Mixed Feelings (Empathy in the PPNW Book 1) (5 page)

“About what?”

“About someone breaking into
my house to eat my food and leave me weird notes? That last note, about the
phone? I read it right before you called. It’s like it
knew
.
”

“
Well, it
’s more likely some
thing
and not some
one
,
”
Chloe
pointed out
.
“Your capacity for taking
down sugar and cholesterol is impressive, but you’re saying something managed
to eat all the sugar in your house overnight?”

“I think so. There were
crumbs and empty boxes, cupcake wrappers even.” I huffed at the fact that I
wouldn’t get to enjoy my own birthday treats. “I didn’t find any sign of the
stuff in the garbage, but
I can
’t imagine anyone throwing
away perfectly good food like
that.
”

I felt a puff of
loving chagrin, but she
didn’t engage me about my stance on what constitutes good food.

“Well, then, it’s
got
to be a thing and not a person.
I
’ve seen your
house, Gwen. Nothing human could eat all that in one night without ending up in
a diabetic coma on your floor. You didn’t find any corpses stuffed awkwardly in
the couch cushions, right?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“
And i
t didn’t touch you at all? It left Sonny alone?”

“
I
… guess it did
?
I mean, I didn’t wake up
with sticky handprints on my boobs and Sonny can get pretty loud if a stranger
tries to get all up in his business. I’
d
’ve
woken up.”

“
I
’m sure it’s fine, then.” Chloe waved off my concern, which made me a
bit grumpy.

“What if it’s not? What if
it’s something dangerous?”

“Then I think it would have
already hurt you.” Chloe held her hand up as if sensing I was about to argue
some more. “Gwen, you sleep like the dead
,
but
you’re not deaf. You said it yourself, if this thing had messed with Sonny, he
would have let you know. I can guess it’d be the same for you. Did you hear
anything? Notice anything else weird? Did you hear any glass breaking
when—wait, how’d the thing get in?”

“I have no idea. I checked
all the windows and doors when I was cleaning up and they were all locked. It
must have beamed itself in.”

“Well, then clearly it was
just an ensign from the
Enterprise
using your kitchen as an
away mission. I wouldn’
t worry.
”

I rolled my eyes, deciding
her attitude was not helping. Despite my confusion and concern, Chloe was
completely unbothered by my predicament. I could feel it in her
,
could tell she wasn’t going to be sympathetic. Before
I could dive right into a hissy fit, though, I felt Mel as he entered the café
.

Mel Somerset is a good-looking guy; even I can admit
that. He's got a strong, straight nose and a square chin like a cartoon
superhero. There’s a shallow dent in that superhero chin that isn’t quite a
dimple and his smile can immolate panties from thirty paces. His eyes are a
clear, bright blue under thick eyebrows that lend a puckish bit of sex appeal.

That said, he's one of the most arrogant jackasses I
have ever had the unfortunate luck of running across in a bar. Even his dark
hair, blue eyes, and fabulous body cannot make up for the frustration and
anguish I experience just being in the same room with him. Part of my aversion
to him is just
Mel
. He’s inappropriate and has no sense of personal
boundaries. On top of that, he knows how my empathy makes it physically painful
for me to be near him and yet he still insists on dropping by the office once
or twice a week “just to say hi.” Jerk.

Mel wagged his brows at us as he crossed the room to
take a seat across from me. Immediately my skin started jumping, twinges of
electric agony twisting my nerves into knots.

“Ladies,” he said, leaning back in his chair as he
laced his fingers behind his head and flexed conspicuously. Despite the weather
outside, he was wearing only a snug sweater and pleated khakis. It made him
look good, but I was in too much pain to appreciate it. He waited for one of us
to speak—or perhaps to vault the table and try to tear his pants off. To
listen to him talk, this is how every encounter with a single woman of legal
age ends when you’re Mel Somerset.

I resisted the urge to tell him where he could cram
his flexing biceps.

“Gwen slept poorly; she’s cranky,” Chloe said with a
smile.

