shock again, crashing into Sarah's mind with such violence that Jodi struggles not to flinch.
“Nope,” says Sarah, cheerful as anything. “Doesn't ring a bell. Are you sure your father doesn't know? He's good with words. Real good, considering.”
She's an incredible liar, she really is. And she must know that Jodi can see through it, too. But she must also know that Jodi can't just demand that she tell the truth, not if she doesn't want Sarah complaining to her parents and things getting complicated, and so she's decided to play it this way instead.
What is it that she's hiding? Did she― oh come on, Jodi. Sarah? Really? Her strangling days are long past; if she ever had the strength to choke the life out of a struggling human being, she certainly doesn't now. Besides, everyone's saying Tacoma was hit with an electric move before she was strangled. Roy doesn't know any of those; Sarah partnered with him when she was mourning her old hitmonlee eight years ago, and he's never had any battle experience at all. He joined her for companionship, not to gain strength.
“Oh,” says Jodi, playing for time while she tries to figure out whether or not to push any harder. “Well, uh …”
The bell over the door jingles, and Jodi glances over her shoulder to see Con coming in, looking what you might politely call careworn. Okay, decision made. She is not sticking around to hear his bile echoed in her head again.
“Thanks anyway,” she says. “I better get going. Uni work to do. Say hi to Leo for me!”
“Of course. Bye!”
Jodi hands the potatoes down to Lothian, who flicks the bag expertly over his shoulder the way he's learned to do with all the things Jodi is unable to carry herself, and the two of them head for the door, pretending not to notice Con watching until the very last moment.
“Oh, hi Chief Wicke,” she says as she passes, and moves on without acknowledging his mumbled response. She doesn't slow down until she's put the length of the street between them, and then she curses under her breath and lets herself relax a little. How much did Con hear, she wonders. The last thing she needs is him getting involved. He'd probably disapprove of this just as much as Sam, except unlike her he has the power to actually stop her.
Ugh. She could use a cigarette, honestly, and there are places near here where she could stop and smoke one out of the way of prying eyes, but she needs to stick to the plan. There's work to be done today. And given that she isn't even sure which year they should be investigating, Jodi has a feeling that they're going to be at it for a while.
The library is a little busier today than the last couple of times Jodi was here. There's Simone, of course, reading her beekeeping book, but there are a couple of kids in school uniform on one of the microfiche machines, and Victor Orbeck is browsing through the periodicals. She stays in the doorway until he's moved deeper into the stacks – he didn't like her before, and she's certain he isn't going to be any fonder of her now – and then moves to wait for Lorna while she swoops in to help the teenagers load the fiche into the machine.
“Text always runs parallel to the long side,” says Lorna, plucking it from their fingers and rotating it. “Here. Like this.” She glances over her shoulder, sees Jodi hovering there. “Excuse me now, Crystal.”
“Morning, Lorna.” The kids turn at the sound of her voice. Jodi recognises one of them now she's been put in context – Crystal Aston, a year younger than Ella – but she's still drawing a blank on the other. It's hard to say whether knowing or not makes their eyes and the startled curiosity behind them any easier to bear. “How are you?”
“Very well, thank you, Jodi,” replies Lorna. “You're back quick. Book no good?”
“Huh? Oh, no, it's fine.” Crystal and her friend are still staring. Jodi meets their eyes, just for a moment, and then they realise what they're doing and busy themselves with the microfiche again. “I'm just here to do some research.”
“Ah,” says Lorna. “University?”
“Nope. Personal interest.”
“Really, now.” Lorna folds her arms, peers at her over the top of her glasses. “How can I help?”
“You've got all the old Couriers on microfiche, right?” Lorna nods. “Great. So if I'm looking for, uh, let's say 1964 to start with …”
“That would be over here.” Lorna glides over to the drawer in question. Somehow she never seems to make any noise when she moves. Like Dr Ishihara, now that Jodi thinks of it. Maybe it's a ghost thing; they both have spectral partners. “What are you looking for, exactly? That's a lot of papers to go through.”
“It's … difficult to say,” says Jodi, wishing she'd had the foresight to plan her answer. Tacoma is right, she's terrible at lying. “I'm, uh …”
You're interested, says Tacoma, out of nowhere. You came home and I'm dead and everything's different, and you feel like you want to know your hometown again.
It's so unexpected and so sad that Jodi can't quite contain herself; some of it slips out at the edges of her mind and makes Lothian squeak in confusion. God. She knew Tacoma was a good liar, and also probably clinically depressed, but – damn. She wasn't expecting that.
At least Lorna won't question it. It's much too personal for that.
