I’m assuming a vehicle. Maybe during military action. More likely during an accident. You took the brunt of the damage along your left leg, hence the prosthetic. But you also displaced your shoulder when you landed, thrown by the vehicle. The sun damage on your face but not your waist suggests you were exposed to extensive UV radiation that, combined with the age suggested by your crow’s-feet and facial wrinkling, indicates that you could have received the injury only in Desert Storm. Casualties were rare in that action, but accidents can happen anytime.”
The superintendent rocked back on his heels, his eyes wide. Ree wanted to stop, but the words kept flowing. “And any soldier who saves one of their squadmates would receive not only the Purple Heart but a Bronze Star, likely with a Valor Device. That heroic act and the two tours it would take to have sun damage that extensive indicates you would have left the service as at least a sergeant. Had you achieved higher rank, it’s unlikely that you would become only a superintendent, though that could be due to the injuries. I’ve heard there have been great advances in artificial legs since then, but I imagine you’d have them by now. Troubles with the VA, perhaps? A shame.”
Both thrilled and somewhat shocked at the frankness of how she was addressing the man, who could have her evicted from their beloved Shithole for any one of the many, many stupid things she and Sandra had done over the years, Ree continued, “Regardless. Your service and your sacrifice make you a war hero. So I thank you, sir.”
Ree extended her hand to shake without thinking about it.
Her super stood speechless. He did not meet her hand, instead wiping his on his pants leg.
Ree marveled at the twisty road of deduction she’d sprinted along. But in showing off that skill, she’d embarrassed the super and created a big bucket of awkward.
The show still ran, off to her right, as she regarded the clearly uncomfortable super. “What can I do for you?” she asked, conscious of each word to make sure she said what she wanted, not what the Sherlock mojo would have her say.
The superintendent took a second, then said, “I just wanted to tell you that we’ll have to shut off the water in a half hour so we can fix the water main.”
Ree nodded, and the super, whose name she couldn’t remember for all the Geekomancy in the world, took a step back and walked down the hall.
Another set of Sherlock text popped up as he walked.
Right leg stride length 22"
Left leg stride length 20.5"
Wow, Ree thought. It really works. I wonder what else I can do.
Thinking back, she realized the little details had been there all along—the coin, the stride—but she’d never considered them much, and she’d never known how to identify challenge coins by sight.
Ree closed the door and turned back to the television. Her vision focused on the DVD wall, and as she read titles on the boxes, the possibilities popped up in her vision, the text layering like a typewriter wound back to write and rewrite over the same page hundreds of times.
Superstrength. Wire-fu. Romantic serendipity. Cartoon invulnerability. Organic web-shooters. Superskill Intersect. Eidetic memory.
Ree closed her eyes and shut out the text before it overwhelmed her.
I really hope this gets easier, she thought as her mind continued to race.
She took in another breath, trying to hold back whatever part of her that was the rampaging intellect on a Sherlock binge.
Right. Time to go play girl detective before I lose this. And try not to freak out everyone I come across between now and then .
• • •
The winds were gentle, so Ree decided to walk the couple of miles to the Moorelys’ house. Listening to Massive Attack on the way, she tried not to look too long at any one person so as to avoid the creepily accurate Sherlock-read until she needed it.
A half hour later, she reached the 4700 block of Washington and saw the squad car
The superintendent rocked back on his heels, his eyes wide. Ree wanted to stop, but the words kept flowing. “And any soldier who saves one of their squadmates would receive not only the Purple Heart but a Bronze Star, likely with a Valor Device. That heroic act and the two tours it would take to have sun damage that extensive indicates you would have left the service as at least a sergeant. Had you achieved higher rank, it’s unlikely that you would become only a superintendent, though that could be due to the injuries. I’ve heard there have been great advances in artificial legs since then, but I imagine you’d have them by now. Troubles with the VA, perhaps? A shame.”
Both thrilled and somewhat shocked at the frankness of how she was addressing the man, who could have her evicted from their beloved Shithole for any one of the many, many stupid things she and Sandra had done over the years, Ree continued, “Regardless. Your service and your sacrifice make you a war hero. So I thank you, sir.”
Ree extended her hand to shake without thinking about it.
Her super stood speechless. He did not meet her hand, instead wiping his on his pants leg.
Ree marveled at the twisty road of deduction she’d sprinted along. But in showing off that skill, she’d embarrassed the super and created a big bucket of awkward.
The show still ran, off to her right, as she regarded the clearly uncomfortable super. “What can I do for you?” she asked, conscious of each word to make sure she said what she wanted, not what the Sherlock mojo would have her say.
The superintendent took a second, then said, “I just wanted to tell you that we’ll have to shut off the water in a half hour so we can fix the water main.”
Ree nodded, and the super, whose name she couldn’t remember for all the Geekomancy in the world, took a step back and walked down the hall.
Another set of Sherlock text popped up as he walked.
Right leg stride length 22"
Left leg stride length 20.5"
Wow, Ree thought. It really works. I wonder what else I can do.
Thinking back, she realized the little details had been there all along—the coin, the stride—but she’d never considered them much, and she’d never known how to identify challenge coins by sight.
Ree closed the door and turned back to the television. Her vision focused on the DVD wall, and as she read titles on the boxes, the possibilities popped up in her vision, the text layering like a typewriter wound back to write and rewrite over the same page hundreds of times.
Superstrength. Wire-fu. Romantic serendipity. Cartoon invulnerability. Organic web-shooters. Superskill Intersect. Eidetic memory.
Ree closed her eyes and shut out the text before it overwhelmed her.
I really hope this gets easier, she thought as her mind continued to race.
She took in another breath, trying to hold back whatever part of her that was the rampaging intellect on a Sherlock binge.
Right. Time to go play girl detective before I lose this. And try not to freak out everyone I come across between now and then .
• • •
The winds were gentle, so Ree decided to walk the couple of miles to the Moorelys’ house. Listening to Massive Attack on the way, she tried not to look too long at any one person so as to avoid the creepily accurate Sherlock-read until she needed it.
A half hour later, she reached the 4700 block of Washington and saw the squad car
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