Chapter Text
TACOMA
Something bad has happened. Actually, it's been happening for a while now; Tacoma's range of vision is limited when the rock is in Jodi's bag, but she can sense it in the air. Maybe it's because Jodi has been sending her so many psychic messages, maybe it's just because she's a ghost now and has picked up a few spooky powers; either way, she's starting to find that she can feel Jodi when she's nearby, on the periphery of her mind. And, well. Jodi has been on the verge of crying for about forty minutes now.
Tacoma can't figure it out. She's heard everything, except for what happened when Jodi was doing her psychic thing on Nikole and the feedback drowned everything out, and while Con's cheer seems strained he and Simeon and Ishihara all sound like they're being polite. It's hard to know what to do, although she supposes it doesn't matter. There's nothing she can do, at least until Jodi is alone. She listens to her make her excuses, refusing Con's offer of a ride home by telling him she has a few errands to run in town, and then, after a few minutes of silence, to her speaking in a low voice:
"No, I'm not okay. Couldn't you feel it, Lothi? How he … you know."
She doesn't hear Lothian's answer; probably Jodi is the only one who can. Still, it sounds like she's by herself now.
"Jodi?" she asks. Her voice sounds weird in her ears. She hasn't spoken in a while – since last night, actually, when she came out of the rock for a moment to tell Jodi she was okay and not to worry. And that was the first time she'd spoken since the whole thing with Nick's pen. Most of the rest of the time she's just spent lying here on top of her sarcophagus, staring at the ceiling and thinking without emotion about a stranger's hands around her throat. This is not all right, but it's just so hard to fight it that Tacoma can't bring herself to be concerned. It's nothing new, anyway. She has passed more than a few days this way at uni, unable to muster the energy to leave her bed.
You startled me, says Jodi. Her surprise bleeds through with the words.
"Sorry." Brief pause. "I have my eye to the crack," says Tacoma. It's not an accurate way of describing it, but it's all she's got; what's really happening is that a rough-edged image of the outside world is hovering right in front of her left eye, like she's sitting too close to a TV. At the moment, all she can see is darkness, but she can hear everything. "You can talk normally. I've … been listening in for a while." Come on. Say it. Say it, you asshole. "Are you okay?"
Jodi hesitates for far too long before she answers.
"Yeah. Just tired. It was hard, getting into Nikki's mind. But I did find―"
"You literally just told Lothian you're not okay," says Tacoma. She hears a sigh, and then a moment later her view clears and brightens as Jodi removes the rock from her bag. She's leaning against a brick wall by some icebound garbage cans, cane in the crook of her arm and a cigarette in her other hand. Tacoma can't see where they are, but it doesn't occur to her to look; her eye is irresistibly drawn to Jodi, pale and glamorous in the dull winter light. Even now, it keeps catching Tacoma by surprise, the way her face is transformed just by looking at it and thinking girl instead of boy. That nose, those lips and cheekbones – they are different now, and always will be. Tacoma has heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but she never knew that apparently everything else is, too.
Is she staring? She almost certainly is. And Jodi looks upset: probably best to focus on that for now.
"Sorry," says Jodi. "I just … Con really hates me."
Tacoma would like to say something reassuring, but nothing seems real when the rock comes between them like this. Jodi needs to be able to see her.
"Can I come out?" she asks.
"Sure." Jodi takes a quick drag on her cigarette. "I'm in the alley behind the bank."
Tacoma knows where she means: turn right as you leave the medical centre, left at the corner, past the bank, down the side. There's a gate but it's not locked, and in the whole twenty years that Tacoma has lived in Mahogany, nobody from the bank has ever noticed or cared.
"Okay," she says, and pushes into the image before her, springing out the other side of the crack with a whoosh of displaced air. Now she can see properly; there's the entrance to the alley, there's Lothian huddled against Jodi's leg. Incidental details, really. The important thing here is Jodi. "I'm sorry," she tells her. "He's an asshole."
"No, I don't think he is," replies Jodi. "He's trying to do his job and all, he just … I got close to him and felt his mind and he―" She breaks off, looking like she might throw up. "He hates this," she says, swallowing hard. "He'd – I don't know, but he really can't take … what I am."
"Which is called being an asshole." Tacoma raises her eyebrows. "He can't deal with you, that's on him, not you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Obviously. C'mon, Jodi, you – why would it be you?"
"I dunno." Jodi blinks. "Sorry," she says, looking away. "I, uh, well. Empathy. He hates, I hate. And like …" She swallows again. "There's this sickness, I― I mean, I thought I looked good this morning when I did my nails and now I look at them and it's just like I've mutilated myself."
Her breaths are shallow and irregular. Rarely has Tacoma wanted to hurt someone as much as she wants to hurt Con Wicke right now. It's a good feeling, in that it is a feeling, and that alone makes it ten times better than the awful emotional void that comes with lying on her back and staring at the ceiling.
"Sorry," she says, not wanting to say how angry she is, knowing that Jodi probably knows anyway. "It must be hard."
Jodi sighs and raises her cigarette to her lips.
"Yeah, well, I'm not looking for pity," she mutters. "I knew it wasn't all gonna be easy. And anyway, it's not like it's the first time."
"No?" Hell. Tacoma hadn't really thought about that. Too preoccupied with her own problems to realise that every single social interaction is its own special problem for Jodi. Christ. Friend of the bloody year.
"No," says Jodi. "It's okay. Lothian looks out for me. Right, Lothi?"
He looks up, nose palpating, and Tacoma sees Jodi smile slightly as some message passes from his mind to hers.
"He says yes," she explains, scratching behind his ears. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure he knows the difference between men and women anyway."
Tacoma tries to smile, because that is the response that is expected of her, but it's hard for her to put her heart in it.
"I'm glad," she says. "I'm glad."
There is no immediate answer. Jodi taps the ash off the end of her cigarette and watches it spiral down into the snow.
"Guess you want to know about what I found out from Nikki, huh," she says, after a little while.
"Heard some of it," replies Tacoma. "But when you did your psychic thing, it all kinda went to static."
Another long pause. Tacoma wonders if she should say it, and then decides yes, she definitely should.
"You know, you're fucking gorgeous," she says, a little more aggressively than she intended. "No matter what Con thinks."
Jodi almost inhales her cigarette. After several seconds of coughing, and a lot of concerned looks from Lothian, she grinds it out on the wall and manages a response.
"Oh," she says weakly, cheeks as red as her fingernails. "Um … thank you."
"Well, you are," replies Tacoma, as embarrassed to have said it as Jodi is to have heard it. "So. You know."
Jodi smiles shyly, unable to find any more words. It's kind of cute, but Tacoma is literally incapable of speaking right now, let alone pointing this out. They fall back into the silence, broken only by the distant grumble of someone's car and Lothian's scratching as he pokes around the alley, and then at last Tacoma gathers up the energy to push free of it. Okay. Move on to something less awkward.
"All right," she says. "So what about Nikki? Dr Ishihara said she was okay, right?"
"Yeah. She said she could go home this afternoon."