“I'm, uh, interested,” she says aloud. “I mean, I came home and – and you know, and everything is different.” She glances at Crystal and her friend. Their eyes are on the screen, but they're probably eavesdropping all the same. “I feel like I missed something,” she says. “I want to know this place again.”
Lorna stands there, unmoving. Her face is as still as ever, but Jodi can read her sympathy, and her awareness that Jodi can read it.
“I think you probably know it better than you think,” she says, after several seconds have trickled slowly by. “But all right, Jodi. You remember how to work the machine?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Okay.” Lorna begins to walk away, then stops. “Jodi?”
“Yeah?”
“I'm sorry about Tacoma. I know you two were close.”
Second time in as many days that someone has said that to her. It's just as painful to hear as the first.
“Thanks,” says Jodi, real tears filming her eyes. “I'll, um, let you get back to it.”
Lorna nods and leaves to wheel a trolley of books deeper into the building. Jodi stands there for a minute, breathing slowly and trying to ignore her awareness of the two teenage minds currently bumping curiously up against hers, and then she tells Lothian he can put down the potatoes and opens up the drawer marked 1964.
Thanks, Tacoma, she says, sliding the first fiche into the reader.
Don't mention it, she replies. Figured I better actually help out for once. And, y'know. You can't lie to save your life.
Can't argue with that. Jodi hits the switch and listens to the familiar hum as the machine lights up. Let me get the rock out and I'll turn it so you can see too.
And here was me thinking that being dead would finally get me out of studying, says Tacoma, so deadpan even Jodi can't tell if it's a joke or not. C'mon then. Let's get to work.
They do, and Lorna was right: it really is a lot to sift through. Most of it is irrelevant: the community calendar, dull reports on the slow decline of the mill's, photographs of amusingly-shaped vegetables sent in by local horticulturists. Lost pokémon, a rare state visit from the Queen that Tacoma remembers and Jodi doesn't. A runaway kid whose name Jodi vaguely recognises from school and who she doesn't think was ever found. They keep at it for a long time – so long that Lothian gets restless and starts pacing around, tail flicking; Jodi tells him to go outside and fly around, but of course he refuses. Seven years on and he still won't let her out of his sight.
Onwards, fiche after fiche. In June, a fair comes to town; in September, two hikers go missing while trying to take an ill-advised shortcut between two trails and nobody seems to be interested.
Three people go missing in one year? Jodi chews her lip. Does that seem like a lot to you?
People are always going missing here, says Tacoma. You know?
It's true. Lots of hikers find premature ends to their journeys near Mahogany. When parents tell their kids to avoid the bog, and the Blackwood, and in fact all the forest except the well-mapped part connecting Mahogany to the Lake of Rage, they're not just trying to scare them. There are ursaring out there, and wolves, and places where the terrain seems to morph under your feet so you take a step onto what looks like solid ground and find yourself plummeting thirty feet into a hole. No maps, no ranger stations; break a leg out there and you're on your own. But people go all the same, overambitious hikers and even one or two kid trainers who manage to evade the locals' attempts to stop them, and sometimes they come back and sometimes they don't. Occasionally, search parties will come back with a body, but a lot of the time they don't even find that.
Missing bodies. A recent murder. A killer at large. It's so, so tempting to connect those dots, but part of managing empathy is knowing your emotions, and Jodi has had enough training to be able to know when her fear is getting in the way of her reason.
Yeah, she says. I guess all these secrets are just making me paranoid.
It doesn't help that Crystal's friend keeps looking at her, too. Crystal herself seems to have got back into whatever work it is she's doing, scribbling away and occasionally glancing at the screen – but the other girl keeps looking up from her notebook like she can't quite get over the fact that Jodi is there. Even when Jodi isn't watching, she can feel her incredulous attention popping in and out of existence on the edge of her mental perception each time. She probably doesn't mean it, but it's putting Jodi on edge all the same.
She sighs.
Back a year? she asks.
Yeah, says Tacoma. '64 is clearly a bust.
But we learned that Ina's jam won second place in the North Johto Preserve Enthusiasts' annual competition, says Jodi, trying to distract herself. Can we really say it wasn't worth it?
I swear you're only this boring to spite me. C'mon. '63. Let's go.
Okay, okay, whatever.
She gets up and switches the fiche for the first in the 1963 drawer. Lothian gets up with her, thinking they might finally be off, and then whines a note that makes the bones in her hands tingle when she sits back down again.
“I told you, you can go fly around if you want,” she says. “Pretty sure it's safe to leave me here.”
He whines again, this time adjusting the frequency to prod at her nerves in a way that she knows is a very petulant no, and sets his head on his claws to wait.
He won't leave you alone? asks Tacoma.
