Tamara

99AE

Lucerana

Prevailia

Alexander Bloodworth

Tamara

 

                Injustice.  I hate that term.  I wish it didn’t exist.  Yet alas, here I witness inevitability.  At least the PRD was nice enough to give me a limo ride back to my car.  Though on this limo ride I am alone.  No Moses or Marcia accompanying me.  That makes me feel alone.  More alone than normal.  Is it that I feel alone, or this whole day is just upsetting me?  I’m not sure.

                And then almost on cue, my phone vibrates in my pocket.  That seems like planned timing.  Wait until I’m not talking to important people to call huh? So convenient.  I pull the phone out of my pocket.  Alicia is calling.  This will be an interesting conversation. 

                “Hello?” I say, answering the phone.

                “Hey, so I dug up some possible leads on groups with motives.  You might find some of it unsettling,” says Alicia on the other side of the line.  She sounds both anxious and excited.

                “Whatever it is we don’t need it anymore,” I reply.  I can’t help but sound depressed, a stark contrast to Alicia’s optimism. 

                “Ouch, harsh,” answers Alicia, “What’s with the attitude captain cocky?  Did you solve it all by yourself or did the perp turn himself in?”

                “Neither,” I reply, “It’s just not our case anymore.”

                “It was reassigned? By who?” she asks.

                “Higher authorities,” I reply.

                “I thought higher authorities assigned us to the case?” she asks.

                “We were,” I answer.

                “Who has more authority than Murphy Patterson?”

                “Try Christian Rexrode.”

                “The Decorian President?” asks Alicia in disbelief, “What? Did he just show up to the site of the incident and say, ‘look this is a Decorian matter now, leave?’”

                “No I met with him at the Decorian embassy?” I reply.

                “What?” she asks, “Did they take you there?”

                “Yup,” I answer, “In a limo.”

                “You got to ride in a limo?” she asks, “And meet with a foreign leader?”

                “No, I’m lying, and this is all a dream,” I sarcastically reply, “Of course I did all that.  I got picked up and taken to the embassy by Mr. Rexrode’s big a*s body guard and his daughter Marcia.  His daughter’s a nice girl though.”

                “Since when do you tell me about nice looking girls?” Alicia asks, “I thought you didn’t look.”

                “Calm down, I wasn’t looking,” I reply, “She’s eight.”

                Alicia pauses for a moment, realizing her somehow accidental accusation was a bit out of place.  “Then you better not have been looking at her.”

                “I meant she had a lot to say.  She’s got a great perspective on life for an eight year old,” I explain, “And why are you always on my back about women?”

                “You’re twenty-five and you’ve never had a steady girlfriend,” she replies.  “I think I’m the only girl you ever talk to.”

                “And there haven’t exactly been any boys in your life either,” I rebuttal, “You don’t see me reminding you of that every step of the way.”

                “That’s because….. Argh!” She knows I’ve won this time, “Touché.”

                “Yeah, so stop being so concerned.  When I find someone, I find someone, okay?” I look up for a second and realize the limo is pulling up to the police station.  That’s not right, my car is back at the site of the fire.  “Hey sis, I got to call you back, the limo driver took me to the wrong place.”

                “Alright,” she replies as the line clicks off. 

                I knock on the window to the driver’s seat, “Hey,” I say, “You have to take me back to the site, my car’s there.”

                The driver rolls down the window separating us, “I can’t do that,” he replies.  “Decorian officials have the area sealed off.  They said to take you here and they would have your car transported back.”

                Stupid international incident.  “Alright, thanks for the ride,” I say, handing the driver a fiver. 

                “Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t take this sir,” the driver says, pushing the bill away.

                “Nonsense it’s yours,” I reply insisting he take my money.

                “No I can’t,” he insists, “Its Decorian law.”

                Wow, strict laws that apply even when you’re not in the country.  Whatever.  I take the bill back.  “Thanks for the ride anyway.”

                “No Problem,” the driver says as I exit the limo. 