Tacoma should be pleased, but it's hard to be. Nikole is one of those kangaskhan who remain childless, either through choice or some quirk of biology not yet identified by science, and she is as attached to Tacoma as she would be to her joey, if she had one. She is much less interested in Tacoma's family, and they, for their part, have never really been that good with her. Right now, they're almost certainly not going to be up to the challenge of looking after a kangaskhan who can't find her trainer.
"Hope my parents can deal with that," she says, shoving hard on her worry and not managing to shift it. "What about her memories? You said something to Con about where my stuff was?"
"Yeah," says Jodi. "Out in the woods, by a bend in the river. I think she got worried and broke out of her ball there, and then I guess she was all feverish, so she didn't drink and just wandered around till she found her way back to town."
Tacoma hears herself make a little involuntary noise of pain, which Jodi very kindly pretends not to have heard.
"I think it was near a cabin," she says. "Which I guess means north of town, near the Lake of Rage. There are a few up there, I think. Guess the police will probably be checking them out today."
"Right. I guess we can't really do that," says Tacoma. "I mean – actually, I dunno why I'm assuming you can't drive. Can you?"
Jodi laughs nervously.
"Technically, yes," she says. "But I don't. It's kind of difficult with this leg." Fantastic. Tacoma Spearing, queen of unwarranted assumptions. "But … well, I didn't say to Con, but I think we might have to go there anyway."
"What? Why's that?"
"There's a blue car parked outside," replies Jodi. "A blue Crowne."
"Oh. Uh … shit."
"Yeah." Jodi chews her lip, leaving a little red line across her incisors. "I feel like we need to talk to Sam. A bunch of people, even. Someone else must have seen it, right?"
"Right." Tacoma thinks for a moment. "Gabriella invited you over, yeah?"
"She did. I'll see if I can talk to Sam then."
"Good. I, uh, didn't know you were friends."
It's strange to think of Jodi having friends Tacoma doesn't. But of course she's had her own life, her own social circles to navigate. Not like Tacoma has a monopoly on her. Even if some pathetic part of her would like one.
"She likes the same music as me," says Jodi, looking a little uncomfortable. "And maybe if I go to church tomorrow, I can ask people about it?" she adds, changing the subject. "I'll try to be subtle."
"Yeah. You do that, I'll … I dunno, try to think of a way we can get out to that cabin." It sounds so inadequate, even as she says it. What's she going to do? Volunteer to drive Jodi over there? Sure, Tacoma, if that's what you want to think.
"Cool." Jodi nods, as if this is even remotely plausible. "There was one other thing I found."
"Which was?"
"When Nikki was in her ball, the night that, um, that it happened, she heard something. Can't tell who was speaking, but I think they said 'take her to the chapter house'."
"The chapter house," repeats Tacoma. "Where's that? What is that, even?"
"Dunno," admits Jodi. "Never heard of it before."
They look at each other for a moment.
"Library?" asks Tacoma.
"Library," says Jodi. "No time like the present."
Tacoma nods.
"See you on the other side," she says, and withdraws to brood, feeling the cold stone of her sarcophagus against her back again. One day she'll get through a conversation with Jodi without insulting her, she promises. She better, anyway. This is no way to treat a friend.
She picks at her lips, tearing off tabs of skin and relishing the sharp sting of air on raw flesh. But her window to the outside world is still open, and a minute later, after Jodi has put the rock back in her bag, Tacoma hears her murmuring incredulously to herself:
"I'm fucking gorgeous."
Tacoma pauses, startled into smiling. At least she got that one right, she thinks, and takes her bloody fingernails away from her mouth again.
A chapter house, it seems, is a building or room attached to a church where meetings are held. Learning this doesn't really help things make any more sense. There is a church in town, but it's pretty small, and both Jodi and Tacoma went there every week with their families right up until they got old enough to say no; they know the place well, and unless there's a secret chamber buried underneath it, there just isn't space for a meeting room there.
But the fact that Nikole heard it mentioned is suggestive. As is the fact that Con pretended he hadn't heard of it. Some people in town are meeting up in secret, people who may or may not be connected to Tacoma's murder, and the cops know but don't want to talk about it. That means something. Tacoma isn't sure what, and neither is Jodi, but it definitely means something.
"A secret society," says Tacoma, looking out through the crack at a sliver of Jodi's face. "I didn't think this town was big enough to have one of those."
"A secret society whose members will kill for ghost rocks," murmurs Jodi, closing the encyclopedia. "Where do you think their chapter house is?"
"Dunno. That cabin, maybe? My stuff's out there."
"Why would they dump it that close to their hideout?"
They're not sure, and it's not something they can look up. Right now they don't have the time for research, anyway. Jodi's been out for over an hour and a half at this point, and given the atmosphere when she left with Con, her family are probably going to be worried about her. It's time to go back and reassure them.
On the way back, she and Tacoma toss ideas at one another while Lothian flies on ahead. Where could people meet up without it being obvious? Town hall? Bar? General store? Remember, this place has to be somewhere you could hide a body. That's what the killer was thinking of doing, even if in the end they just dumped Tacoma in the river instead.
"Maybe we should just ask people," says Jodi. "Kind of like 'by the way, I heard something about a chapter house the other day, do you know what that is?' And then I'll know if they recognise the word or not. Then we could … I dunno, tail 'em or whatever, see where they go."
"Dunno." Tacoma paces back and forth along the tiled floor, the inside of Jodi's bag bobbing gently before her eye. "Think we should probably stick with the other lead for now."
"I could check the church tomorrow, I guess," suggests Jodi. "Just in case."
"How, exactly?" snaps Tacoma, frustrated. "You can't tell me you're gonna sneak out in the middle of the service."
"I … don't know," admits Jodi. "Sorry. I'm just trying to come up with ideas."
Tacoma forces herself to stand still, to release her grip on her sarcophagus and calm down. Don't be a dick, she tells herself. It's not hard, Tacoma.
"Right," she says. "Let's just – let's just leave that for now."
"Sure," says Jodi. "There are other things, anyway."
"Like?"
"Like, um … well, I was thinking, if the rock sucked you out of your body, then―"
"No."
Of course. Of course Jodi hopes she can fix this. She's the kind of person who has hope, and Tacoma isn't sure she's ever been this jealous in her life.
"You don't know that," begins Jodi, but Tacoma interrupts.
"Yeah, I think I do. And you do too, Jodi," she adds, unable to resist the impulse to twist the knife. "This was a one-way trip."
She says it with a kind of savage exultation that she does not like at all. Jodi doesn't like it either; Tacoma can't see her face from in here, but she can feel her pain, filtering through the link to stab Tacoma in the heart.
God damn it. Didn't she just say not to be a dick?
"Sorry," she says. "I didn't mean to … I shouldn't be mad at you."
"It's okay," says Jodi. "I understand."
What else is new? Tacoma hates this. She's aware that she shouldn't, that this is an unhelpful reaction to her friend's compassion, but she hates it anyway. Nobody likes to be reminded of how unoriginal their inner turmoil is. Everyone thinks their pain is special; everyone wants to avoid the truth that it's just another damn cliché.
"Yeah," she mutters, before she can stop herself. "Sometimes I wish you wouldn't."
The sound of Jodi's footsteps stops. Somewhere in the distance, Tacoma hears the soft thump of Lothian landing.
