Newu Pt 28

Three days had passed since I carved my way into Toussant's mind. As the rest of the country prepared to throw or attend parties to ring in the new year, I was starting to wonder if we should have found a bigger cottage to use. I eventually bowed to the group's request to bring in help, and Uri arrived that morning with Marco in tow.

Both of them were stunned by the savagery of my treatment of Toussant, but any objection to my action died on their tongues when they realized I had been successful. Jean-Pierre Toussant was now an open book, or at least as open as the limited information he possessed allowed. As Charlotte and Fiona perused the broken man's mind, I sat my mentor and his boss down and reluctantly showed them everything.

"You shouldn't have done this," Uri shook his head and glanced over at my captive. "It is too far."

I bit down hard on the surge of fresh anger that blossomed in my chest and eyeballed the huge Ukrainian impassionately. "You are still operating on the mistaken assumption that I answer to you," I replied coldly. "You had your chance to coordinate our response to the New Order's attacks, but you insisted on that 'need-to-know' bullshit. While you tip-toed around in the dark, I was getting shit done!"

"And getting people killed!" He barked back.

"C'mon man, that's not fair, and you know it," Jerry intervened before I lost my temper. "These fuckers have been attacking us indiscriminately for decades. We already know that the operation to kill or capture Pete was ordered not long after the attack on the party. They would have come either way. Pete did everything he could to mitigate risk. None of us could have anticipated the lengths the Royalss were willing to go to win. If Pete hadn't been ready, Evie would have probably been killed along with Becky, not to mention that innocent family. He was only ready because he was being proactive."

"Jerry's right," Marco said softly, resting a hand on his boss's shoulder and casting an uneasy glance at what remained of Toussant. "I admit that Pete's methods are unorthodox and more than a little...."

"Barbaric," Uri finished for him.

"Violent," Marco corrected. "But he has made more progress in the last few weeks than we have in more than a century."

Uri sighed heavily and nodded. "I still don't understand why you didn't come to me with all of this."

"Because I don't trust you," I shrugged. "Your feather-touch approach is such a ridiculous idea that it can only have been thought up by someone who is either complicit or clueless!"

"How dare you!" He jumped to his feet; his fist clenched into balls.

"Sit down before you hurt yourself!" I snapped, eyeing him dangerously. "I

did

come to you...twice! The first time you told me to look into Malaga, then bitched about what happened when I did. Then I came to you with the memories from Sterling, and you basically told me that you would look into it, and more-or-less to mind my own business. So that is what I did! I dealt with my business! Let's not forget that there is at least one Evo actively working with the Royals. Not a mole, not someone in communication with the

real

Inquisition and letting us think that they are responsible for the attacks, but actively in the field, helping those

cunts

hunt us down! When I give you that information, the best you can come up with is a complaint that I didn't come to you first? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Wait, what?" Marco frowned. "In communication with the Inquisition? What does that mean?"

I laughed, gesturing to my mentor before turning back to Uri. "Exactly! Have you actually done

anything

with the information I gave you? Or do I not need to know?"

"This is not how we do things!" Uri snarled back.

"

We

is a very strong word here, Uri," I answered, refusing to back down. "If you don't like how

I

do things, there's the door!

We

are at war; that is something you need to come to grips with pretty fucking quickly because right now, I have no idea whose side you are on!"

An odd expression washed over Uri's face. I was expecting outrage, indignation, and maybe even hostility. That was what I was aiming for, to piss him off enough to spur him into action. Instead, for the briefest of moments, the man looked... hurt. He composed himself quickly, though. "You know nothing of war."

"No, I don't," I agreed. "But this lot said that you do; they are the reason you are here at all. So what's it going to be?"

Uri looked around the room, his eyes finally settling on the battered shell that had once been Jean-Pierre Toussant and nodded. "Okay, we do things your way. For what it is worth, Marco was right. You have made remarkable progress. What are your plans for him?"

I looked over my shoulder and glanced at my prisoner. "I'm turning him into a Trojan Horse."

Uri frowned for a moment, not quite understanding what I meant before his eyebrows shot up in realization. "You think you can do that?"