Nope. Not since the – since the accident. Damn it. She's meant to be avoiding that topic. Makes it very awkward to shower, she adds, hoping to change the subject. I either have to let him sit in the bathroom where he can watch me or he just scratches the hell out of the door, and I don't think my empath scholarship would cover what I'd need to pay my landlord if I let him do that.
Oh, says Tacoma. Right.
She says nothing else. Jodi curses her own thoughtlessness and shoves the fiche roughly into the reader. She can't think of an answer that wouldn't get them into a conversation too personal to have without looking at one another while sitting in a public library.
The silence deepens. Victor Orbeck leaves at some point, his dislike filtering into Jodi's head as he passes, but she doesn't acknowledge him, or he her. She concentrates instead on 1963 in Mahogany: a controversy over the colour chosen for the repainting of the town hall; Con Wicke joining the police force; Aaron Lockwood reopening the Snowdrop Cocktail Lounge as the Briar Rose, three years to the month after his father mismanaged it right out of business.
Two other hikers went missing as well. Separately this time – one in March, one in July. Who goes hiking in March, asks Tacoma, and Jodi shrugs before remembering Tacoma can't see her and saying she doesn't know instead. She's mostly just glad Tacoma's speaking again. Her silence was getting a little worrying.
Hey, she says, not long after. Another missing person. She adjusts the zoom a little. Mae West (age unknown), resident for three months in the Cedarshade development, has not been seen in over a week.
Mae West? asks Tacoma. Seriously?
Apparently. I guess there's no reason there can't be more than one.
Guess so. Let me see that.
Jodi pushes the rock a little closer to the screen, and they read together: staying in a cheap room on the northeast side of town, working nights in Aaron's bar and days at Ina's tea shop. A drifter, apparently. Not so many of them around now, with even casual labour difficult to find, but they do blow into town on occasion, taking whatever work they can get before moving on. For a while everyone thought that Mae had just left town without telling anyone, but when her landlord finally looked into her room he found all her things still there. The cops were looking into it, as of the time of writing.
Tacoma's attention shifts.
Think that's who Sam was talking about? she asks.
I don't know. There's that kid who ran off in '64, I guess?
He was sixteen. Sam was our age.
Right. Jodi chews her lip. So maybe? Let's keep looking. Maybe they found her.
They did not find her. But, a few minutes later, Tacoma picks up something else.
Wait up, she says. Look. In the gossip column.
Jodi moves back to the last page and rereads it.
Additionally, young Samantha Spade has left town. To judge by the size of the cloud she departed under, she may not be back for some time. “Ugh,” she says aloud, concentration slipping in her irritation. “They have that in there? Really?”
She's never really read the Courier, and now she's glad. She has a horrible feeling that she's probably a news item in this week's issue herself.
Nobody gets to keep secrets here, you know that. Unless you're a member of a secret murder society, I guess. Look, point is, that's just a month after this Mae West person disappeared.
So you think …?
You got a better hypothesis?
Jodi sighs. Crystal's friend looks up at the noise.
Guess I don't, she says, scowling at the machine like she can intimidate it into telling her more. What do we do? Ask her about it?
Dunno. What else can we do?
Jodi thinks about it for a while. There really aren't any other options, are there?
All right, she says. Next time I see her, then. She turns off the microfiche machine and gets to her feet, wincing at the ache in her leg. Mission accomplished. I think we're done for now.
Mission accomplished, agrees Tacoma. And it only took, what, three and a half hours?
The joke isn't even that strained. For Tacoma, that's pretty good.
I'm honestly surprised it didn't take longer, Jodi says, wanting to encourage her. Lothian is up too now, looking at her with eager eyes. “Yeah, we're going,” she tells him, and gets a thrilled hoot in response. “Ssh,” she says, resisting the urge to glance at Crystal and her friend. (Both watching now.) “Still a library, Lothi.”
She motions for him to pick up the potatoes, waves goodbye to Lorna and heads on out. Those eyes are on her back every step of the way.
It's okay. They got what they came for, right? One insensitive teenager is a small price to pay. And now they can go back home and be normal people for a while, while they try to come up with their next move.
What now? asks Tacoma, as they step out into the crisp winter air.
“First, I need to get lunch or I'm gonna faint,” says Jodi, watching Lothian bound on ahead. “All that telepathy. And then … I dunno. Wanna see what's on TV?”
The pause before Tacoma answers is just long enough for Jodi to be aware that she is swallowing her first response.
Sure, she says, a nameless discontent seething behind her words. Let's do that.
Well, as long as she's not shutting her out again, Jodi supposes she can probably work with it.
“Hey. Jodi? You still awake?”
Jodi props herself up on one elbow to see Tacoma watching from the desk. All right. This definitely sounds like whatever it is that's been bothering her. She had a feeling it would come out if she waited, although she isn't sure whether it was her empath training telling her that or just something she remembered from when they used to hang out.