"Tacoma," she begins, except she doesn't seem to know how to finish it. "Tacoma," she tries again. "I … you know I'm still your friend, right?"
Tacoma listens. She knows she needs to answer, but her voice is stuck somewhere at the bottom of her lungs. Jodi is her friend. This is true. It's just that Tacoma doesn't know if she really should be, any more.
"I'm not just trying to help you solve the mystery," Jodi continues. "I'm … I can talk to you too. If that's, um, if that's something you're still interested in."
Christ. Tacoma had almost forgotten about this. The boy – girl – whatever, the child in her memory is sweet and shy and not quite openly sarcastic; Tacoma remembers the school trip to the old temple, breakfast in the Ecruteak Pokémon Centre, the campsite on Route 38, and what stands out in her mind is mostly Jodi laughing at Tacoma's jokes and losing a bunch of battles with her vulpix, Helen. But that's not all, is it? She was always just … nice. Like she is now.
"You don't have to," Jodi adds hurriedly, and Tacoma realises she hasn't yet responded. "I mean, it's just a suggestion, if you're – you know, if you want to talk, then that's cool, and if not then that's – well, that's cool too―"
"Okay," interrupts Tacoma, voice harsh. "Okay, I get it, you don't have to―"
Stop. She's angry at herself, not Jodi, but she isn't sure if Jodi can tell the difference and she doesn't want to give the wrong impression. She takes a minute, clenches her fists so hard it hurts, and breathes out.
Take the opportunity. Jodi wants to help? Honestly, Tacoma needs it. She might not like it, but she does. And more than that … well, whether or not she deserves it after everything she's done, she kind of wants her friend back.
"Sorry," she says, making an effort to sound calm, though of course Jodi probably knows she isn't. "Thanks, Al― shit. Thanks, Jodi. I … I think I might like that." Is that enough? It'll have to be. She can't take much more of this feelings talk right now. "Gimme a minute?"
"As long as you like," says Jodi, maddeningly kind, and Tacoma breaks the connection: a sharp movement of her head and the image in front of her left eye fades.
She stands there for what feels like an age, kneading her forehead with her knuckle. Could've handled that better. But at least she said yes. And it might work out, right? If they talk, if they're really going to do this, then maybe Tacoma can finally start making up for the past. Not even for abandoning her, really, but for what she did that meant Tacoma had to abandon her in the first place.
Because she did do something. Tacoma made a bad decision that day seven years ago, and she saw the results unfold with the slow and terrible majesty of a mushroom cloud above a burning city. And then she knew that there was nothing she could ever do to make it right. But it was okay, because nobody knew except her, and that meant that nobody ever had to know, as long as she just kept running.
Except that now, of course, there's nowhere left to run except up and down the stairs of her prison tower. And, if that's the way things are, if she and Jodi are stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, then that's got to be a sign. This is Tacoma's chance to make things right.
Her lips sting, and she realises she's picking at them again. She licks the blood away and grimaces.
"Today's the day you turn it all around," she says, unconvinced, and goes back to her sarcophagus to stare at the ceiling and wait for something to happen.
In the purple twilight of her prison, certain questions are impossible for Tacoma to avoid. They are very short and very simple, and she can't find answers to either of them.
Who? And why?
Her mind makes movie reels, her body superimposed onto horror movie victims. She sees her back recede in grainy black and white; sees a shadow creeping up behind her, merging with the darkness underneath the trees. In the next shot there are hands around a neck too thin to be hers, thumbs digging into her throat, and the whole thing falls apart into the childish dream it is.
Dumb, she tells herself, jabbing her finger painfully into the half-healed cut on her arm. Try again.
Okay. Harry, following her from the station? He seems pretty strong, or at least, he carries all that luggage around like it's nothing. He knew where she was, too. Or Nick. He― no. Not Nick. He wasn't even here, right? Right?
Her teeth hurt. She unclenches her jaw and forces herself to breathe out. It's not him. Can't be. He was in Alola. And her parents probably told a bunch of people when she was coming home. Everyone knows everything here, that's just the way it is. Anyone with strong hands and bad intentions could have found her that night.
But then there's the why of it, and this is where Tacoma feels her thoughts beginning to unravel, warp and weft spilling in untidy tangles across the surface of her mind. There are plenty of reasons why she should be dead – hell, plenty of reasons why she should be dead and trapped like this. If you think about it, she's almost getting off easy, after what she did.
Thing is, nobody knows. Tacoma has made damn sure of that. Nobody knows. Nick and Harry sure don't. So why? What about this rock is so bad that she couldn't even be allowed to live after having touched it?
She starts to say the question aloud, as if hearing it might help her hear an answer, but then she remembers that Jodi might be listening and stops halfway through the second word. In the silence, the questions ring louder than ever: who? Why?
Tacoma closes her eyes, and listens until it feels like they will deafen her.
Back at the Ortegas' house, it seems that Jodi's parents have been waiting. Her mother comes out of the kitchen to meet her as soon as she walks in the door, asking questions before saying wait, no, come inside and tell your dad, too. Tacoma has opened the connection again, because the alternative is staring at the ceiling for a while and if she's trying to be a better person she should be trying to avoid that, and she listens in from inside Jodi's bag, feeling like a spy on the end of a wiretap.
As they enter the room, she hears the rustling of newspaper, and is hit with a memory so vivid it almost hurts: León with his feet up, reading aloud from the paper and pausing occasionally to let his chatot repeat back any words that catch his fancy. Except no, not any more, right? Javier died years ago now. Old age, she thinks. That or pneumonia. Johto winters must have been a hell of a shock for a Managua chatot.
"Would you look at that," León says, over the shuffling of feet and the scratching of Lothian's claws. "Our bid for the new Gym might just go through. Apparently it's down to here and New Bark."
Cherrygrove Gym was bombed to dust by the Americans during the war, after the occupying forces used it to store arms; the Indigo League has been pondering where to put the replacement ever since they finally extracted the money to build it from the Kantan government. Like everyone else in town, Tacoma's been following the news with interest. Pryce Aske, Mahogany's only resident pro trainer, has been spearheading the town's bid to have it put here, and apparently doing a pretty good job of it.
"Good to know," says Jodi. "If we get a Gym, we get a Pokémon Centre. That's a bunch of jobs."
"Including one for a counsellor," León points out. "Something to think about." A thin rustly noise as the newspaper is folded up and put aside. "So how did it go with Nikole, kiddo?"
"All right," replies Jodi, after a moment's hesitation. "Chief Wicke was … polite."
"Just polite?"
"Yeah. Just polite."
León sighs.
"Well, I guess that's fine. He seemed kind of startled."
"One way of putting it," snorts Tacoma, unable to stop herself. Evidently she makes Jodi jump or something, because Michelle asks her if she's okay, and she has to lie and say the cold makes her leg twinge. Good one, Tacoma. Being real helpful there. She shuts up and listens enviously to Jodi's parents being nice to her, and then to Jodi's fumbling response:
"So yeah, it went okay. Just … I dunno. Seeing Nikki. And you know. Tacoma."
God, she really is a terrible liar. It seems to fool her parents, though; there's an uneasy pause, and then in response to some unseen gesture Jodi asks:
"What?"