"One way to find out. But that is why we are milking him for information now, just in case I... break him."

Marco was following the back and forth with a frown. The furrowing of his eyebrows grew deeper as the larger man stood and wandered over to Toussant. "Errr, can someone fill me in? What is this about Conclave communication with the Inquisition?"

Jerry held out a hand. "Allow me, Mentor," he smiled.

Marco took his hand, and both of them closed their eyes for a few moments as Jerry brought him up to speed on the things I had missed. To be fair, I assumed he had already known, I couldn't possibly fathom why Uri kept that much from him, but it was an oversight that Jerry seemed happy to remedy for me.

********

Evie fidgeted nervously in the back seat of Charlotte's car. I didn't need to be able to read her mind to know that she was seriously struggling with the sheer volume of earth-shattering information she had been privy to over the past few days, not to mention the justifiable fear for her life that filled the preceding week. I cast a look over my shoulder from the front passenger seat and offered her the closest thing to a reassuring smile as I could.

We had left Fiona, Jerry, Marco, and Uri at the cottage. Jerry stood watch as the others delved into the mind of our captive. I had cameras inside the house where they couldn't be seen without already knowing exactly where they were and left Jeeves monitoring the feeds for anything untoward. Under normal circumstances, there was no way I would have left them alone with Toussant. I simply didn't trust them enough, but these were not normal circumstances, and there was still one more lead in dire need of investigation.

"What do you think happened to her?" Evie asked nervously.

Charlotte gave me an uncertain look from the driver's seat. I took a deep breath and turned back towards Evie. "Philippa and Becky were much more than friends," I started. "They genuinely loved each other. That love filled every single thought either of them ever had about one another. We think that the Evo who was there when you were taken has done something to her mind. That is the only thing we can think of to explain why she betrayed her friend like she did."

"You... You can do that?"

Another nervous glance flickered between Charlotte and me. "I've never tried, I've never even considered trying, but given what I am doing to Toussant, I would have to say yes, I could."

"That's really terrifying," she murmured, turning to look at the passing streetlights rather than looking at me. "Could... Could

I

do that? If I was like you, I mean."

"Honestly, I don't know, maybe?" I answered honestly. "Actually, Marco may be able to help you there. He was the one who awakened me."

"Really?" Evie looked back at me, something close to hope echoing behind those almost luminous eyes.

"Let's not rush into things," Charlotte interjected cautiously. "I still don't trust that guy, and I don't want to put you in any more danger than we already have, Evie. Not until we are absolutely sure."

The blonde sighed and nodded but chose not to reply.

"I know you want answers; we all do," I said softly. "And for what it is worth, I'm sorry for dragging you into all this, and for not believing you from the start. But now that you are here, we need to keep you safe."

"Is that why you didn't leave me at the cottage with the others?"

One more glance passed between Charlotte and me. "Yeah, pretty much."

She nodded again slowly. "My life is never going to be the same, is it? A few weeks ago, the biggest problem in my life was getting my college project finished on time. Now..."

"Yeah... I know." I had no trouble at all sympathizing with Evie, but at least I was in a position to fight back or use my powers to make that life easier. She was totally reliant on me for, well, everything when it came to her new reality. "We are going to look after you. If we can't get you awakened and trained so you can look after yourself, we can at least make sure that nobody knows about you, and that you are left alone to live your life in peace."

"By killing everybody who knows about me and is in a position to hurt me?" She didn't sound too thrilled with the idea. I nodded again. "Except for the people at the cottage," she finished with a sigh. "The ones you aren't sure if you trust."

"Yeah, it's all pretty fucked."

"And it's about to get worse," Charlotte sighed. "We're here."

The three of us climbed out of Charlotte's bright red Mini-Cooper and assembled on the sidewalk in front of Philippa and Becky's house. It had been weeks since I had seen it last, the week before the party. Things had been so hectic since then I had never had the chance to come back to visit. I felt my stomach lurch at the realization that the happiness I felt last time I was here, both from myself and from the ladies inside, was something that would never be repeated. The house that had been the home of those treasured memories was now darkened by the knowledge of what happened to one of its occupants.