                Back at the station.  Usually when I get back, I feel like I’ve accomplished something, not like right now.  I might as well go back in.  I wonder if this counts against mine and Alicia’s perfect record.  Not that I care much for the record, but now this case will always be in the back of my head as the case we weren’t allowed to solve.  Bummer. 

                When I open the door to the Police station, I run into Delgadillo.  “Detective Bloodworth,” he stammers.  He seems startled to see me.  “I did as you asked, but not too long after you left, a bunch of Decorian officials showed up.  They said they were taking over the operation.”

                “It’s okay,” I assure him, “They already notified me.”

                “They took the data from the fire chief so I wasn’t able to get that,” he explains, “but the survivors were already on their way here.  So when they got here the chief told them to go home.”

                “But none of them have a home,” I reply out loud.  That Devivo guy said the PRD exiled them because of the whole thing.  And now they’re out on the streets with nowhere to go. 

                “Well, they left and didn’t exactly say much of anything,” answers Delgadillo.  “Except one girl, she said she still wanted to talk with you.  We told her you weren’t in charge of the case anymore.  She said she didn’t care, she just wanted to talk to you.”

                “And where is she now?” I ask.  Curious, I thought I’d be done and over with this case. 

                “She’s waiting in your office,” he answers.

                “Okay thanks,” I reply.  What could be that important that she feels the need to tell me?  I don’t even know who this girl is.  I wander back through the usual clutter of the station to the back corner, where things are nice and quiet.  When you solve enough cases, you get to choose your office, so Alicia and I chose the quietest one.  Makes it easier to concentrate. 

                I open the door to my quaint little office.  Sitting in the chair across from my desk is the ‘girl.’  It’s the same girl who helped identify that body.  Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise.  She had me all sorts of distracted.  “You know, I’m not in-charge of this investigation anymore right?” I ask, entering my office and sitting down at the desk. 

                “I know,” she replies, “Everyone’s told me to go home, but-“

                “But at the moment you don’t have one?” I ask, cutting her off, “Is that right?  I’m familiar with the policy.”

                “Yeah,” she mutters.

                “I’m sorry about what happened,” I say, “That place must have been your home.”

                She chuckles at this.  “You’re going to think I’m horrible for saying this, but, I’m not.  I’m sort of glad it burned.”

                Well that’s startling.  “You have no remorse for your coworkers?  As I understand that place was your home.  I thought they’d be like your family,” I say.

                “Hardly,” she responds, “I couldn’t stand them.  They’d never shut up about how this was all for the good of Decoria.  Their over- bloated patriotism sickened me.  It sickened me because they were blind.  Blind to the fact that everything they did benefited the state, but that didn’t mean that the individual benefits too.  Yeah, I know the saying, ‘if the state wins, then everyone wins.’  Well it’s just that, a saying.  And even though it’s repeated a million times, that doesn’t make it true.  The state receives way more than it gives back to the people, and sometimes I feel I’m the only one who sees that.  Yeah it’s a shame not everyone made it, but in a way, they were sort of dead inside already.”

                What do I say to that?  That is not at all what I was expecting.  I am stunned.  “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m rambling,” she stammers, “You don’t need to hear all that do you?”

                “No, no. it’s alright,” I assure her snapping back into reality.  “I just didn’t see that coming, but let me ask you, were you planning on telling me that if I were still in charge of this case?  Because in my line of work, being numb to a tragedy like this sometimes turns out to be incriminating evidence.”

                “Oh no!” she stutters, “You don’t think I did it? I didn’t mean it to come off like that.”

                “Don’t worry,” I reply, “I know you couldn’t have done it.  I know enough to know it would have been impossible for you to pull off.”

                “Good, cause I had nothing to do with it, honestly,” she says, “It’s just, to say that that place was my home is, I guess, unsettling.  I saw it more like a prison.  Hell, the whole country is a prison.  A prison for its citizens who just don’t realize it’s a prison.  And now that the prison burned down, I’m free.”