“Yeah,” she says. “What is it?”
“Have an idea,” replies Tacoma. “Just … don't know if it's a good one.”
Jodi sits up properly, pulling the duvet up as if she's cold, although she isn't. She hates being seen like this, face unpainted and chest flat without her bra. There's an unspoken agreement between her and most of the world, which is that so long as Jodi takes pains to look like a girl, people will pretend to think she is one. Half the time they don't mean it, but they do pretend, and that's fine; that's all Jodi needs most of the time, to make it through whatever interaction it is she's trying to negotiate. But when she's unready, when she doesn't look like a girl …
It's okay. It is. She chose this, she reminds herself. She knew what she was getting herself into and she still chose it, regardless. And anyway, Tacoma is her friend, right? Tacoma thinks she's fucking gorgeous. She wasn't lying when she said that. Jodi can always tell.
She breathes in deeply and forces herself to stop hiding under the covers.
“Well,” she says, trying not to feel incomplete and failing. “We're not gonna know unless you say it, are you?”
“Yeah, I guess not.” Tacoma hesitates. “It's just, uh … it might not be very healthy.”
“Why not?”
“'Cause I want you to get Nikki.”
“What?”
“It gives you a reason to go out into the woods,” says Tacoma, rushing her words as though she's had this argument prepared for hours already. As she has done. “Because she needs exercise, right? And then we can find the cabin and – and also I don't think my family can handle her for very long, you know? Because she's gonna be so upset and they're grieving because they think I'm dead and I mean I am dead but―”
“Tacoma.” Jodi reaches for her cane, hauls herself out of bed. “Tacoma, slow down a minute, okay?”
Pause. The clouds in her mind are clearing. Jodi would like to send some soothing vibes her way, but Lothian is asleep and without him she's just too tired right now. A full morning of sustained telepathy really takes it out of you.
“Yeah,” says Tacoma, watching her approach. “Yeah, sure. Sorry. I've been thinking about that for a while.”
“It's okay.” There's something familiar about that look on Tacoma's face, she thinks, and then a memory surfaces from somewhere deep within her: that look, Tacoma peeling the skin off her lip. Probably a good thing she doesn't have hands right now. “Seems like a good idea to me. They were never really very good with her, were they?”
“No. Kangaskhan are difficult, and she only really likes me. But she remembers you, I think. So … so you know. You could offer to look after her. And then you could …”
When it becomes clear that she can't finish the sentence, Jodi steps in.
“Show you to her,” she says. “And she'd calm down, and everyone would think that it's because she remembers and trusts me. So they'd let her stay with me, and then you'd get to see her again.”
“Yeah.”
“And you don't think that's healthy?”
Tacoma doesn't answer, or even look her in the eye. Jodi sighs, leans forward on her elbows.
“I'd be more worried if you didn't want to see her,” she says. “You know that would be weirder, right?”
“Mm.” Tacoma's eyes slide up to meet hers, two dull green stars in the formless clouds of her face. “I guess so.”
She's not saying what she means. It's fine. Jodi thinks it's almost certainly that she can't, rather than that she's trying to hide anything.
“I'll ask Mum and Dad in the morning,” she says. “See if they're okay with Nikki coming to stay for a while. Then … well, if we're gonna do this, we'd better do it right then. Got to calm Nikki down before – uh. Before Wednesday.”
God. Are they there already? It seems too fast, but it's just how it's always been done; some old story about Ho-oh, about how fire must follow quickly after death if you want to ensure rebirth. Nobody follows Johto's old folk religions any more, but the customs linger. So. Here they are, less than a week after Tacoma died, and it's already time to put her corpse to the flame.
It's frightening, honestly. Jodi didn't know how much she was hoping there might be a way to return Tacoma to her body until the prospect of it being torched loomed up like that.
Not that she really thought it was possible. Dead means dead: even people as ignorant about ghosts as Jodi know that, and Tacoma confirmed it, too. Barring a sudden intervention from Ho-oh, there's no coming back for her. It's just that up until now, with her body still around, Jodi has been able to kid herself there might be.
“Sorry,” says Jodi. “You probably don't want to talk about that.”
“No,” says Tacoma slowly. “No, it's okay.” Her disc has slowed to a crawl, so that the fog seems to billow almost in slow motion. “It's got to happen, right?”
They look at each other for a long time, trying to find a way to say no, but no matter how hard they think about it they can't come up with anything at all.