I found myself instantly consumed with regret. If I had stayed that day, if I had visited since, if I had done any one of a hundred things differently, perhaps Becky would still be alive. The simple truth of the matter is that I left here that morning, seeing her so filled with happiness and love, then the next time I laid eyes on her, she had been terrified. I closed my eyes and felt the surge of pain wash from the hole in my stomach as I remembered the look on her face, the look of total surrender when she realized that I wasn't going to be able to save her.

She had trusted me, she had allowed herself to hope, and I had failed her.

"She's in there," Charlotte said, her eyes locked on the door. "Maybe it's better if Evie waits in the car."

I turned to look at both of them. "Are you.."

"No, It's okay," Evie smiled. "She's right. You are all friends; I am a stranger."

There was a loud crash, like a glass or a plate being broken, from inside the house. "Yeah, perhaps it's best we go in alone, at least until we know she has calmed down."

Evie nodded and took the keys out of Charlotte's outstretched hand, all of us casting uneasy glances at the house before she turned back to the car. Charlotte and I gave each other a determined look. She reached her hand out for mine, and I gladly accepted; we took a deep breath and walked forward.

The door was locked. I admit that I was all for just smashing it open, but Charlotte was a master of subtlety compared to me and had telekinetically manipulated the locks and the deadbolts to open before we walked up the steps to the front door.

We pushed open the door and gasped at the state of the house. There was glass, clothes, and other belongings strewn everywhere. The living room had been in pristine condition the last time I was here, but now it looked like a bomb had gone off in the middle of it. There was blood all over the floor. I was just about to start getting worried; there wasn't enough blood to make me think that anything catastrophically bad had happened, but more than enough to show that someone was hurt.

It was then that Philippa stepped into view.

The delirium and mania behind her eyes were startlingly obvious. She was wearing a face full of makeup, not the flawless, subtle adages that she had applied before our night out, a hint of cosmetics to highlight her natural beauty; this was like something out of a drag show. Her lips had been sloppily and messily painted red, her beaming, crazed smile tinted by the lipstick on her teeth. Her eyes, already smokey and dusky, were plastered in a thick layer of dark blue eyeshadow, and it looked like her foundation had been put on with a trowel. She was wearing a yellow version of the figure-hugging dress she had worn to the club that night, but her feet were bare, cut to ribbons by the enormous volume of shattered glass that covered the floor.

It looked like every drinking glass, plate, vase, and everything else smashable had been violently introduced to the floor. "Charlotte, darling!" Philippa cried out, rushing over and wrapping her arms around our friend whilst not even acknowledging my presence.

"Hi, Pip," Charlotte smiled softly, hugging her back. "I've been worried about you. How are you holding up?"

"Oh, I'm fine, never better. Why would you be worried about me?"

Charlotte shot a quick glance my way and shook her head. Even though I didn't know what she had seen, I knew she dove deep into Philippa's mind. Whatever it was, the look of sadness that washed over her gorgeous features made my heart sink to my boots. "Because of Becky."

The wash of emotions that flashed over Philippa's face were as mystifying as they were numerous. Grief, rage, confusion, loss, sorrow, euphoria, glee, scorn, smugness, all of them sweeping over her features in an instant. It was like her sane and manic minds were warring with each other over control of her facial muscles, and a titanic battle had been fought on the contours of her skin in a matter of moments.

"What about her? She's gone," Philippa waved dismissively, breaking away from the hug and moving back toward the kitchen, leaving a blood trail of footprints in her wake. "I haven't seen her in days. Probably left me, just like everyone always does."

Charlotte frowned but held a hand up to silence me as I made to speak. The fact that she had not acknowledged my presence had not been lost on either of us. "Pip, Becky died. She was killed," She said softly.

Philippa scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. She was here an hour ago."

"But you just said you haven't seen her in days."

Philippa frowned, her hand freezing in mid-air as she reached for a cup, and her eyes glazed over for a second as her mind whirled. "No," she shook her head. "That's impossible. They said they wouldn't hurt her. They only wanted...

him."