                It’s clear she doesn’t exactly like her native country.  She also hints that not everyone from Decoria feels the same way, perhaps why she’s the only one who stuck around.  “You know, I never caught your name,” I mention.  Why haven’t I caught that by now?

                “Oh, I’m Tamara, Tamara Liberty,” she replies holding out her hand. 

                “Tamara Liberty,” I repeat, shaking her hand, “I would be Alexander Bloodworth.”

                “Right,” Tamara replies, “Detective Bloodworth.”

                “Please,” I beg, “I’m not doing any detective work right now.  Just call me Alex.”

                “Sorry,” she says.

                “Liberty is an abnormal last name,” I mention changing the subject, “Not one I would expect coming from Decoria.”

                “Oh well, it’s not exactly common over there,” Tamara answers, “I mean, it’s likely not even supposed to be my name.”

                “Interesting,” I remark, “What makes you say that?”

                “I don’t exactly know who my parents are,” she begins, “I grew up in an orphanage.  The caretakers told me that they found my mother half dead from a gunshot wound nine months pregnant in the bank of a river.  The only answer she could give to any question was Liberty. They rushed her to the hospital where she died giving birth to me.  She had no identification on her, and none could be found anywhere.  They just decided that since all my mother could say was Liberty, that that should be the name I’m stuck with.  That and Tamara I guess, but that has nothing to do with my mother.”

                “And so that’s the most you know about any family you might have?” I ask.

                “Well, almost.  The rest is just speculation, but when telling people in Decoria, they would freeze.  Some would tell me that around twenty-four years ago there was a rebellion. One that the Decorian government suppressed.  That was of course told to me in hushed whispers.  They said that it was likely my mother was one of the rebels.”

                “So in a way you are the child of a failed rebellion?” I ask.

                “Yeah I guess so,” she replies, “And I guess that’s all in the name.  I can’t tell you how many times some figure of authority in my life would read a role call and get to my name and laugh.  As if someone put it there as a joke.  But then they’d realize it’s supposed to be there.  Then they would become uncomfortable.  Like Liberty was somehow a dirty word.  Not a word that’s rude to say, but a word you’re afraid to say.  I always felt as if people avoided me because I was the embodiment of some forbidden concept.  They did not want Liberty, they wanted security.”

                “Do you regret carrying that name then?” I ask, “Just for the sake that it isolated you?”

                “I think, if any, then just a little bit,” she answers, “It’s one of the few things I have from my mother.  She left me with this name not as a burden, but I think, more of a mission.  As if she said, ‘if I can’t be free, then you at least should be.’  It opened my eyes, made me see what others around me could not.  I feel if I was not Tamara Liberty, I would be just like everyone else, fearing daily that my actions might risk my security.”

                “I like that,” I say, “You’re able to see the blessings in your life, even if they are disguised at first.”

                “Oh, thank you,” she replies but somewhat uncomfortable.  My comment there felt awkward.  Why did it feel awkward?  Does that count as a compliment?  Did she feel awkward?

                “Anyways,” I say, regaining my composure, “What was it that you wanted to speak with me about?”  As if we haven’t been speaking enough already.  It’s surprising how far and how fast a conversation can get off track. 

                “That?” she asks, “Oh it’s nothing that important.  Really.”

                “Nothing?” I ask, “How long have you been sitting here waiting for me?”

                “I think it’s been three hours,” Tamara answers.

                “If you waited three hours to tell me something then it’s something,” I say.

                “Oh no,” she stammers, “You probably think I wanted to tell you something relating to that case.  Something that would still be relevant even if you weren’t working it still.  You’re probably thinking I’m about to tell you about some whole big conspiracy that’s going on.”

                “Actually,” I begin, “With how my day’s been going that’s exactly what I’m expecting.”

                “But it’s not that,” she replies, “It’s much sillier than that.  It has nothing to do with the facility burning down at all.”

                “Well then what does it have to do with,” I ask.