The next morning, Jodi wakes determined to get this over with. They made decent progress yesterday, but they have to do more, have to get this wrapped up as quickly as possible. Even if there's no way to get Tacoma back into her body, she has to go home as soon as she can, so she and her family can start to heal. Jodi is happy to spend time with her, of course, but it's not healthy for Tacoma to be so dependant on one person. She needs – well, for want of a better word, she needs her life back, as soon as possible. And until whoever killed her is unmasked, it won't be safe for her to come out of hiding.
So. First things first, they need Nikole. It'll be good for Tacoma, good for her family – and good for the investigation. At breakfast, while Tacoma sleeps late inside the rock, Jodi broaches the subject with her family. Her parents are surprised, but impressed by her kindness in offering to take Nikole off the Spearings' hands; her father tells her she must have got it from her mother, and her mother agrees that it definitely didn't come from him. Ella is a bit more hesitant – Nikole is, she says, kind of scary – but it's fine, Jodi has her permission. Her father tells her she'd better call ahead before she goes, especially since they've got the funeral tomorrow, and heads out to take her mother to the mill.
“Ella,” he calls. “Your yellow folder's in the middle of the floor!”
“I know!” she yells back. “It's so I don't forget it!”
“You have got to come up with a better way to remember things.”
“Okay!” says Ella, as enthusiastically as if she's actually going to do it, and rolls her eyes at Jodi. Jodi fires back her best responsible-older-sister glare, but Ella just looks disdainful. “Guess I'd better go too,” she says, sliding her bowl into the sink. “See you later, sis. Try not to let Nikole break anything.”
“Thanks for leaving me all the washing-up.”
“No need to thank me,” she says. “You earned it.”
Jodi laughs.
“I guess I'll live,” she says. “Is, um … is school okay, by the way?”
She can't quite make herself ask if that thing with Stacy is because of Jodi. She suspects that Ella probably knows what she means anyway.
“It's fine,” she says, with a carefully careless kind of shrug. “Looking forward to the holidays.”
Jodi raises her eyebrows.
“You know I'm psychic, right?”
Ella hovers there for a moment, fiddling with the cuff of her uniform shirt.
“I … I'm fine,” she answers, in the end. “Catch you later, Jodi.”
She leaves before Jodi can say anything else. Jodi sits there for a while, chewing her lip and wondering if this was worth it, if she really had the right to make her parents afraid and get Ella into trouble just because she wasn't happy, and then when the door bangs shut she starts out of her chair and goes to get Tacoma and her radio.
Nothing she can do to help her family, after all; she's already let the genie out of the bottle. For now, she just has to do what she can, and what she can do is wash the dishes and then sort out this thing with Nikole. That's not that hard, right? No. Not really. She just has to walk over to Tacoma's house and ask her parents. On the day before their daughter's funeral. At the same time as showing them her new face and trying not to absorb lethal quantities of other people's grief.
Nope. Not hard at all, right?
Standing in front of the Spearing house, staring at the door, Jodi suddenly finds herself wondering whether or not she should be here after all.
She's here alone, except for Lothian; Tacoma said she'd rather sit this one out, and Jodi doesn't blame her. She wouldn't want to come back and haunt her family after her death, either. But even if she is by herself, there must be at least half a dozen pairs of eyes on her right now. Everyone who lives on this street must have seen her and Lothian coming; his landing and her cane aren't exactly subtle. And let's face it: who isn't interested to see what Jodi Ortega is doing at the house of her dead ex-best friend? Even those people who are nice about the girl thing are going to be curious about that.
With all those people watching, there's no way to back out of it. Jodi forces herself to stop chewing her lip, checks in her pocket mirror to make sure she hasn't ruined her lipstick, and then, finally out of ways to put it off, bites the bullet and raps on the front door.
The wait seems to go on forever. Lothian's humming starts up in her bones, a familiar soothing pitch that warms her chest like walking into her house and seeing her mother waiting, but even he can't do that much to help. She stands there without breathing until she thinks she might actually faint before anyone comes out, and then at last the door opens and Tacoma's uncle Nick lurches unsteadily into the gap.
He stares at her in mute unrecognition, and for a long time Jodi just stares back. The grief is flowing out through the open door like the Rageriver during the spring melt, a vast thundering rush of emotion that could sweep away a gyarados, let alone a human. Jodi goes under for a moment, vision greying at the edges, hand slipping off the grip of her cane, and then before she can fall Lothian screams to disrupt it and she comes back just in time to catch herself on the wall.
“Ah,” she gasps, half stunned still. “Lothi …”
She drags herself back up again, wincing as her leg creaks beneath her. Lothian shoves her cane back into her hand, and she manages to straighten up just in time to catch his worried look. A second later, the questioning vibe follows, and she nods, breathless.
“'M okay,” she mumbles. “'M okay.” He pushes his head into her hand, wanting her to prove it, and she scratches him between the ears while she tries to get her breath back.