"The, uh, the funeral's on Wednesday," says León, and Tacoma starts hard enough to bang her head on her sarcophagus. Right. That. Because she's dead.
Every time she thinks it, it gets a little less scary and a little more numbing. Dead. Who cares? Everyone who ever knew her, she answers, and the old guilt stirs inside her like a hornet's nest in her gut. Who and why. They'll be asking that too, same as her.
"I thought you should know," adds León.
"Thank you," says Jodi. "I … Yeah. Thanks."
A soft sound. Tacoma imagines Michelle leaning over, squeezing Jodi's shoulder, and suddenly misses her mother so much it almost hurts.
"If you need anything, Jodi …" Yes, that's Michelle's voice. The one time she didn't want to be right.
"There is one thing," says Jodi, in a tone of voice that suggests she wants to change the subject. "Unrelated. And nothing heavy, it's just – in my book, there's a word I don't know."
"Oh," says Michelle. "That'll be your department, León."
"I'll do my best," he says. "What is it?"
"It mentions something called a 'chapter house'," Jodi replies. "Can't figure out what that is."
Tacoma feels Jodi's mind unfolding, attuning itself to something she cannot see. Gauging whether or not her parents are lying, she suspects. She holds her breath, waiting for the answer: if they aren't truthful about this, if they know, then that's kind of a problem. Even in the best case scenario, they'd be involved in something bad. The worst … well, the worst case doesn't even bear thinking about.
"Never heard of that," says León, and Jodi's relief washes through the connection like a wave across a beach, smoothing her ruffled mind back into the usual calm. Okay. Telling the truth, then.
Thank God. Tacoma doesn't know what they would have done if he'd been lying. She listens a moment longer, to León asking for the context and Jodi claiming to have lost the page, and cuts the connection with a sigh.
She's too tired to listen to people who love each other. And if there aren't any more clues to be gathered here, she's just going to stay put till Jodi comes looking for her.
Not exactly the healthiest way to deal with this, but it definitely is a way. Given how her life is going recently, Tacoma will take what she can get.
In the end, she doesn't have to wait long. A few minutes later, she gets a message from Jodi.
We're alone. If you wanted to have that talk.
Tacoma waits for a long moment, so long that Jodi probably thinks she's ignoring her, and then when she can't put it off any longer she drags herself up and out through the crack to materialise on Jodi's desk. Bright sun, cold air. Lothian curled up unobtrusively by the door, unwilling to leave his partner but trying to stay out of this.
"Okay," she says. It comes out sullen and mean; Jodi wilts, and Tacoma grits her teeth and tries again: "Sorry. I do want to. I … I know I'm not doing great at being your friend."
Jodi looks sympathetic. The emotion rises around her like a gentle glow emanating from deep within the earth, and the hornets buzzing in Tacoma's gut calm a little as it comes.
"You died," she tells her. "I think you're allowed to be upset."
"Thanks. Almost managed to forget for a second there."
Jodi winces.
"Okay, sorry, I didn't phrase that very well."
They look at each other for a moment. Tacoma blinks first.
"I'm sorry," she says. "You don't deserve this. You're being nice, and I'm being a dick."
She isn't expecting Jodi to agree, and is pleasantly surprised when she almost does.
"I mean you could be slightly more friendly," she says, tentatively. "I guess. Like … I'm trying, Tacoma. I'm sorry I'm not getting any answers yet. It's only been a couple days."
"It's not that." Tacoma looks away. The hornets are back, and this time they aren't just buzzing but stinging. "I'm really grateful for everything you're doing. I'm just – I dunno, you probably know already, but I wasn't, uh, wasn't doing that good even before I got killed."
There. She said it. Hard to believe, but she finally actually said it.
"Yeah," says Jodi. "I noticed."
She's waiting, like she thinks Tacoma is going to say something else, but Tacoma has said all she can. Like – she said it. It's taken her literal years, but she said it. Tacoma wouldn't be surprised if after that she never managed to say anything else ever again.
"It's been really nice to see you again," says Jodi, after a little while. "Obviously I'd prefer it if it were different circumstances, but I did miss you."
Tacoma smiles. She has a feeling it probably doesn't look like she's all that happy.
"I missed you too," she says. "I'm sorry I abandoned you."
"You didn't abandon me," says Jodi. "You just moved on."
"What?" Is she seriously still trying to let Tacoma off the hook? "How is that any different?"
"You know," says Jodi, shrugging awkwardly. "We were busy. We grew up. I had ESP classes, you had tuition. We moved on."
Tacoma frowns.
"But you said you missed me," she says. "And you did, I know you did. Saw the way you looked at me when you found me the other night." She sees it again now, doubled in Jodi's eyes. That pain. "Hurt you to see me like this."
Jodi's uncertainty surrounds her head like cigarette smoke. She unwraps a chocolate bar and takes a bite, giving herself time to think of something to say, and then, still thinking, takes another. The clock ticks; Lothian glances up, and then when he sees Tacoma looking back quickly lowers his head again.
Jodi swallows, and leans forward on her elbows.
"Tacoma, I don't know you any more," says. "But you were my best friend. And I know everything is weird and we have to solve your own murder, but I kinda wouldn't mind if we gave that another go."
Tacoma's eyes prickle. Can she even cry, when her eyes are made of fog and green light? She doesn't really want to find out. Not in front of Jodi.
"Yeah?" she asks, through the lump in the throat she doesn't have.
"Yeah," says Jodi. "But you actually have to talk to me instead of just hiding in that rock all the time. This is … it's weird and horrible, I know, but we're not gonna make it any less weird or horrible unless we talk."
"I just figured you'd want to spend some time with your family," mutters Tacoma. "You didn't ask for me to take over your life like this, so. You know."
"Oh, you complete dork," says Jodi, exasperated. "Are you listening to yourself? 'Aw, gee, I don't know if that girl who keeps saying she really misses me wants to spend time with me, better just hide away and not ask her!'"
Tacoma coughs.
"Uh, okay, so when you put it like that it makes it sound way dumber than it did in my head," she says, and Jodi smiles at her.
"Sure it does. That's what I went to school for."
"To show me that my ideas are terrible?"
"To help people understand themselves better."
"Not sure I see the difference."
"Doesn't matter," says Jodi. "You're smiling."
Tacoma freezes for a moment, unprepared for this new line of attack, and then she realises that Jodi's right and, almost against her will, laughs.
"Okay," she says. "Jeez. You win, Jodi."
Jodi's happiness is effervescent, bubbling up all around her like the fizz in a glass of champagne. It's contagious; Lothian perks up and scampers over to put his head in her lap, and Tacoma finds that the echoes of her laughter won't leave her alone.
"Great!" says Jodi, eyes bright. "Just – great."
Tacoma does her best to give her a hard look, but she still can't stop smiling.
"Is this just because you made me laugh?" she asks, and when Jodi nods she laughs again. "Jesus," she says. "And you call me a dork."
"I can't explain it," says Jodi, but she doesn't have to. She wants Tacoma back, and Tacoma wants her back as well: that's all there is to it, all there needs to be. Somehow, despite everything, it looks like she's going to get that second chance after all.
"You're gonna have to take point on this," she says. "I don't have arms."