                “Oh gosh, you’re going to laugh,” she answers, “I’m sorry, it’s- I just met you, this is crazy.”

                “Hey, I like crazy,” I reply, “Crazy’s different, and we all need diversity in our lives.”  Wow.  Those are little 8 year old Marcia’s words coming out of our mouth.  Spoken like a true child philosopher. 

                “Alright,” says Tamara, “So, you know how I said that my name was one of the few things I have from my mother?  Well the other thing was this.”  Tamara pulls a necklace out from around her neck.  Until now her shirt hid it.  It was the same necklace that caught my attention earlier this morning.  The peculiar part of the necklace being the tiny glass orb in the center of the otherwise unremarkable pendant.  “They said my mother was wearing this when they found her.  Other than my name, this is the only thing I have from her.  You saw it this morning, and something in your eye, something in the way you looked at it said you had some sort of Idea of what it was.”

                Wait, so all the hesitation was for that?  I was half thinking she was going to say she liked me, thought I was handsome, wanted to go out with me, something like that.  Was I thinking that was what she was going to say, or was I hoping?  “Strange enough, until this morning I wouldn’t have noticed anything unusual about it,” I reply.  “But this morning I received this in a package from my father.”  I pull the little glass orb out of my pocket.  No fancy necklace to encase it.  Just a plain, naked little marble.

                “Oh yours is green,” she says, grabbing my hand with the orb in it get a better look.

                “What?” I ask, “Green?  It’s a clear little glass orb.”

                “No, yours is green and mine is yellow,” she clarifies holding up the pendant of her necklace and getting excited.  “Can’t you see it?”

                “No, I just see a clear little glass orb,” I reply.

                “But that’s just what everyone else sees,” she says retracting back as if losing her excitement.  “They all said I was crazy for thinking it was yellow, which is why I kept it out of sight.  But wait, how did you know there was something special about this orb if you don’t see the yellow.”

                “There were two other glass orbs in the package this morning,” I begin, “One for my sister and one for my uncle.”

                “But that doesn’t answer the question, you’d just see a tiny marble,” she says, “How did you know it was different?”

                “I’m not sure,” I answer, “It’s like, when you pulled it out just now something was different.  Like something changed and I didn’t even realize it.  It’s sort of like the air changed in the room when I laid my eyes upon it.”

                “Uh huh,” she nods, as if to say she’s skeptical of that explanation.  She grabs her pendant and hands it to me.  “Why don’t you take a closer look and see if you can see the yellow,” she says.

                I take her pendant from her and examine it.  Wow that’s strange.  The second I touch the pendant, the orb glows.  Not a strong glow, more dim than anything, but shining a yellow light.  Looking back to my own orb, I see that it glows now too.  The same brightness, only green. 

                “Do you see it?” she asks.

                “I do see it,” I reply, “Why didn’t I see that before?”

                I feel a buzzing in my pocket.  My phone rings.  I drop her pendant and both orbs stop glowing.  Strange.  I pull my phone out and look at who’s calling.  It’s Alicia.  Oh yeah, I was supposed to call her right back.  “I’m sorry,” I say to Tamara, “I need to take this.”

                “Okay,” she replies, picking the pendant up in her hand to examine it.  I think she’s too intrigued to care.

                I hold the phone up to my ear.  “Hello?”

                “What happened to calling me right back?” Alicia asks.

                “I got distracted,” I reply.

                “Distracted for an hour and a half?” she asks.  Has it been that long?  “Where are you?”

                “I’m down at the station,” I reply.

                “Well it’s getting late,” says Alicia, “Like dinner late.  I want pasta.  Will you be done with your distraction in half an hour?  If not you’re on your own.”

                “Hold on a sec,” I answer.  I put my hand over the speaker and look over to Tamara.  “Do you want to have dinner with my sister and me?” I ask her.

                “Um,” she stammers.  I don’t think she was expecting an offer.  “Well I mean I have nowhere else to go tonight.  Sure.”