All the while, Nick just stares. He seems completely unsurprised by any of this, although also completely uncomprehending of it.
“Hi,” says Jodi, bringing her eyes back up to him. “Um – sorry, I'm psychic, and this house …”
She trails off. She can still feel it, throbbing all around her like the pounding of a gigantic heart. It's easily the strongest emotion she's ever felt, stronger than anything her teachers have ever thrown at her in training, but she can handle it. Just. She's going to need to eat something after this – maybe four or five somethings – but she can handle it.
“Sorry,” she says. Nick still hasn't responded. “I'm Jodi? Jodi Ortega? I spoke to Jessica on the phone.”
Nick blinks. He looks like he hasn't been sleeping. Or shaving, for that matter. But at least he's reacting now.
“Jodi Ortega,” he repeats. “I didn't know there was a Jodi Ortega.”
“Yeah, I think a lot of people have been kinda surprised about it,” she says. “I, um … I used to go by Alex.”
His eyes seem to come into focus. She can sense his surprise at her new look, somewhere deep inside him, though it struggles to make it out to show on his face. It's all right. As long as it's just surprise and not hostility, the two of them are cool.
“Alex?” he asks. “Tacoma's friend?” She's about to answer, but before she can even start to get the words out Nick carries on. “Right, right,” he says. “The girl in the bar …”
“The girl in the bar?”
“Huh? Oh. Right, never mind.” He coughs and takes a step back. “Sorry. Left you standing there in the cold. Come in.”
“Thank you.”
Jodi steels herself and takes a step in, trying to take shallow breaths. It doesn't actually help – emotions aren't like smells; you don't breathe them in – but she can't help herself. The pain here is ground into the woodwork, seeping out at every footstep and soaking into her brain. It's going to be here for a long time yet, even after the Spearings start to recover. Like nuclear fallout.
The room itself looks the same as it ever did: big clock on the left wall, mirror on the right. That rug with the missing corner from when Everett's quagsire took a bite out of it. All the same, except that between this and her last visit there are five years and a dead daughter, and now none of it looks quite the same as it did before.
Nick's magneton is hovering by the stairs, its cores orbiting one another like a model of an atom. It drifts closer as he approaches, cores revolving until all three of its eyes are on him, but he doesn't respond. Jodi is about to say hello when someone else speaks instead.
“Nick? Who is it?”
Jessica Fay comes out of the living-room, twitching the door half-closed behind her. It was her who answered when Jodi phoned earlier; she lives two doors down with her husband and two kids, and from what Jodi has heard from her parents, it's her who's been keeping the Spearing house running the last few days. She also seems to have already heard about Jodi, which was convenient. Coming out once is stressful. Coming out continuously, over and over for days on end, is proving to be even more so.
“Tacoma's friend,” says Nick. “Al― Jodi.”
“Ah. Right.” Jessica stares with naked curiosity. At Jodi's side, Lothian spreads his wings a little and arches his back, trying to intimidate; Jodi takes as much of her mind as she can off the grief to send him a warning thought: back off, Lothi.
“Hi,” she says, trying to be friendly even as Lothian continues to bristle. “We, um, we spoke earlier?”
“Yeah, of course.” Jessica is still staring. It's not aggressive. She just doesn't seem to be able to stop herself looking at Jodi like she's an interesting animal at the zoo. “I spoke to Annie and Lucas, and I think they'd appreciate not having to worry about Nikole for a few days.”
“You spoke to them? What'd you say?”
Jessica hesitates, twisting her wedding ring around her finger.
“I said that that Alex Ortega was offering to look after Nikole for a while,” she admits. “Sorry. I didn't know what to … I didn't know how to say to them.”
“Right. I understand.” It's true. She's not happy about it, but she does understand. “So … where is she?”
“Wait,” says Nick. “You're going to take Nikole?”
“Yeah.” Jodi glances at Jessica, but she just shrugs. “Is that okay? I just thought, you know, you've all got enough going on, and like she knows me. And I'm good at soothing pokémon. It just made sense. I hope that's okay,” she adds, aware that she's repeating herself but unable to stop in the face of Nick's silence.
“Hah,” he says, the sound of laughter without the heart. “Yeah. Yeah, no, that's … that's good of you.” His magneton flies closer to him, silent and unreadable in a way that makes Jodi uncomfortable. She's not used to minds that are quite this alien; she can feel something coming from it, some intricate metallic clattering that sets her teeth on edge, but what it means she has absolutely no idea. “She's up in Tacoma's room,” Nick continues. “Hasn't come out for a day now.”
“Better than her being down here,” says Jessica, catching the look on Jodi's face. “She's been breaking things. Glad you called when you did; I don't know how much more of this they can stand.”