"Take point on what?"
"The hug, dimwit." Tacoma raises her eyebrows like she would have done when she was twelve, playing at being the girl she was before she ruined everything. "Or are you just gonna sit there grinning at me all day?"
Jodi does just sit there grinning, as it happens, but she does it with that sarcastic gleam in her eye that lets Tacoma know she's being mocked.
"You've got meaner," Tacoma tells her, making a face.
"So have you," says Jodi. "C'mere."
She leans in and hugs her tight, arms sinking slightly into her mist. Tacoma rests her head against her shoulder, and turns her face away. It looks like she can cry after all. But she thinks she's going to keep that one to herself.
Jodi is … well, she's very good at this. Now that Tacoma's let her in, she refuses to leave again. She can't spend the whole day up in her room, but she puts Tacoma's rock on the coffee table in the living-room, and spends the rest of the afternoon poking her mind into it, commenting on anything and everything that crosses her mind. It's annoying, but it means Tacoma can't wallow in her unanswerable questions or lie there staring at the ceiling, and for that she supposes she ought to be grateful.
I dunno if you saw Ella's picture over my bed? asks Jodi, when Ella comes down after a morning spent painting up in her room. She's got really good.
"She has," agrees Tacoma, watching Ella flop onto the sofa next to Jodi with a bag of nuts. "Also I think she just changed the channel."
"Hey," protests Jodi, but Ella waves it aside.
"You snooze, you lose," she says, popping a cashew in her mouth. "Budge. The Bug Show is on."
"Well, I know better than to come between you and your bug-types," says Jodi, and she raises her eyebrows at the rock in a way that makes Tacoma irritatingly aware that she knows she's just made Tacoma smile.
Or later, when Michelle comes in and asks about the rock, she shrugs and says it's a focusing stone. Something she uses for school.
"Well, what's it doing on my coffee table?" she asks, and Jodi goes okay, sure, I'll move it, nestles it in the crook of her arm with the crack pointed outward so Tacoma can still see. She watches the Ortegas moving through the room, watches Ella leave to hang out with her friends, Michelle bring Jodi some hot chocolate, León argue with the newscaster.
It's all so achingly familiar. She sees herself and Everett overlaid on Jodi and Ella, her parents' gentle bickering in the way Michelle and León take pleasure in disagreeing about things on TV. It hurts, even filtered through Jodi's constant commentary (she is still just as keen on bugs as you remember, by the way, half her paintings are of insects; which is your favourite news presenter? I always like this guy's terrible taste in ties) – but Tacoma keeps the connection open all the same. This still exists, she reminds herself. There is something outside dark stone rooms and empty corners of the library. People are still alive and doing all their normal people things.
She's startled by how much she needed to be told that. Late that night, long after Jodi has curled up at one end of her bed and Lothian at the other, Tacoma dims the lights in the tower and lies down to sleep with a strange feeling hovering somewhere at the bottom of her ribcage. It takes her several long minutes to classify it as contentment, and when she does she finds she is too startled and fearful to hold onto it any more.
On Sunday she wakes late, the way she would if she were still living, and puts her eye to the crack to find Jodi's room empty. The radio is gone from the desk, and drifting up from downstairs is the sound of both music and Jodi singing along. Tacoma smiles, surprised: she'd forgotten Jodi was musical. But of course she is; she played violin for years, and since then she's spent a lot of time working with Lothian and studying sound. As far as Tacoma knows, she refuses to sing when anyone else is around, but still, she's good at it.
Probably she's alone in the house, then. Everyone else at church, maybe? Which means that Jodi didn't go, in the end. She wonders why, then realises that if everyone's gone she can probably just ask.
Maybe it's the singing, but she's feeling reckless. She stretches herself out as far from the rock as she can, and calls out:
"Hey! Taxi!"
The singing stops. Tacoma hears footsteps, and then Jodi comes in, looking vaguely put out.
"C'mon," she says. "What if someone else had been home?"
"Is anyone else home?"
"Well, no. But they might've been." She leans against the side of the door, twisting nervously at the handle of her cane. "I thought about going to church, but then I realised that if I went, I was gonna walk in the door and absorb everyone's reactions at once. And while I do wanna help you out, Tacoma, I don't want a brain haemorrhage."
Right. Tacoma is willing to bet that the only two things anyone is talking about in Mahogany right now are her – and Jodi. And that means that everyone will be waiting to catch a glimpse of her, to satisfy their curiosity and be pleasantly shocked at the freak in the dress, and that in turn means that Jodi will be forced to feel a hundred people's pity and disdain exploding inside her own skull. Bastards.
But saying so would ruin the moment, so she just raises an eyebrow and fakes a smirk instead.
"Yeah, that would be counterproductive," she says.
"That all?" asks Jodi wryly, but before Tacoma can answer Lothian interrupts, poking his head through the door and butting it insistently against Jodi's good leg. "Oh," she says. "Sorry. I was halfway through giving him breakfast. Come downstairs?"
"Sure," says Tacoma. "Do you think I can drink coffee?"
"Dunno. Wanna find out?"
She does, and they do. As it turns out she can't, not even through a straw: the drops swirl around inside her disc and make her momentarily dizzy before they fly out and have to be sponged off the kitchen cupboards by Jodi. They laugh and for a moment Tacoma could swear they're twelve again, wasting a morning in a Pokémon Centre canteen while Nikki and Helen snatch leftovers from the plates.
"Kind of reminds me of our journey," says Jodi, clearly thinking the same. "You remember Ecruteak? We got to the Centre and we just … didn't know what to do, so we hung out there for like a whole morning till we figured we should probably go for a hike or something."
Tacoma remembers. How could she not? She's replayed her journey in her head, a thousand thousand times over. The tentative beginning. The glorious middle. And the brutal end. There is an epilogue too, the part when she went back out after what everyone calls the accident, but that part is dim and shadowy by comparison. Everything important happened before then.
"I think it was Helen, wasn't it?" Jodi's eyes have unfocused slightly. She's looking at her coffee cup, but Tacoma doesn't think she's seeing it. "We were sitting around in the lounge, feeling lost, and then she just up and ran out. Followed her, and she was sitting by the front door, looking at me like come on, time to go."
Lothian raises his head from his bowl of fruit, eyes wide. Tacoma reaches hesitantly for that weird connection, trying to figure out what she's thinking, but it's not something you can force, and Jodi's mind stays closed.
She swallows. Looks like she'll have to do this the old-fashioned way.
"I never said," she tells her, after a moment. "I'm really sorry about Helen. And Ash."
Jodi's face gives nothing away. Tacoma hopes this isn't her being forgiven. When your best friend's partners die, you have to say something, and Tacoma didn't. She was just too scared to say any of the important things, and so she just pretended everything was normal. You'll be back out there before you know it, she said, while the voice in her head screamed her condolences, and child-Jodi smiled weakly through her painkiller daze and said sure, sure.
This isn't how she ruined things. Tacoma committed her crime much earlier than that – before the accident even happened, let alone the aftermath. But it's still a black mark against her, and she hopes Jodi isn't so eager to please that she'd let her get away with it.
Jodi shrugs and downs the rest of her coffee.