                I put the phone back up to my ear, “Make that two, I’m bringing my distraction home with me,” I tell Alicia.

                “Oh you found a friend,” Alicia replies, “How cute.  You haven’t had one of those in forever.”

                “And neither have you,” I banter back.

                “Whatever, see you in a few,” she answers.  The line clicks dead.  Alicia and I have a habit of not saying good bye on the phone.  I guess it stems from the notion that whatever happens, we will see each other again, and so it’s pointless to say goodbye. 

                I return my phone to my pocket.  “So you’re coming back to my place for dinner,” I say, turning back to Tamara.

                “I guess so,” she replies.

                “Well, then we better get going,” I say, standing up.

                “Is your place far?” Tamara asks, following my lead.

                “Not at all,” I reply, “It’s in walking distance.  The only thing is, when my sister is hungry, she becomes impatient.  Like, insanely impatient.”

                “Oh, gotcha,” she says.  We exit my office and leave out the back door of the department.  Another little perk of our location.  We can sneak out without running into anyone who might want mine or Alicia’s opinion on something.  It’s handy now because I don’t want to sift through the clutter that is the department. 

                When we get outside, it’s easy to see the sun is soon to set.  It’s not that it’s late, winter is approaching fast and the days are getting shorter. 

                “The air is nice out here,” Tamara states, taking in a nice big breath. 

                “But it’s city air,” I reply, “Who knows how much smog and chemicals are mixed in with it.”

                “Yeah, I figure,” says Tamara, “But I was in that facility since I was eighteen.  I haven’t been outside since then, and that was six years ago.”

                “So I guess for you, any air is fresh air,” I remark.

                “Yup,” she says, “Anyway, earlier, you said your little orb, you got it in a package today from your father?”

                “That’s correct,” I answer, “But to tell you the truth, I didn’t even know I had a father until that package came.”

                “Oh, and why’s that?” she asks. 

                “My uncle raised me since I was a baby,” I begin, “He told my sister and I that our mother died when we were young.  I just always assumed our father did too.  But then we all get this package from him this morning.  That and a letter stating future ominous events await us and the orbs in the package will help us succeed.”

                “Wait, help?” she asks, “What do you mean?  Like the orbs do something?”

                “Apparently,” I reply.  “I haven’t had much of chance to fiddle with them yet, but the letter said they were ECDs.  If I remember, that stands for elemental control device, or something like that.  They are supposedly activated through thought.”

                “Do you mean like a CAT system?” Tamara asks getting excited.

                “Cats?” I ask, “What does this have anything to do with cats?”

                “No,” she replies, “C A T, or cognitively activated technology.  Machinery or devices controlled by the thoughts of the user.  It’s a new concept, but it makes things like an extension of your own body.  It will start being used in prosthetics and fake limbs soon.  I've done a whole bunch of research on it.”

                “Okay,” I say, “I’ve never heard of it.”

                “Oh, shoot.  That’s right,” she exclaims, “That was top secret research.”

                “So it’s better if I forget you said anything?” I ask.

                “No it doesn’t matter,” she says, “They don’t want me anymore, so I don’t care what kind of secrets I give away.  What are they going to do about it?”

                “True,” I respond.

                “Did the letter say how your father got them?” Tamara asks, “Or did it say what he does?”

                “He is the CEO of the Polemos Corporation,” I answer, “And I don’t think you know Polemos, but they are-“

                “Wait, Polemos is a Decorian organization,” Tamara says cutting me off.  “They are the developmental weapons agency.  The new head researcher at the facility, Dr. Devivo, was one of their founding researchers.”

                “Are you sure?” I ask, “Polemos has been a corporation here for at least thirty years.  They even have a charter from the Prevailian council.”

                “But, Polemos was established thirty years ago in Decoria,” she argues.  “Is it possible that it’s just some strange coincidence?”