“She’s always cranky,” Mel said, catching my gaze.
The bottom corner of my left eye started to twitch and I let out a low sound
like vomiting. The sooner we got this meeting over with, the better. “And I
barely slept at all.
If
you know what I mean.”

I made another vomit sound, but Chloe pressed on.

“We had an interesting night last night. We stopped
by the office and got visited by some... people?” Chloe turned to me, curiosity
wafting out. “I guess that’s what we’re calling them?”

“They were monsters,” I said, shaking my head. “Some
people are monsters, but no people look like these two. I knew them, sort of.”

Chloe’s eyes went wide. “You did?”

“We’re not, like, pen pals or anything, but I’ve seen
them before. I don’t think they remembered.”

“Well, spill it!” Chloe urged. Mel was still resting
in his chair like a photographer was perched outside taking candids.

“Yeah.” One eyebrow went up as he paused to lick and
bite his bottom lip as if inviting me to some naughty, private party. “Spill
it.”

My other eye started to tic and I snarled his way, “Shut
up. It’s bad enough I have to be in the same building with you.” He chuckled
and his emotions sizzled along my skin, his amusement taking on a white-hot
edge. I leaned away, as if that would take me out of range of sensing him. “When
I was four, these two—I don’t know what to call them. Still Laurel and
Hardy?”

Chloe nodded and I paused, realizing that the candy
thief had somehow known the nicknames we’d chosen. It made me wonder if they
were all in cahoots.

“So anyway, Laurel and Hardy showed up in my backyard
when I was little. I was playing in the sand one minute, blissfully unaware
that anything truly terrifying existed in the world, and then they just
appeared
.
I was too scared to do anything, but they looked me over, talked to each other
about how I’m not a threat, and then told me they’d be watching me. I guess
they were lying, or they’d probably have known I wasn’t the one with the
mistress.”

“Mistress?” Mel purred, lowering his arms to link his
fingers on the table. The skin on my scalp started to jump with sharp jerks of
pain. “Do tell.”

“Shut up,” I ordered again. Chloe was controlling her
expression, but I could feel that she found my mistreatment of Mel funny.
Pitting us against each other seems to be a sport to her. I was pretty sure I’d
seen her egg him on and suggest he be ever more over-the-top sleazy every time
he stopped by; she’d denied the allegations, but I know when people are lying,
after all.

“After they disappeared, I think I fainted. I’ve
never fainted since, so I don’t know if it was the same, but I remember keeling
over in the sandbox, too scared to do much else, and coming to with my mom
standing over me, telling me to come inside for lunch. Until they showed up at
the office, I’d convinced myself it was all a bad dream. I never mentioned it
to my parents or anyone. I guess because I was too scared to think about it
again.” That didn’t feel quite true, but I couldn’t think of any other
explanation, so I let it go.

“But they just happened to show up at our office last
night,” Chloe said. Holly brought over Chloe’s drink and muffin, set down an
extra-tall skinny latte in front of Mel, and winked at him.

“Your Slenderman, Mr. Somerset.” Holly and Mel took a
second to make eyes at each other before she broke the spell and went back to
the counter. Mel looked back to us, clearly proud of himself for something I
figured I would rather know nothing about.

When Holly was out of earshot, Chloe continued. “They
thought Gwen was someone else, obviously. They came at me first. I guess I look
more responsible than she does.” She grinned my way, but I didn’t take the
bait; she doesn’t just
look
more responsible than I do. “I was too
nervous to do much except point to her. I mean, they were definitely
not
human, and Gwen’s… got that whole superpower thing going on. Why wouldn't they
think she was the boss?”

“I’d hardly call sensing emotions a
super
power,”
Mel said, taking a sip of his steaming latte. I winced, wondering how he could
stand it so hot. “So they showed up, they were monsters—tell me more.”

“They said that three kids are missing and they asked
for my help finding them.”

Mel snorted outrageously. “You? You have to spend
fifteen minutes just trying to find your car each night.”

“You’re thinking of how long it took your date to
find your dick last night,” I spat.

Instead of engaging my rudeness, Mel just grinned at
me before sipping his latte. Maybe he knew he didn’t need to say anything to
win the pissing contest; my skin was nearly broiling from his childish glee.