"It was a long time ago," she says, and now Tacoma is sure: she's trying to be relaxed, trying very hard with every ounce of her empath training, but there are some things you just can't control. "I don't really think about them any more."
You don't need to be psychic to know that she's not telling the truth. Jodi and Helen were inseparable; Helen even followed her to school once or twice, and Jodi always let herself be charmed into missing her first lesson to take her back home again. Out on the trail, in the tent they shared in defiance of their parents' refusal to let them sleep over at one another's houses, Tacoma saw her sleeping curled around Helen like a cat around her kitten, and was vaguely jealous that she and Nikki couldn't do the same.
She loved her, she really did. She loved Ash too, even if she only caught him eight months before it all went to hell in the Silverblacks. And then Tacoma told her that she'd be back out there before she knew it, as if there was anything left for her out there at all.
"Okay," says Tacoma. "I just thought I should say it, is all."
A perfunctory smile.
"Thanks," says Jodi, although she doesn't actually sound very grateful. "Look, it's ancient history, okay? And honestly, I feel like there's been enough death round here recently."
Tacoma nods. She's probably reacting too fast but she can't seem to help herself.
"Yeah, I feel you," she says. "Kinda hard not to. In my position."
Jodi says nothing for a while, just leans back from the kitchen table and lets Lothian push his head into her lap. She reaches down automatically to pet him and then takes her hand away sharply, pulling a face.
"I have told you about doing that," she says, shoving Lothian away. "Not while you're all sticky with fruit juice."
He chirps unapologetically and returns his attention to his bowl, licking his lips. Jodi shakes her head and brushes at her skirt.
"So," she says, not looking up. "What's Saffron like?"
Tacoma starts.
"What?"
"You've been to Saffron." Jodi catches her eye. "What's it like? It looks cool on TV."
"Are you serious?"
"Why not?"
Tacoma's mouth is already open to answer before she realises she actually doesn't have a response. Why not? It just doesn't feel right, is all. She has some vague idea that what they're supposed to do is make the most of this second chance, to say all the important things that were left unsaid before and to plan out their investigation, but even as she thinks this it starts to sound dumb. The oldest spiritomb is from the Song dynasty, the Pokédex said. She isn't sure how long ago that was, but it has to be a few centuries at least. That means (and try not to think about this too much) that she's going to be here for a while. She has some time.
And, well. If she's going to make this second attempt to be Jodi's friend stick, she's probably going to have to actually get to know her at some point. It's been five years, after all.
"Okay," she says. "Why not."
Jodi smiles, and Tacoma feels her face answering without any input from her brain. It is actually kind of unfair how easily beauty comes to her. Tacoma has spent the last three years trying to lose weight and sort her hair out and she still looks like a sack of potatoes shoved into a pair of jeans and a clown wig. She shouldn't be envious – Jodi is thin and delicate because of a mutation that means she has to see Dr Ishihara four times a year to check she isn't dying – but then, Tacoma does a lot of things she shouldn't.
"So," says Jodi, taking away Tacoma's coffee and making a start on it herself. "What's Saffron like, then?"
"Well," Tacoma replies, "it's not as yellow as it is in the pictures."
"What!" Jodi looks scandalised. "But that's it's whole thing! It's in the name of your university and everything."
"Yeah, well. Have you ever actually seen a yellowstone in real life?"
"No."
"They're kinda hideous," says Tacoma. "One of my lecture halls is a yellowstone and on a bright day you can't even go near it without sunglasses."
"You're ruining my dreams. I always wanted to go there and find my fortune on Golden Row."
"Golden Row is the ugliest street in Kanto. It's like you've been eaten by a lemon."
"God, you go away to the big city and come back all jaded. How am I, a simple country girl―"
"Oh, fuck off," says Tacoma. "You're the one at brain school."
"I said how am I, a simple country girl―"
So it goes. They play at fighting, and then at reconciling. They talk about university, in a careful kind of way that leaves out their social lives and the state of their minds, and Tacoma complains about Keith Allbright in exchange for a story about Jodi's Professor Crapwell. Yes, she says. Seriously, Crapwell. She could not make that up.
Lothian insinuates his head back into Jodi's lap, still sticky but no longer noticed, and the three of them stay there until the car pulls up outside and Tacoma has to disappear. As she goes, Jodi catches her eye.
"By the way," she says, as if it doesn't matter. "You did say it."
Tacoma pauses halfway back into the stone, her disc a mass of bubbling fog.
"Huh?"
"That you were sorry. You said it."
"I what?"
But the front door is opening now, and before Jodi has a chance to tell her about the condolences Tacoma is certain she did not offer she has to vanish back into her tower.
Tacoma doesn't get a chance to ask about it. Michelle asks Jodi to help her with lunch – apparently this is a thing the Ortegas do on Sundays, or possibly just to celebrate the fact that Jodi is home and also no longer Alex – and her rock ends up in the corner of the kitchen counter while Jodi chops onions and shoos Lothian away before he steals them. (Raw onion. What is even with him.) It gets left there while everyone goes into the dining-room to eat, and nobody even looks at it until Jodi comes back out a couple of hours later, looking guilty.
Sorry, she says, filling a glass with water. Couldn't get away. But Dad says he'll drive me out to Sam and Gabbi's, and I'm gonna call her now to see when she wants me. Pick you up before I go?
"It's fine," says Tacoma. "'S your family, so. You know."
Still. Jodi shoots her a look. I shouldn't just leave you lying around.
Tacoma would like to argue, but it's hard to come up with a decent counter. She shrugs, remembers that Jodi can't see her, and sighs loudly instead.
"I can wait," she says. "Go on, before they start thinking you forgot how taps work."
She cuts the connection to underline the point, and spends a bleak half hour pacing up and down the stairs, trying to work out how it is that Jodi's got it into her head that she ever said anything about Ash and Helen. Tacoma remembers asking her if she was okay, several times, and then falling back on a bunch of trite platitudes. Nothing that mattered; nothing that Jodi could have mistaken for a recognition of her loss.
She's still mulling it over when Jodi returns with her coat and bag, and then she has to put it out of her mind and get her brain back in gear. There'll be time to dredge up the past later. Right now, there are leads to chase.
The drive out to the edge of town is quiet. Something seems to have put León on edge; he asks twice if Jodi will be all right, without apparently realising that he's repeating himself, and both times Jodi answers patiently that it's okay, Dad, I met Gabbi on Friday and it's all fine.
Right, he says, without conviction. Right.
In the rock, her eye pressed up against the darkness of Jodi's bag, Tacoma listens and runs out of loose skin to pull off her lip.
The car engine cuts out abruptly, and León clears his throat.
"Well, uh, here we are," he says. "I'll be back at four. That okay?"
"Sure," replies Jodi. "I'll call you if anything changes."
"Right," he says. "So … you'll be all right?"
Jodi sighs.
"Dad. It's fine. Gabbi is my friend. Okay?"
"Okay, okay." Pause. "Sorry, kiddo. It's just – this is so new, still. You know?"
"Yeah," she says. "I know."
"You always do." Tacoma can't quite tell if he's exasperated or grateful. She supposes there's no reason he couldn't be both.
Something rustles, and her window wobbles slightly: Jodi's picked up her bag.