                “Maybe,” I reply.  I at least hope so.  “No wait,” I intercede, “That Dr. Devivo guy said he knew my father when I talked to him this morning.  On top of that, Polemos corp. here, also deals in developmental weapons tech.”

                “So you’re saying they are the same group?” Tamara asks.

                “If they are not, then it’s some super freaky coincidence,” I answer. 

                “Sounds like a conspiracy theory,” she says.

                “I’ve had my share of conspiracy theories for the day.” I reply, “Oh look we’re here.”  We’ve made it to my apartment complex.  I open the door for Tamara, “After you,” I tell her.

                “Oh, thank you,” she replies, taking the lead through the thresh hold. 

                “I’m on the second floor,” I tell her, “We’ll need to walk up some stairs.”

                “That’s fine,” she replies.  We make our way down the hall and up the staircase. 

                “You’ll like my sister,” I say, “Just be warned, she will say what’s on her mind.”

                “That’s a sign of honesty,” Tamara answers. 

                “Yeah, well with her, sometimes you wish it weren’t.”  We reach the door to my apartment.  I twist the knob and open the door.  It smells of spaghetti.  “Home,” I announce.

                “Good, foods almost done and-“  Alicia pauses when she sees Tamara.  “You didn’t tell me you distraction was girl, a nice looking girl at that.”

                “What’s with that?” I ask Alicia, “I thought Max was the one who checked out the same gender.”

                “I’m not checking her out,” Alicia defends herself.  “Girls can complement each other’s appearances without being gay.”

                “Whatever,” I reply, “Anyway, Alicia, this is Tamara, Tamara, this is my twin sister Alicia.”

                “Hello,” says Tamara, “Nice to meet you.”

                “And it’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Alicia replies, “And if I may say, you sure can rock the lab coat.  Did you just come from a laboratory or something?”

                “Sort of,” answers Tamara, “I sort of survived a fire this morning, and don’t have any other clothes at the moment.”

                Alicia shoots me a look that says many things, all which I can pick up, most of which involve disappointment in me. 

                “What?” I ask Alicia, “We’re not on the case anymore, and she doesn’t exactly have anywhere else to go.  Decoria exiled her.”

                There is a pause as Alicia contemplates my case here.  “Did I miss something?” Tamara asks, “She didn’t say anything.”

                “Tamara Honey,” says Alicia changing the topic as well as her demeanor and mood.  “If you were in a fire earlier, then you should change those clothes.  You look like my size.  Why don’t you come back to my room with me and we’ll find you something to wear.”

                Alicia grabs hold of the stunned and still confused Tamara’s arm and drags her down the hallway to her room.  “Uh, okay,” says Tamara. 

                Before disappearing down the hallway, Alicia shoots me another look.  This one says, ‘when I get back, you’re explaining this.’  I don’t understand.  I don’t feel like I’ve done anything wrong.  Why does Alicia have to be so aggressive.

                I mean, if we still had the case on our hands, I might see an issue with taking a witness back home for dinner.  But it’s not our case anymore.  All Tamara is to me now is a person down on her luck with nowhere to go.  Maybe I wish it was more, but I shouldn’t move that fast. 

                “Alright, what’s this all about?” Alicia demands, walking back into the room.

                “Give me a place to start and I’ll explain,” I reply, “But ‘all’ is a bit vague.”

                “She was in the fire this morning,” Alicia asks, “That makes her a principle witness to the case.  Do you not see the disrespect to protocol here?”

                “But we’re not on the case anymore,” I argue, “That case now belongs in the jurisdiction of a whole other country.  We’re as far removed from it as possible.”

                “But wouldn’t Decoria take care of her if she doesn’t have anywhere to go?” Alicia asks, changing the subject as I’m sure she sees the merit in my argument.

                “Not so,” I reply.  “The Decorian policy was to revoke the citizenship of all the researchers if something happens to the facility.  Considering there is no more facility, she’s exiled.  No food, no money, no home.”

                “So what, do you plan on letting her stay the night here too?” she asks.