"Who is 'they,' babe?" Charlotte asked carefully and slowly followed her toward the kitchen.

"Oh, my new friends. They are wonderful."

"Why don't you tell me about them."

A deep, wistful smile fell over Philippa's face, replaced almost immediately with a snarl of irrepressible rage. Her hand snapped towards the cup she had been reaching for, and she launched it as hard as she was able at Charlotte's head. For a woman in the throes of a massive psychotic break, her aim was remarkably accurate. Charlotte caught the glass in mid-air with her mind and set it aside in time to catch the next one. The indignant howls and shrieks of fury echoed around the living room as Philippa tried to hurl the entire contents of her crockery cupboard at her friend.

Running out of ammo and seeing that none of her missiles had come close to hitting their target - while also conspicuously overlooking the supernatural aspect of their deflections - she reached for the knife block, laughing maniacally as she pulled a serrated bread knife from its slot and pressed it against her wrist.

Charlotte moved so fast that her form seemed to blur. A truly incredible burst of speed that would have left any traffic speed cameras blinking in confusion. Philippa's exposed wrist had barely made contact with the blade of the carving knife when Charlotte appeared in front of her and slapped her with all her strength. Philippa's head whirled to the side, cracking with a sickening crunch into the door of a cupboard as the knife clattered the floor.

She was knocked out with one hit.

Charlotte was breathing heavily, standing over her friend's unconscious body with heavy rises and falls of her chest. "Pete, you need to see this."

I walked closer, my jaw still hanging loosely after watching the whole scene from the hallway door. I took Charlotte's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Are you okay?"

She gave me a soft smile in reply, one that completely succeeded in communicating that my closest friend was far from okay.

She laced her fingers with mine, leaned forward, and rested her free hand on Philppa's arm.

Existence melted away.

********

I had been quite proud of the damage I had done to Toussant's mind. That shattered glass effect was an apt analogy for the way his psyche had shattered under the pressure I had pushed down onto it. But compared to the total destruction I was seeing in front of me, I felt like a rank amateur.

It was like two pyromaniacs having a competition, one of them starting a large bonfire and turning around to see that the other had burned down a large portion of California. But there was so much more to the scrambled madness that was Philippa's mind than simple destruction.

"Charl, what the hell am I looking at?"

"I... I don't know."

It had only been a few days since Charlotte, and I had this very conversation with Evie. Human minds were universally simplistic when it came to the portrayal of their avatars. They stood motionless in the mindscape. Unmoving, unblinking, unperceiving. They just hung there, marooned in the waters of their own subconscious. It made a certain amount of sense when I thought about it in a psychological kind of way. Humanity was painfully cut off from - and usually largely unaware of - the deeper parts of their own minds. Interacting with a human in the mindscape was like bypassing their conscious thoughts and going straight to the root of their being. Without any means of accessing that part of themselves, their avatars were little more than pliable and manipulatable representations of the person you were dealing with.

I hadn't spent a huge amount of time in Philippa's mind before that moment, but it had been more than enough to know that she was the same.

She wasn't anymore.

Philippa's avatar was flickering. Like an old movie projector run in slow motion, her body bounced around the clearing of her mind, appearing for a few seconds in one spot, then flickering away into nothingness, only to reappear somewhere else a moment later. Even more disconcerting was that with each new iteration of her body, a new emotion was being played out.

In one, she was happy and serene. Then it was gone.

Then she was screaming; her hand balled up in rage-filled fists by her sides. Then she was gone.

Then she was curled in a ball on the floor, sobbing beyond consolation. Then she was gone.

Then she was howling, clawing maniacally at her face and violently pulling out clumps of her own hair. Then she was gone.

Then she was sitting on the ground, hugging her knees, rocking back and forth, and muttering incoherently. Then she was gone.

Each flickering iteration lasted only a few seconds before it would vanish, to be replaced by the next horror-movie-esque display of insanity. Every conceivable emotion played out, a few seconds at a time, each of them tainted by the maelstrom of thought and emotion that swirled in a vortex above us.