"See you later, then," she says.
"Yeah," replies León. "See you at four, Jodi."
The clunk of the car door, the crunch of Jodi's boots, the scratchy noise of Lothian bursting out of the back seat. Jodi's breath sounds slow, so slow it has to be deliberate.
Tacoma imagines asking her if she's okay, and then imagines her response: yeah, it's just been weird lately, or maybe yeah, I guess, or maybe just I don't know. It's not a substitute for actually asking her, but for some reason she just can't quite make herself do it.
Knock knock. The door clicks open. Tacoma holds her breath―
"Heya, kid." It's a pack-a-day-for-fifteen-years sort of voice: unmistakeably Samantha Spade. Not the most well-liked woman in town, but Tacoma has always admired her. She's just so damn cool. "You, uh, here for Gabs?"
No immediate hostility. Tacoma breathes out again.
"Yeah," says Jodi. "She's expecting me, I think?"
"She is," agrees Sam. "Guessin' you two are about to fill my house with that shitty krautrock."
"Heh. Uh, yeah. Sorry."
A big, theatrical sigh.
"Can't be helped, I guess. Come on in, kid."
Footsteps. In the background, Tacoma hears a car starting up, and realises Leon must have just been sitting there, watching. Like the worried dad he is.
The door closes. Jodi takes off her coat, makes polite but distant conversation: how's uni? Okay. How's the petrol station? Shit; nobody's buyin'. But we're still kickin', so it's all right. They're just about to run out of things to say when Gabriella pops up from somewhere.
"Jodi! Hi. Come in. I made a cake."
"Oh," says Jodi. "You didn't have to …"
"Yes, she did," says Sam. "'Cos I wanted one and I can just pick her up and hold her in the air till she does what I want."
"And here was me thinking I was doing it out of the goodness of my heart," says Gabriella dryly. "Next time let me know when you're threatening me, Miss Spade. I might notice that way."
"Oi, behave, Gabs. I pay your wages."
"Better pay more if you don't want the lip then, huh?"
Both their voices are rich with unspoken laughter. Cousins, huh? Sure. When she was a kid, Tacoma always thought that something about that didn't quite make sense; it wasn't till she was seventeen that she figured out why.
"Whatever," says Sam. "You two nerds have fun. I'll be in the garage, see if I can fix that leak. You know. Doin' actually useful stuff."
"Good for you, Sam. Meanwhile, Jodi and I will engage in some serious appreciation of the arts."
A vicious shriek, so loud and piercing it makes Tacoma wince. She once looked up how long wingull lived, out of a kind of desperate attempt to figure out when Mahogany would be free of the mad bastard, and was disheartened to find out that many species of seagull can live for forty or fifty years. Add in a few more from the pokémon vitality, and it looks like the damn bird might be here even longer than Gabriella.
"Not you, Jack," says Gabriella. "You are getting shut in the bedroom before you get your beak in Jodi's cake. Or Lothian's ear."
That's genuine affection in her voice. Tacoma can't even pretend to understand this. How the posh New Bark girl ended up with a glorified seagull for a partner is completely beyond her.
"Thanks," says Jodi. "Um, sorry, Jack."
More shrieking, and a nasty snapping sound that Tacoma hopes isn't a beak closing on someone's ear, but Gabriella just talks right over it.
"Shut up, you," she says. "I'll be right back, Jodi. Make yourself at home."
Tacoma gives her a second to go away, then speaks.
"I hate that fucking bird."
Jodi suppresses a laugh.
"You can't see," she replies, under her breath, "but Lothian has literally just stopped trying to hide behind me."
"Wow. So much for loyalty between partners."
"It's not like that. If Bastard attacks Lothi, he'll run away. If he attacks me, he'll scream him unconscious."
Tacoma was joking, but she doesn't have time to explain before she hears clinking plates and footsteps.
"You like coffee cake, right?" asks Gabriella. "Because that's what I made."
Jodi does, as it happens, and so the time finally comes for the music to begin. It is exactly as awful as Jodi promised: it drones, it whines, what few lyrics it has are all in a language Tacoma doesn't speak; there are barely even any real instruments, just a bunch of synthesisers and voice modulators. Worst of all, Jodi and Gabriella can't seem to get enough of it. Tacoma listens to what she always thought were two of the smarter people in town talking appreciative bullshit about literally the worst song she's ever heard, and feels her faith in humanity slip a few notches lower. What the hell is wrong with a guitar and a nice voice?
But Jodi's happy. She laughs, talks excitedly about bands Tacoma has never heard of and vaguely suspects are just made up; and Gabriella reciprocates in ways that make her happier still and Tacoma viciously, pointlessly jealous; and Lothian chirps and hums like he's into the music too; and Jodi's happy, and despite herself Tacoma can't quite make herself close the connection on it all. She sticks it out, reminding herself that she's the one who broke the friendship in the first place, and finally, finally, the record player falls silent and the music talk gives way to something else.
"I'm glad to see you laughing," says Gabriella. "You seemed, um, really out of it the other day."
"Oh," says Jodi. "Yeah, I … I'm sorry. You must think I'm―"
"No. No, I understand. It can't be easy, especially when you can't get away from it; it's all anyone's talking about. Well, that and … and you."
The awkwardness in the air is palpable, even inside the rock. Tacoma finds herself shrinking back from her window out of second-hand embarrassment.
"Yeah," says Jodi slowly. "I noticed."
"Sorry."
"'S all right."
"No, it isn't." Gabriella sighs. "I owe it to you to make an effort. It's just that with this town the way it is―"
"Gabbi." The sound of Jodi's cane: she's leaning forwards maybe, half-out her seat. "Gabbi, it's okay, I know it's weird. I knew it was gonna be weird before, too. I just had to do it anyway."
"You had to?" The words sound heavy. All of the questions Gabriella is too polite to ask are crammed in beneath their surface.
Tacoma is appalled. She never even thought to have this conversation with Jodi. Is Gabriella really that much better a friend than she is?
"Yes." Jodi pauses, gathering her thoughts, and before she speaks again Gabriella jumps in:
"You don't have to talk about it―"
"It's okay. And yes, I had to. Once I figured it out, I couldn't hold it back. Like there was an arcanine straining on a chain and it was barking and biting and clawing and then finally the chain broke and nothing could stop it any more." Jodi stops herself, self-conscious. "I guess that probably doesn't make any sense."
"No," says Gabriella. "It makes perfect sense." Long silence. Somewhere in the distance, the door bangs and Tacoma hears the stamping of Sam's heavy boots as she comes back in. "I had something similar, a long time ago."
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
Gabriella does not elaborate. Jodi does not ask. It's fine. Tacoma feels like everyone here probably has an idea of what she's talking about anyway.
"Are you glad you set it free?" asks Gabriella. "The arcanine, I mean?"
"Yes." The answer is so immediate and heartfelt it makes Tacoma uneasy. She should have asked Jodi about this herself. "Are you?"
"Every single day."
This is a different silence, deep and comfortable. Tacoma imagines the two of them on those patched old couches that Sam and Gabriella have, settling into the moment, and tries not to grind her teeth.
She does not try very hard.