                “What do you expect me to do?” I ask, “Say, glad you could join us for dinner, here’s a piece of cardboard.  Go find a nice street corner to sleep on?”

                “Are you going do this with all the girls you have a crush on?” Alicia asks.

                “Who said I have a crush on her?” I quip back.

                “Alex, how long have we known each other?” Alicia asks, “I can practically read your mind.  And it’s not like either of you two are hiding it well.”

                “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

                I don’t get an answer to that question, because Tamara just stepped back into the room in a new outfit. I have to say, while the clothes are appropriate, they are anything but modest.  “Did I put them on right?” Tamara asks, “I’m not too familiar with this Prevailian fashion.”

                “Sis, when did you get those?” I ask, seeing as they were Alicia’s clothes.  I lacked even the slightest clue that her wardrobe included outfits of that caliber. 

                “Oh, I’ve had it for a while,” she replies, “It’s just I haven’t had the chance to wear it yet.  You know, busy being a detective in all.  By the way Tamara, you look amazing in it, and I’m sure Alex thinks so too.”

                My sister’s comment brings me to the realization that this was somehow a scheme to both annoy and tempt me.  I shoot Alicia a look as if to say, ‘I see what you did, b***h,’ to which she replies with a look that says, ‘oh shush, you know you love me.’

                “My sister wishes to capitalize on the ignorance of a foreigner and the vulnerability of her brother,” I state.

                “Wait,” says Tamara, “What does capitalize mean?”

                “Oh stop complaining,” snaps Alicia, “The food’s ready anyway, sit down.”

                “No seriously, what does that word mean?  It would change the entire meaning of your sentence,” begs Tamara.

                I thrust my face into the palm of my hand to express my disbelief of the course of the situation.  “Just sit down,” I tell Tamara, “We’ll explain it to you eventually.”

                Tamara sits down at the table, joining Alicia and I.  Alicia hands her a fork and a plate of spaghetti.  “Dig in,” says Alicia.

                Tamara stares at her plate for a few seconds as if confused by the meal before her.  “I’m sorry,” she begins, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve never had this meal before.  How do I eat it?”

                Alicia and I share a quick look of disbelief.  “You’ve never had spaghetti before?” asks Alicia.

                “No,” answers Tamara, “In Decoria, they streamline all the meals, because you know, they sort of have to feed everyone.  So they tend to feed us simple stuff like bread, a little chicken now and then, some veggies.  Nothing fancy.  Not like this, ‘spaghetti’ or whatever you call it.”

                “It’s not that fancy, I just made some noodles and put some tomato sauce over it.  It’s a simple meal,” replies Alicia.

                “You can turn tomatoes into sauce?” asks Tamara, her eyes widening with excitement.

                “Oh god, it must suck over there,” Alicia replies, simulating my face in palm motion.

                “Well I mean it could be worse,” begins Tamara. “There was one point where they contemplated putting everyone on a nutrition pill.  It contained all the nutrients a person needs to live in pill form.  Well it turns out, in that form, those nutrients do a lot of damage to your digestive system.  Problem was, they were still going to green-light the project.  That is until a civil engineer came along and did a bunch of calculations. She found that our sewer systems would fail catastrophically from that much overuse.  It’s fascinating how the Decorian bureaucracy works.”

                “Right,” I say slamming my fist down on the table.  “We’re about to eat, so before we get much further into images I never need to imagine, I feel a demonstration is in order.”  I take my fork, stick it in my spaghetti, twirl it around, and eat the wound noodles off the fork.  “Just like that,” I say after swallowing. 

                Having examined my actions, Tamara takes her fork and repeats the process.  “I think this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” she mumbles, as she hasn’t yet taken the time to swallow what’s in her mouth.  But she quickly does and then begins to chow down on the rest of what’s on her plate.

                “Um, glad you like it,” says Alicia, stunned at the whole exchange, “Just try to not get sauce everywhere.”

