wonder when or if he’ll catch onto that fact.
“Are you quite finished?”
I sigh contentedly and lick the flakes off of my fingers. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Good, now we can discuss the case.” He exhales another cloud of smoke before continuing. “I’m hoping that you’ll be able to provide a prospective suspect with the evidence we have so far.”
Again, he’s only hoping that I’ll fail.
“Well, now that we know for sure that the killer is using persuasion it seems that our killer is an empath,” I say. “They would have to be someone who knows how to do such a persuasion; someone who knows how to read and write; someone who would have no difficulty in meeting the required victims to plant their persuasion; someone who is personally seeking revenge on their victims or believes that they are performing a higher sort of judgement.
“The concubines aren’t educated, but meet a wide array of people, so they would have access to Madame Del Mar and the empath that killed the police constable,” I continue. “We would have to see if the Dream House Instigator was a visitor to the pleasure house. I have no doubt that he was a frequent member. A dream weaver would probably meet a variety of people as well, and is probably more educated than a concubine. They would also have had immediate access to Mr. Darwitt, but I doubt that the Madame and the concubine visited the dream house. The concubine wouldn’t have had the money or the permission, and Madame Del Mar was a horrible human being so I doubt she suffered from nightmares or sleepless nights.”
“You don’t think highly of your previous master.”
“Why would I?” I say, propping my feet up on his desk in a most un-lady-like fashion. He glares at me, but remains silent. “Besides, only the ashamed or troubled suffer from nightmares or insomnia. The Madame wasn’t ashamed of who she was.”
“Is that so? You seem to know a lot about human nature.” I know in his mind he continues the sentence to include for a concubine and a murderer, even if he doesn’t say it out loud. “Are you haunted by your past, Del Mar? Or do you have no conscience?”
“I could ask you the same thing, detective. The shadows beneath your eyes suggest that something is keeping you up at night. I wonder if you are a frequent visitor of the dream house.”
His unyielding gaze warns me to tread carefully, and surprisingly I don’t push the subject. It’s because I’m confident that I will sooner or later discover all his secrets, and he will be powerless to stop me. I look into those light-green eyes and find that they are saying the same thing about me. I give him a smile that says, “I’d like to see you try, detective.” I have no intention of blatantly telling him that the ghost of my previous owner haunts me with his leering grin and black eyes. Nor do I confide in him that every time I close my eyes I’m plagued by a multitude of horrifying scenes, and that those dreams are not imaginary. Instead, the nightmares are born from my own experiences that continue to chase me even in my sleep.
I continue with my previous thought. “The memory blockers are the more educated of my kind, and may encounter a variety of clients as well. I doubt the concubine would have been a client, having no money and permission, but I suppose it’s possible that Madame Del Mar and Mr. Darwitt visited the house. As for revenge, well, anyone is capable of that, and any one of them would have motive. My kind isn’t exactly treated kindly. We’re merely slaves, after all—valuable, yes—but still slaves.”
“I suppose you’d rather have us allow your kind to rule the world? And then the rest of the people would be slaves.”
“Why do there have to be slaves at all?” I ask, annoyed. “Why can’t we all be free entrepreneurs?”
“Because, Del Mar, there are the weak and the strong,” he says, pausing to light another cigarette. “And there’s always someone who
“Are you quite finished?”
I sigh contentedly and lick the flakes off of my fingers. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Good, now we can discuss the case.” He exhales another cloud of smoke before continuing. “I’m hoping that you’ll be able to provide a prospective suspect with the evidence we have so far.”
Again, he’s only hoping that I’ll fail.
“Well, now that we know for sure that the killer is using persuasion it seems that our killer is an empath,” I say. “They would have to be someone who knows how to do such a persuasion; someone who knows how to read and write; someone who would have no difficulty in meeting the required victims to plant their persuasion; someone who is personally seeking revenge on their victims or believes that they are performing a higher sort of judgement.
“The concubines aren’t educated, but meet a wide array of people, so they would have access to Madame Del Mar and the empath that killed the police constable,” I continue. “We would have to see if the Dream House Instigator was a visitor to the pleasure house. I have no doubt that he was a frequent member. A dream weaver would probably meet a variety of people as well, and is probably more educated than a concubine. They would also have had immediate access to Mr. Darwitt, but I doubt that the Madame and the concubine visited the dream house. The concubine wouldn’t have had the money or the permission, and Madame Del Mar was a horrible human being so I doubt she suffered from nightmares or sleepless nights.”
“You don’t think highly of your previous master.”
“Why would I?” I say, propping my feet up on his desk in a most un-lady-like fashion. He glares at me, but remains silent. “Besides, only the ashamed or troubled suffer from nightmares or insomnia. The Madame wasn’t ashamed of who she was.”
“Is that so? You seem to know a lot about human nature.” I know in his mind he continues the sentence to include for a concubine and a murderer, even if he doesn’t say it out loud. “Are you haunted by your past, Del Mar? Or do you have no conscience?”
“I could ask you the same thing, detective. The shadows beneath your eyes suggest that something is keeping you up at night. I wonder if you are a frequent visitor of the dream house.”
His unyielding gaze warns me to tread carefully, and surprisingly I don’t push the subject. It’s because I’m confident that I will sooner or later discover all his secrets, and he will be powerless to stop me. I look into those light-green eyes and find that they are saying the same thing about me. I give him a smile that says, “I’d like to see you try, detective.” I have no intention of blatantly telling him that the ghost of my previous owner haunts me with his leering grin and black eyes. Nor do I confide in him that every time I close my eyes I’m plagued by a multitude of horrifying scenes, and that those dreams are not imaginary. Instead, the nightmares are born from my own experiences that continue to chase me even in my sleep.
I continue with my previous thought. “The memory blockers are the more educated of my kind, and may encounter a variety of clients as well. I doubt the concubine would have been a client, having no money and permission, but I suppose it’s possible that Madame Del Mar and Mr. Darwitt visited the house. As for revenge, well, anyone is capable of that, and any one of them would have motive. My kind isn’t exactly treated kindly. We’re merely slaves, after all—valuable, yes—but still slaves.”
“I suppose you’d rather have us allow your kind to rule the world? And then the rest of the people would be slaves.”
“Why do there have to be slaves at all?” I ask, annoyed. “Why can’t we all be free entrepreneurs?”
“Because, Del Mar, there are the weak and the strong,” he says, pausing to light another cigarette. “And there’s always someone who
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