Ugh. Jodi wishes she could tell them, she really does. And she will, one day soon, when all of this is over. This thought doesn't do much to assuage her guilt, but it's going to have to do.
“How are they?” she asks. Both Jessica and Nick look like they have an answer to give, but before either of them can speak, Annie calls out from the living-room:
“Jessica, who is it?”
Jodi barely recognises her voice; it sounds nothing like she remembers it. Thinner, somehow. And fragile. Like clothes so worn out that you can't wash them any more for fear of tearing them.
“It's …” Jessica looks at Jodi, panic in her eyes. What name? Is now the right time? Jodi wants to help, but she can't decide what she should say. Alex, to spare them the trouble? But then what if they want to see her? Isn't it better to just get all this out in the open?
She should have dressed in her old clothes this morning, should have taken steps to avoid all this. Except – what kind of message would that send to everyone who saw her walk over here? Half the town doesn't think she's a girl anyway. She can't give them the satisfaction of seeing her old face ever again. She just can't.
“It's, uh,” Jessica says. “It's, uh … one of Tacoma's friends.”
Movement, indistinct but unmistakeable. Jodi swallows her heart as it tries to climb into her mouth and curls her free hand into the thick ruff of fur around Lothian's neck. He twitches his nose, sends a low purr rumbling through her bones.
“Who?” asks Annie, and then she opens the door and all the thinking in the world won't save Jodi now. Because there she is, looking old and distracted but definitely still herself enough to know Jodi when she sees her – and here's Jodi, standing there, staring and leaning hard on her cane as the wave of maternal grief breaks over her face.
“Oh, Alex,” says Annie, surprised. And then: “Oh. Alex.”
It's heavier the second time around. Jodi says nothing, concentrating hard on the vibe Lothian is broadcasting to counteract the pain, and nobody else speaks either.
The tap drips once in the kitchen. An upstairs floorboard creaks.
Jodi breathes out.
“I go by Jodi now,” she says. “And, um … I'm so sorry. I loved her still.”
Annie looks almost relieved to be reminded of her dead daughter, to be helped back into more familiar territory. When did her face get so lined? Jodi could have sworn she looked ten years younger just this summer, when they bumped into one another in the store. Back then her mind felt sharp and crisp. Now it's vague and muddy, and Jodi can tell that if she lets herself get too close it will suck her in like the bog to the south of town and bury her so deep no one will ever find her again.
“Yeah,” Annie says, mumbles really. “I loved her too. You know I always thought you …”
Several long seconds later, Jessica clears her throat.
“Jodi's gonna look after Nikole for a while,” she says. “I told you, remember?”
“I'm grieving, not senile,” mutters Annie, a little of that old fire returning for a moment. “I remember.” With what seems like a herculean effort, she drags her gaze up off the floor and back onto Jodi's face. “If you can get her out the room, you can take her,” she says. “I'm sorry, but I can't take any more of this.”
“It's okay. That's why I'm here―”
“It's not okay,” says Annie roughly, and for just a second her eyes flash the way they used to. Jodi never noticed it before, but it must be her Tacoma gets it from. “But it's what it is.” She turns away, shoulders slumping. “Go on up, Alex. Please.”
She doesn't notice her mistake, and Jodi doesn't point it out.
“Okay,” she says. “I will.”
“I'll show you up,” says Nick, as if she doesn't know the way. “You two stay here with Lucas.”
Jessica nods and steers Annie back inside while Nick takes Jodi and Lothian upstairs.
“Sorry,” he says, over one shoulder. “We're all kind of a mess.” He sighs. “Kinda fallen to me to be the responsible one. Which is … hah. Well. That's no good for anyone.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Aren't we all,” he says bitterly. “Wait. No, I'm sorry, I'm – I know you were her friend.”
Jodi tries to think of an answer, but honestly, she doesn't have a whole lot of brainpower to spare right now.
“Yeah,” she says. “I am. Was.” Damn it. “Where's Everett?” she asks, to change the subject, but Nick just shrugs.
“In his room. Hasn't come out either.” He reaches the door to Tacoma's room and turns around, one of his magneton's cores zooming ahead to join him a moment before the rest. “Well. Here we are.” He moves his hand as if to knock on the door, but seems to think better of it, lets it fall to his side. “We've just left her,” he says. “She was … it was hard, when she was downstairs, so it seemed easier.”
His voice is neutral, but Jodi can feel his shame, eating away at him like maggots.
“Oh. Um … right.” Don't chew your lip, she thinks. Radiate confidence. Be as helpful as they need you to be. “So,” she says. “Can I go in?”
“Huh? Yeah, sure, sure.” He doesn't make any move to get out of the way. “You, uh – I heard you read her mind the other day.”