Chloe rolled her gaze between us. “You two need to get
a room?”

“Only so there are no witnesses when I beat him to
death with a chair.”

“Now, now, children,” she said, putting a hand to my
wrist. “Let’s focus on the actual problem at hand. Once we’re sure these kids
are safe at home, Gwen, you can go on a murder spree.”

Mel just watched me over the rim of his drink, his
eyes roaming to my cheek as it jumped twice. I slapped at it as Mel set his cup
down.

“Chloe, when you told me Gwen needed my help, I had
assumed you meant sexually. This doesn’t seem to be up my alley.”

“It’s definitely up your alley,” she said, dipping
her pinky in her cup just long enough to test the temperature. “Gwen’s not
exactly the best candidate for this sort of thing and I’m only her assistant.
We figure you can help with the sleuthing—being a P.I. and all. We were
also hoping your furry side would give you insight into exactly why they came
to her.”

“And what do I get out of this?” he asked.

“You help rescue
children!
” I snapped.

Mel snorted, shaking his head. “Relax, Ms. Furious, I
was teasing. I’ll help. Tell me everything they said, what they looked like. I
don’t spend much time around the world of…” He paused, waving his hand vaguely.
“—
other
, but I might recognize what you’re talking about.”

“Fantastic!” Chloe cooed, turning a smile my way. I
didn’t bother trying to return it.

Chapter Five

Chloe related everything that had happened the night
before with an attention to detail that made me think she’d been hiding an
eidetic memory from me all along. Thinking it might be connected, I explained
my ordeal from that morning and Mel flipped through the pictures, mostly
unbothered. Although when he came to the picture of the “Princess Mel” magnets,
he paused long enough to glare up at me like it was my fault. He didn’t need to
say anything for me to feel his displeasure like it was the opened Ark of the
Covenant.

“I’ll do some research,” he said finally, setting the
pack of pictures back on the table. “I have contacts in the police department
and I’ll ask about any missing kids. I don’t know what specifics we can find
without more information, but I’ll get back to you guys by this afternoon.”

Mel got to his feet, gave Chloe a cheeky little
salute, winked at me, and deposited his cup in the compost bin before heading
out the back door that led into our building’s lobby. My skin kept jumping even
after I could no longer feel him.

“Our turn,” Chloe said, gathering up my garbage and
stacking everything together as she stood. “Come on. Bring your ruined book and
your sadly not-dirty pictures.” I hauled myself up, stretched out the muscle
tension that I had acquired from being so close to Mel for so long, and dragged
myself after her.

“Where are we headed?”

“Up to work,” she said, as if it was the most natural
thing in the world.

“But… don’t we have some kids to save?”

“Located them, have you?” she asked as she hit the
elevator button. “You’re ready to dash off at top speed, kick down a door, and
carry them to safety?”

“Well…” I trailed off, unsure how to take her
flippant attitude. Sensing I was confused, she softened.

“Look. We can’t do anything right this minute, can
we? We don’t have any information to go on until Mel gets back to us. We don’t
know names or locations; we don’t have any idea where to start. I mean, if
you’ve done this before and you have a better idea, by all means, explain to me
what we should be doing when we’ve got three appointments today and no idea how
to help the kids.”

I didn’t have any answers, though I racked my brain
as we rode up to our floor. Chloe let me think as we went, leaving me to yearn
for some spark of brilliance, some new superhero genius Gwen produced by not
falling to pieces in front of Laurel and Hardy. Nothing came, and as she draped
her coat on the rack, I finally admitted it.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I know,” she said, rounding the corner into the
records room to fire up the kettle. I rolled my eyes after her but moved on.
Chloe’s competence is one of my favorite things about her and, my post-Mel mood
aside, I really did find it a comfort to know that I could rely on her thinking
the smart thoughts.

The second I pushed open the door to my office, I
noticed something was different.