                I turn to Alicia, attempting to ignore the spaghetti massacre for a brief moment.  “So I know this is way after the fact now,” I begin, “But I take it Max isn’t joining us?”

                “I tried calling him,” answers Alicia, “But he never picked up.  I have a feeling he’s trying to avoid us so he can put off explaining our daddy issue.”

                “Oh my god, I completely forgot,” I say in sudden realization. 

                “Forgot what?” asks Alicia, “Everything that happened this morning?  I’d say that was a memorable exchange.”

                “No, not that,” I answer, “Tamara, your pendant.”

                Tamara looks up from her plate, which by this point is almost clear.  Surprise, she has managed not to get sauce everywhere.  She swallows what was in her mouth, and holds the pendant up for Alicia to see.

                “Oh my,” Alicia remarks, “That is noteworthy.”

                “Can you see that it’s yellow?” Tamara asks.

                “Yellow? What?  No.  I can’t” Alicia replies. 

                “I think I figured it out,” I interject. “Tamara, you have to be holding your little glass orb, or I guess, wearing the pendant to see the colors.”

                Tamara acknowledges my theory and hands Alicia the pendant.  “Whoa, that is strange,” Alicia remarks, “It’s definitely yellow.”

                I pull my little glass orb out of my pocket, “This one’s green, right?” I ask. 

                “Yeah,” says Alicia, “Wait you took one with you this morning?”

                “I guess so,” I answer, “Though I don’t remember grabbing it.”

                “Grab the other two from the other room,” Alicia orders me, “They’re still in the box.”

                I follow her instructions, as I too am curious to what colors these orbs appear.  I find the box and grab the two orbs out of it.  I bring them back to Alicia and Tamara.  “So, what colors are they?” 

                “One is orange, and the other is blue,” answers Tamara.

                “I call dibs on the blue one!” Alicia proclaims, jumping up and snatching one of the orbs from my hand.  (On a side note, blue is Alicia’s favorite color).  “Aw, it stopped glowing,” she protests while examining the orb. 

                “As I said,” I begin, “There’s something about Tamara’s orb that lets you see the color in the other orbs.”

                “That’s a sham,” complains Alicia, “But I guess it is what it is.  Anyway I should start cleaning up.  It’s getting late, and I got a whole lot of nothing accomplished today.”  Alicia snatches up the plates on the table, but not quick enough for me not to notice that her plate was still full.  What’s up?  Alicia wanted spaghetti tonight.  Something’s still bothering her, but now she’s in the kitchen cleaning stuff up.  I can’t tell what’s wrong.

                “Well then I guess that’s my cue to get going,” Tamara says, standing up and stretching.

                “Going where?” I ask, stepping towards her.

                “Well, I mean, it’s late now,” she begins, “and I should be-“

                “Stop it,” I say, “You’re not going anywhere.”

                “What do you mean?” she asks.

                “I mean, both you and I know that you have no home to go to,” I begin, “What are you going to do?  Roam the streets of Lucerana alone at this hour?  I’m a detective.  I know how scuzzy areas of this city can get.  We have a couch.  I’ll sleep on the couch tonight and you can have my bed.”

                “I- I-“ Tamara stammers.  It’s clear she’s at a loss for words.  Suddenly her arms are around me, embracing me in a hug.  “I can’t thank you enough,” she blurts out, head on my shoulder, voice shaking.  I can tell she’s close to tears.  I hug her back.  “It’s just, no one has ever been this kind to me in my life.  I feel like such a burden.”

                “Don’t worry,” I assure her, “Tomorrow we’ll start looking at ways to get you standing on your own two feet.  Just remember, you’re free now.”

                “Thank you,” she says, gripping me tighter.  Her embrace is nice.  It feels like something that’s been missing for a long time.  I look up for a second and notice Alicia, standing silent in the doorway, holding a pot under her arm, as if she were in the middle of cleaning it.  I meet her gaze but her eyes say nothing.  Her lip quivers, her eyes tear up, and she turns back and disappears into the kitchen.