He's good at hiding his worry, but not good enough. Concerned about what might have happened to Tacoma? No, that doesn't seem quite right; his head is full of conflicting emotions, difficult to untangle with the Spearings' grief deadening her senses, but Jodi's pretty sure that the main thing here is guilt.
“Yes,” she says, keeping her suspicion out of her voice. “I did. Why?”
“You didn't – did you find out anything?”
She shrugs.
“Maybe something about where Tacoma's suitcase and stuff got dumped,” she says. “Somewhere out in the woods.”
Nick's eyes widen. She can practically taste the adrenaline coursing through him.
“Yeah?” he asks, and this time he's doing a much worse job of feigning calm. “Where in the woods, do you know?”
“Near some old cabin.”
“O-oh,” he says. “Uh. Good news, I guess. If it gives … if it gives the cops a lead.”
“Yeah.” It occurs to Jodi now that Nick's pen couldn't have been in the park for very long. If it had been there since before the snow, someone would have seen it and picked it up; those gold fittings really catch the light.
It can't be him. Can it? What would be the difference between the grief you feel at someone killing your niece and the grief you feel at the knowledge that you killed her, anyway? Could Jodi even tell the difference?
No, it can't be him. It can't. Look at him, Jodi tells herself. Look how broken up he is. How could it possibly be him?
“So,” she says, pushing the thought out of her head. “Can I go in?”
“Ah. Right. That.” He clears his throat and steps aside. “Go right ahead.”
Okay. Jodi reaches out mentally to Lothian, feels the comforting warmth of his psyche against hers – and steps inside.
Tacoma's room. Bed, sofa, scattered clothes and a weird sweet smell thick enough to get stuck in your sinuses. It's a complete mess, although Jodi isn't sure whether that's down to Tacoma or to the kangaskhan currently crushing the sofa into the floorboards.
“Hey, Nikki.” She motions for Lothian to shut the door, bends down as far as she can. Nikole's huge head is turned away, snout buried deep among the cushions. “Nikki? It's me. It's … well, I'm not Alex any more, I'm Jodi. But you remember me, right?”
Nikole does not move. Jodi can't even see her breathing, although she knows from the shifting of her mind that she's alive.
“What about Lothian, huh?” she tries. “You remember Lothi, right?”
He stalks forward and hops up onto the arm of the sofa, wings fanning the pages of a discarded magazine. Nikole still doesn't react, even when he leans down and squeaks at her.
Jodi sighs and sits down on the one corner of Tacoma's bed that isn't covered in her clothes. Now she's looking, she can tell it must have been Nikole who made the mess; the drawers have been pulled out of the chest, their panels splintered around the handles. There's broken glass on the floor around them, and a stain that Jodi guesses must be the source of the smell. Perfume. Since when does Tacoma wear perfume? Jodi can't imagine that she bought it herself. Maybe a boyfriend got it for her or something. Although Tacoma having a boyfriend feels about as likely as her buying perfume. She just … doesn't seem the type.
This is probably a mean thought, and it's definitely a badly-timed one. Concentrate on Nikole, she tells herself. Concentrate on Nikole, and get her back home to Tacoma.
“Nikki,” she says. “I'm sorry about Tacoma. But she's not gone, you know? We can go see her.”
Nothing. Lothian prods Nikole with a foreclaw and still, nothing.
All right. This is going to be difficult, with all the grief still caked around the edges of her skull, but she's going to have to try a more direct route.
Nikki.
Nikole's shoulders tense.
Nikki? Do you remember me? I'm Tacoma's friend.
Her tail twitches. Lothian starts and almost falls off the side of the sofa, claws snagged on the fabric.
Do you wanna come see Tacoma with me? The words are slow, seeping through the miasma of sorrow like water soaking into sand, but they find their mark: Nikole's head moves, just a little. Does she understand? Hard to say. But she's hearing her, and that's a start.
I mean it, Nikki. She'd really like to see you.
Tentatively, Nikole raises her head, one dark eye just visible beyond the sweep of her ear.
Jodi holds out her hand.
“Wanna come?” she asks. And Nikole slides slowly off the sofa, all its springs squealing with the shifting of her weight, and bends to take her hand in her massive paw.
Jodi smiles, reaches up to rub her muzzle the way she always liked. Nikole doesn't lean into it, doesn't react at all in fact, but she does let her do it.
“You're a good partner,” Jodi tells her, backing up the words with the strongest wave of compassion she can project. “Tacoma's gonna be really proud of you.”
Nikole stares at her, eyes blank. But her mind is moving, and somewhere fathoms deep within it Jodi thinks she can just about make out a little swell of hope.
your writing always manages to... well, not cheer me up exactly but I always look forward to reading your fics. Alright, let's get into it.