I stopped just inside, warily
peering around. Flattening the door against the wall to make sure no one was
hiding behind it, I eyed my things, trying to figure out exactly what was
wrong. It was almost like one of those “spot the differences”
puzzles,
only my phone hadn’t been replaced with a banana
or an eggplant
.
The planter on my bookshelf
had been twisted, its one pink flower turned outward; my pens had all been
recapped and turned upside down—or perhaps having the ballpoint end down
was right side up? In any case, I wouldn't be accidentally drawing on my
fingertips anymore.

My scissors had been pulled
out of my drawer and left hanging on a tack under an accordion cutout of hearts
hung a
cross my bulletin board.
My trash
can was
empty—though that might have been Chloe's doing—and, as I stepped
closer, I noticed that my blotter was ruined.

“What the hell?”

I dropped my bag in the
middle of the room and raced around to the back of the desk. The handle of my
top middle drawer was shiny, possibly sticky, and the drawer itself was ajar.
Tucking a finger under the bottom lip of the drawer to avoid the handle, I
pulled it out all the way. My stash of gel pens had also been recapped and
lined up in order of their proper hues. Apparently Roy G. Biv had snuck into my
office, organized it and—was that honey I smelled? I kicked my chair
back, dropped to my knees
,
and frantically started
rooting
through my drawers. None of
the important files and such had been touched
,
but my stash of honey packets had been raided and drained, and the
culprit hadn't been too careful about it. My middle drawer must have been
assaulted after the honey thief had struck, thus explaining the shiny
stickiness.

I took a slow breath, trying
to calm myself, and pulled my chair forward again so I could sit and survey the
damage. Chloe stepped in then, eyebrows raised
.

“What’
s up?
”

“I think whatever was at my
house showed up here, too. It ate my honey packets.”

“Probably for the be
st,
” she said with a smile. I grumbled at her but she
wasn’
t
deterred,
pacing
around my
little
office, looking over all the
small changes that had been made sometime during the night.

My blotter, from the looks of
the sometimes-illegible pink and
purple scrawl
all over it, would never be useable again. I lifted the pages and dropped them
one by one. Every page of the blotter had been drawn and written on. I didn't
understand most of it—it wasn’t even entirely in English—but some
of the art was cute at least. I went through it a bit slower, noticed that the
bottom left corner had been made into a flipbook
,
and went through it faster.

A tiny flower bloomed. A tiny
flower with fangs.

What the hell?

I scooped the blotter up,
initially intent on throwing it away, and stood for a moment, tapping my foot.
Chloe watched me silently, waiting me out as if we were in the store and I was
trying to decide what flavor of fruit snacks sounded the tastiest. I tried to
mimic her calm as I reviewed what it was that was bothering me so much.

Nothing valuable had been
taken. The stash of change and dollar bills I kept in my top drawer hadn't been
stolen
, just all aligned and somehow
flattened as if freshly minted. The computer wasn't on and my password was rock
solid, so I was reasonably sure nothing had been touched there. I yanked on the
drawers in the filing cabinet and found them still locked.

“You okay? You look like
you’re thinking pretty hard and it hurts,”
Chloe said.

I scowled at her and pointed
toward the door
.
“If you can’t think of
anything nice to say, get out. Go buy me more sweets to replace the ones this
jerk ate.”

“
I
’m not buying you any sugar,” she retorted, turning to stroll out to her
desk. I scoffed loudly, wondering why my life had suddenly gotten so difficult.

I slid my blotter behind the
file cabinet and sat back in my chair, drumming my fingers on my empty desk.
The sugar thief had struck again
,
but the worst damage done
was the honey on my desk and the nonsensical notes on my blotter. As irritated
as I was by having my space invaded, I found myself curious about this
creature. Clearly
,
it was curious about me. It
wasn’t acting like any predator I could think of; if it had wanted to kill me,
it likely would have done so at my house and eaten my organs rather than my
Twinkies.

Sighing, I shook my head,
deciding to push the incidents out of my mind, and concentrated on cleaning up
the mess.