"I guess I'm happy for you," says Gabriella. "But I'm still sorry about Tacoma."
"Yeah," says Jodi. "Me too."
"You know she was one of the first people I met in town? Back when I'd just arrived, when Sam and I were living in one of those rooms Simone used to rent out, before she lost the house."
Tacoma remembers. Gabriella was wandering around town, looking lost, and Tacoma was riding her bike and searching for something interesting. And she found it too, in the beautiful stranger with the one-eyed wingull on her shoulder.
"Nothing happened," Gabriella goes on. "She just welcomed me to town. It was very cute; she must have been about nine, but you would have thought she was the mayor, the way she spoke. I suppose it isn't a very good story, really. But I always liked her for that."
"She told me about that," says Jodi. "I remember. She said there was a mysterious stranger in town, but it was okay because she'd checked her out and she seemed like a nice person."
"She really said that?" Tacoma can hear the smile in her voice.
"Yeah. She's … she was like that."
"Yes." The smile fades. "I'm sorry, Jodi. We're all going to miss her."
"I know."
The silence is unbearable. It's almost okay, at this point, to hear people talking about her like she's dead. (Because she is, she is and she has to keep staring at this fact until she finally understands it.) It's something else entirely to hear their pain, to know that she has punched a hole straight through her stupid, wonderful little town and now nobody can do anything but stare at the bleeding wound and try to remember.
Not her life to throw away, was it? But it's too late for regrets now. She's already gone and bought the fucking farm.
"I had a question," says Jodi, after a while. "You're smart, right?"
"Some people like to think so," says Gabriella. "What is it?"
"In this book I'm reading, there's a word I don't know. A chapter house? Dad didn't know, either."
"Oh, I know that one, I think. It's a kind of meeting house. There's one in Ecruteak, isn't there? On the old temple, where the Knights of the Luminous Order were based."
"A meeting hou―?"
The door opens.
"What did you just say?" asks Sam. Her voice makes something tighten in Tacoma's chest: no laughter there now, just suspicion.
"The Knights of the Luminous Order," says Gabriella. "Fourteenth century? Come on, even you must have heard of them."
A moment. A heartbeat. Jodi's worry drips slowly through the connection and pools around Tacoma's feet.
"Well, no," says Sam. "That's why I have you, innit, 'cause you can know things on my behalf."
"Glad I mean so much to you, Miss Spade. Are you coming in, or …?"
"Nah, you can tell me about your knights another time. Later, kids."
The door closes again. The tightness in Tacoma's chest does not go away.
She doesn't pretend to be an expert at reading people – that's Jodi's thing – but if Sam's really interested in knights then Tacoma is the Princess of Johto. That's an excuse if she ever heard one.
Which means, if she's right, then Sam knows a lot more than just who was driving into town that night. Tacoma wants to know who and why? Well, here's a bloody lead.
"Sorry, Jodi," says Gabriella. "I don't know what's got into her. What were you saying?"
"O-oh," stammers Jodi. "I, um … you know, I kind of forgot."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm … fine. I'm fine," she repeats, with more conviction. "There's one in Ecruteak, you said?"
"There is. I think it's free, if you ever felt like visiting. It has a tapestry that's very pretty if you ignore the fact that it's a picture of a white guy decapitating a Hoenner."
It goes on. Jodi expresses interest; Gabriella explains. Tacoma keeps listening, but at this point the words are going in one ear and straight out the other. Sam knows something. Sam Spade, of all people. If she had to pick one person in town who she thought would be trustworthy …
She isn't sure how Jodi's planning on starting that conversation, but now it looks more important than ever that she does.
In the end, Jodi doesn't have to. As she's getting ready to go, Sam puts her head in again and asks for a word.
"Sure," says Jodi. Somehow, she doesn't even sound nervous, though Tacoma can sense through the link that she is. "What's this about?"
"Come in here and find out."
"Very mysterious," says Gabriella, a hint of disapproval in her voice. "Play nice, Miss Spade."
"No promises, Miss Kendrick."
Jodi's cane thumps, and then starts clicking. Tiles underfoot. The kitchen, then?
"So," says Jodi, as the door closes. "What is it?"
"Where did you hear about the chapter house?"
Straight to the point. Her voice is low and serious, but not hostile. Or so Tacoma hopes, anyway.
"Like I said, I just saw the word in a―"
"No, you didn't," says Sam flatly. "Where did you hear about it?"
No answer.
"Kid. Seriously. Who's been talkin' to you about the chapter house?"
"No one," says Jodi. Her voice is level. Maybe it's that empath self-control at work, maybe she's just tough; either way, Tacoma is definitely impressed. Sam is scary when she's like this. "I'm just trying to help Tacoma, okay?"
"Yeah, and I know you was close, but she ain't gonna thank you for―"
"Sam. Please." Not so level now. There must be a limit to her self-control after all. "Please, I just want to …"
Silence. Tacoma strains to hear, like that even makes a difference, and all she hears is something dripping elsewhere in the house. It makes her too uneasy to sit still; she gets up, starts picking and pacing, willing someone to speak.
"I'm sorry, Jodi," says Sam. Still gruff, but gentler now. "I know you're hurtin'. But you got to leave this alone."
"Why?" Jodi sounds almost desperate. "What is so bad you can't even tell me about it?"
"The … well, the reason I left town," replies Sam. "You ain't the only one who's ever asked questions, Jodi."
Seriously? That's why she left? She was investigating this too? Tacoma had always thought it was just that a woman like Sam doesn't fit into a town like Mahogany. But if she was run out of town – well, that's not an option for Jodi. She has nowhere else to go. Nowhere she even can go.
Maybe Sam's right. Maybe they should drop this after all.
"You think I wanted to go?" she continues. "I love this town, kid. That's why I came back. But it's got some real bastards in it all the same."
"I know," says Jodi.
"No," says Sam. "You don't." There's nothing dismissive about it: this is, her voice says, just the way things are. Jodi must know this too, must in fact be able to sense the truth of it in Sam's mind, because for several long seconds she doesn't even respond.
"But I can't stop," she tells her eventually, her voice so quiet Tacoma almost doesn't catch it. "I … I really have to help her."
Sam sighs. So gravelly it's almost a growl.
"Yeah," she says. "That's what I told myself, too."
"What you …?"
"Like I said. You ain't the only one who's ever asked questions."
A pause. And then:
"I'm sorry."
"So was I." Movement of some kind. "I can't stop you," says Sam. "But I ain't gonna help you, either."
"That's … that's fair. I guess."
It seems like this is all the words they've got between them. Tacoma hears nothing for a long, long time, and then the low snarl of a motor outside.
"Guess that's our ride, Lothi," she says. "C'mon. Time to go."
Out in the hall, Gabriella tells Jodi to come back sometime soon, and Sam asks her to think about what she said. Jodi says she will, though which of them she's talking to is unclear, and then at last she and Tacoma are back outside and alone once more.
"Well," says Tacoma. "What the hell was all that about?"
"Dunno," says Jodi. "But next thing we do, we're gonna have to figure that one out."
Tacoma was going to suggest that maybe they should consider stopping after all, but in the face of Jodi's determination she just can't seem to get the words out.
"Yeah," she says instead. "I … I guess we do."