***

Mrs. Ellen Quottrich arrives
every Monday, sitting her flower-clad bony ass in my comfy client chair and
going off on all the ways she's been slighted during the week. My office is
laid out to give my clients a choice of where they want to sit while they
ramble. I have two comfy chairs and a couch available to them. Most people
choose the couch while I sit in the chair that faces them. Quottrich, however,
finds the couch distasteful and prefers to sit across my desk from me, giving
me the stink-eye for the entire hour.

Her life seems small and
petty and I understand why her only son never visits and why her siblings and
husband all had the good sense to die well before she did. She’s nasty and
vindictive, wishing horrible things upon everyone from the paperboy to the
bagger at the supermarket. While it’s not as bad as being in the same room as
Mel, sitting across from the jagged edges of her ire is pretty damned
uncomfortable, even when I shield my psyche as well as I’
m able.

I
mostly just nod politely, occasionally risk offering
my perspective on things—always a mistake—and try to remind myself
that I’m the only person she really has in her life, and that I should at least
feign interest.
I
’d considered ending our
professional relationship several times since I’d taken her on as a client.
She
’s miserable to be around, both because her presence
is to my empathy what feedback is to your ears and because she’s just so damned
ornery.

I can
never quite bring
myself to send her away, though. I can feel the
loneliness in her
,
garbled up along the edges
of her hate like gum stuck to the bottom of really uncomfortable shoes. It
seems to jump out at me sometimes
,
so cold it nearly burns,
reminding me that, sure she’s as awful as a leering gargoyle, but she’
s still human.

So I put my best professional
foot forward every week, grinning and bearing her presence and assuring myself
that one day karma will reward me for being a good person.

Waiting for karma can only
get me so far, though, so I satisfy myself in the present by refusing to offer
her any of the candy in the dish on my desk. When there's candy in it, that
is—the honey thief had made off with that, too
.
Or Chloe had hidden it; it wouldn’t surprise me now that she knew how
many extra birthday cupcakes I’d scarfed down.

“I know you’re just waiting
for me to
leave
,
” Mrs. Quottrich said tartly, surprising me. I glanced
past her as quickly as I could to the clock above the couch and nodded, my
insides leaping with joy. I had somehow lost track of time and not noticed I
was nearly free of her. When I looked back to her, I found her irritation had
been knocked down and kicked to the side to make way for a swampy flood of
insult. I hadn’t even said anything, but evidently she saw something in my face
that she didn’t like.

“Yes, it does look like our
time is up. Would you like some help to the door?”

Mrs. Q
’s eyes narrowed as her lip pulled up slightly in a
snarl. I ignored it, pushing to my feet and moving around my desk to help her.
Stubborn resolve, or perhaps arthritis in her narrow legs, kept her sitting as
I stepped toward her as slowly as possible. I could put up a front like I would
help her, but we both knew it would never happen. The few times I’d tried,
she’d slapped at me and insisted she didn’t need want me to touch her.

Watching her make her
hobbling way out, I stuck my tongue out at the old lady’s back. Chloe's cheery
goodbye got her only a slanted look and a cross comment regarding her low-cut
shirt. As the outer door slammed
shut,
Chloe grinned at me.

“You survived!” She clapped
gleefully
.

“Unfortunately, so did she,”
I sig
hed.

Chloe pressed on,
refusing to let me vent the grumpy steam I'd built up spending an hour with
Mrs. Quottrich.

“I was thinking about our
problem—the real one,” she clarified, anticipating and ignoring my
forthcoming bitchiness. “
W
e should go see Merrin
.
”

“
I hadn
’t even thought of that,” I admitted, leaning against
the desk. “
It
’s been awhile since we’ve
seen her, actually. I wonder how she’
s doing.
”

“Oh, I visit from time to
time. I was there two weeks ago, just to get a palm reading and toss her some
cash. She looked better, actually. Still not… you know,
normal
, but cleaned up.”

“Hopefully that works in our
favor. We’re free for, what?” I held out a hand, gestured to Chloe’s watch when
she didn’t step closer. “Two hours until the next appointment? We can bolt
over, ask for help, drop some cash and maybe a few sandwiches on her, and be
back in plenty of time. Even if it ends up snowing like the weatherman
threatened and everyone else forgets how to drive.”